Chapter 4 The Proposal
William Belinni
“Would you kill me?”
She didn’t hesitate to ask what she wanted to know.
However, it wasn’t her question that surprised me.
It was realizing there wasn’t a trace of fear in her words. Only curiosity.
“No. But I could.”
“You trusted me too much,” I say honestly, because as much as I don’t have it in me to move even a toe to hurt this woman, another man might not have the same attitude.
“Maybe death is a less terrible fate than others.”
Goddamn it.
“Why would you say that?” I ask, controlling myself so I don’t close the distance between us and pull her into my arms.
She’s so beautiful.
So fucking delicate, gentle, and sincere that I want to hold her just to keep her from experiencing any discomfort caused by that damn company at the party.
“There are things worse than death, Mr. Stranger. Living an unhappy life is at the top of that list, I’m sure.”
“And what would make a woman live an unhappy life?”
She laughs again, adjusting her pinned-up hair.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
“Are you asking me that because you’re trying to be a good husband to your wife, Mr. Stranger?”
“I’m not married,” I say quickly.
“Then to your future wife,” she corrects me, and I don’t bother denying it. Maybe I really am doing exactly that. “Your concern is adorable. It’s a gentle gesture, and that says a lot about you.”
“And would you be kind enough to answer my question?”
“Well, in my humble opinion, having a bad husband or having no love within a marriage can lead to an unhappy life.”
“Marriage in the Mafia isn’t about love. Usually, it’s about convenience,” I point out, and she nods.
“I know, and that ends up being normal for men because many of them continue living their lives, doing business, and even keeping mistresses and prostitutes to satisfy their desires,” she says firmly, and I listen in silence because I know she’s right. “But for women, marriage is much more important. Within the Mafia, their entire lives revolve around family. From a young age, they’re trained and educated to obey so they can become good wives and mothers. It’s rare for them to be allowed to study, work, or do anything that isn’t directly beneficial to their father or husband. So, Mr. Stranger, arranging a loveless marriage—or one with a bad man—for a woman is the same as condemning her to eternal unhappiness. Don’t you think?”
“To some extent, yes,” I answer, crossing my arms. “I agree that marriage plays a much greater role in a woman’s everyday life than it does in her husband’s. However, regarding the infidelity you mentioned, I believe a man shouldn’t sleep with other women once he’s married. He swore loyalty to his wife, and vows are sacred in the Mafia. Besides, if a man can’t be loyal to the woman he shares his bed with every day, how can he be loyal to the Mafia he also swore to protect?”
“I wish everyone thought the way you do.”
She gives me a sad smile, even though she isn’t looking at me, and that simple gesture makes my chest burn.
“Are you worried about being betrayed?” I ask, but she shakes her head.
“No. It’s the loveless marriage.”
A ball of acid forms in my throat, and I swallow it with difficulty.
“Are you getting married?”
“In sixty days. I’m engaged.”
The lump I swallowed practically explodes in my stomach, burning like a live ember.
She’s engaged?
Goddamn it.
I don’t know why the hell I care, but I hate that information.
“And is he bad to you?”
My voice comes out low and dangerous.
She bursts out laughing this time.
“Not exactly.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“You’re going to think it’s stupid.”
“I’m just a stranger,” I explain. “Technically, my opinion shouldn’t matter.”
“You’re a kind stranger who had the opportunity to kill me and didn’t, so you’ve earned some credit with me,” she says jokingly, making me let out a short laugh through my nose.
I like listening to this girl.
“I want to use my credit to know the truth.”
She bites her lip and keeps looking in my direction, thinking about what to do.
After a few seconds, she decides.
“Okay.”
She sighs.
“But don’t say I didn’t warn you, all right? It really is pretty stupid.”
“If it’s important to you, it isn’t stupid.”
And I’m sure it’ll be important to me too, I think, cracking my neck as I prepare myself to deal with the bastard in case her answer makes me nervous.
In that case, the shower can wait.
“It has to do with small hands and the smell of disinfectant,” she confesses, holding back a laugh. “My fiancé is a respectful and hardworking man, but… Clark’s hands are very small. Almost the same size as mine. And he smells like disinfectant.”
“The good kind?”
“What?”
She sounds genuinely confused by the question.
“Does your fiancé smell like good disinfectant, or more like a public restroom?”
I tease, holding back my own laughter this time.
“I don’t know,” she admits simply. “I’ve never been in a public restroom.”
Unlike me, who has been to plenty of shitty places in the name of the Mafia.
I burst out laughing at her sweetness, and her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
“But to explain my point,” she continues, and I listen as she elaborates while wearing my widest smile, enjoying the sight of her so focused on convincing me, “his hands are so small that if a killer showed up to murder us, he’d probably use me as a shield, or I’d have to protect him.”
I laugh again.
“A killer like me?” I tease, but she rolls her eyes, dismissing the possibility.
“Oh, please! You must be the gardener. If removing wilted plants from trees makes you a killer, then I’m a terrible girl too for eating vegetables.”
She laughs.
“I like the sound of your laugh,” I say. “You’re beautiful. Did you know that?”
When I look at her, her cheeks are intensely flushed, and I have to restrain another urge to pull her into my arms.
“Can I come closer and see you?” she asks, surprising me.
I don’t move, even though I know she shouldn’t see me in this state.
“Good girls don’t stay with strangers in the dark.”
“Good girls wouldn’t even talk to strangers,” she corrects me, which amuses me. “So apparently, I’m not a good girl.”
Oh, sweetheart.
You’re the best kind of girl.
“Didn’t your father teach you that rule?” I ask.
“Yes, but right now, I’m not very interested in his rules.”
“Why? Is it simply an excessive interest in seeing my face, or is there something more personal involved?” I tease, feeling my blood pump hard through my veins because of the adrenaline she’s giving me.
She laughs, but there’s not a trace of humor in her voice.
“My father arranged my marriage to the man I’m running away from right now,” she explains, and the sensation inside me instantly turns into molten lava. “So no, right now, I don’t care about his rules.”
Goddamn it.
“Would you like to marry for love?” I ask.
“It would be my dream.”
“Hmm. And hypothetically, if your fiancé had bigger hands and a less… sanitary smell,” I say, “what would you like to do with him?”
She hesitates.
“Talk to him, hug him…”
“Just the obvious,” I interrupt dryly before she can continue.
An irritating heat crawls up my chest, stupid jealousy at the mere possibility of hearing her describe anything involving touching that bland bastard she’s engaged to.
“I’m a simple girl, Mr. Stranger. If the obvious is done well, it would already make me happy.”
“You don’t have many ambitions?”
The blonde shakes her head.
“I want to love my family and be loved by them. Have an affectionate husband and beloved children to take care of.”
“And a husband with bigger hands and a more pleasant scent,” I add.
“Exactly,” she says, smiling. “And I’d really like my children to get along, to be friends. I didn’t have any siblings, and I grew up alone, but I want a house that’s full and noisy.”
The passion behind her words almost makes me stop breathing.
What, until a few moments ago, had been a burden to me seems beautiful and special in the eyes of this gorgeous woman in a purple dress.
So beautiful that, suddenly, I start seeing marriage from another perspective.
“And anything else?” I ask, and she bites her lip as if deciding whether she should tell me.
“Well, someday, I’d like the chance to drive those luxury cars my father owns.”
“Drive?”
Her request surprises me.
“Yes. It must be liberating to control a thousand-dollar car and blast music while doing it.”
“If you ever saw an illegal street race, you’d go crazy,” I tease, and she narrows her eyes.
“Have you ever seen one?”
Oh, beautiful.
I participate in them.
And I never lose.
I run the Outfit’s races, and I admit there’s something absurdly surreal about feeling the wind hit my face while pushing a car to its limit.
Pure dopamine.
Pleasure.
Intensity in its rawest form.
“Yes,” is all I answer, and her eyes narrow even further.
Goddamn it, this woman is adorable.
“What a rebellious gardener, huh? Street racing is illegal.”
“It’s to make some extra money,” I justify, and her expression changes again.
Now she looks sorry for me.
“Does your boss pay you too little?” she asks indignantly. “I can talk to my father and try to get you a job. I don’t know how much you make here, but maybe…”
“Don’t worry. I’m fine,” I interrupt before I break through my own wall of self-control and go kiss her.
Because never has a woman cared about me that way without knowing who I was.
They’ve always been motivated by self-interest.
Never kindness or empathy.
“Are you sure?” she insists, and my chest warms at the sight of her concern.
“Yes, sweetheart. The races help me,” I say to reassure her because I don’t want to reveal my identity.
Not yet.
However, my answer seems to make her even more worried.
“Can you promise me you’ll be careful?”
“I don’t understand,” I say, feeling warmth spread throughout my body.
“In those races,” she explains. “I can’t ask you to stop racing because I don’t even know you, and I have no control over your life. So, since I don’t want to be abusive or unfair by taking away an important source of income for you, I’d like to ask you to be careful in those races. Don’t get hurt. Don’t die.”
“I’ll try.”
My voice comes out low and hoarse, almost as if I can feel my pulse pounding in my ears.
“Good.”
She adjusts her dress as though brushing something from the fabric.
“I need to go back inside.”
“All right.”
“Are you coming?”
“I’m too dirty for that.”
“Is that why you’re hiding there?” she asks in such an affectionate tone that it makes my chest vibrate. “I don’t care. I’d still like to see you.”
No, sweetheart.
You can’t see me like this.
“It’s better if you don’t,” I explain, and she nods, respecting my boundaries.
“Okay,” she says, still not moving. “But can I bring you something to eat? Or ask an employee to bring it to you? I promise I’ll be discreet.”
Oh, sweetheart…
“That won’t be necessary. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” she insists. “From what little I saw, there are so many delicious things on the menu.”
“Relax,” I reply, admiring this girl in a way I’ve never admired anyone before. “Don’t worry about me. Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll be busy trying to stay away from my fiancé,” she says, and although she’s joking, there’s a quiet sadness beneath her words that makes my blood boil.
I’ll take care of that.
“Maybe you can get some help.”
“Maybe.”
She sighs, smiling.
“The planets are aligned, and magical things happen at Christmas. Maybe I’ll get lucky with that.”
I laugh at her answer and slip my hands into my pockets to stop myself from going after her and touching her.
I’m filthy.
The blonde turns around to head back through the maze, but before she disappears between the trees, I call out to her.
“Look at the trees on the right side,” I say. “The ones with a horizontal mark on the bark will lead you straight to the exit. I marked the path years ago.”
She stops, surprised.
“You… marked the trees?”
“That’s what a gardener does when he doesn’t want to get lost,” I reply, and her smile widens.
So does mine.
“See you later, Mr. Stranger. Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll get to see you for real.”
“Tell me your name so I’ll know how to find you,” I say, finally realizing that little detail.
The blonde laughs again, and I don’t think I’ve ever liked anything about another person as much as I like the sound of her laughter.
“Rebecca,” she says, turning in her beautiful purple dress. “Rebecca Windsor.”
“My Bec,” I whisper so softly that she can’t hear me, because she’s already entering the maze and following the directions I gave her.
Then she’s gone.
But before I leave, I watch every one of her steps to make sure she reaches the mansion safely.
I circle around the back of the property and head off to take a shower, feeling adrenaline tremble through my body at the anticipation of what’s about to happen.
Because tonight, I’m going to propose to Rebecca Windsor.
