Married With Malice: An Arranged Marriage Romance
Married With Malice: Chapter 8

“The trick,” says Big Man Bowie, “is flipping the patties only once.”

He hunches in front of the gas stovetop to examine the meat sizzling in the large griddle pan and motions that I ought to join him.

“Is it done yet?” I ask after thirty seconds.

“Not even close,” replies Big Man Bowie in a near whisper, like he’s afraid to disturb the meat.

My sister’s husband takes food more seriously than he takes anything else. He’s been a hundred percent professional since he walked through the door, even donning a puffy food service hairnet to keep his wild blondish locks under control. He tried to hand me one too and when I declined, I could swear he disapproved.

I don’t need a hairnet because I’m not interested in serving the public. My only goal is to learn how to cook a few meals that won’t make anyone gag. Daisy was excited to volunteer her husband as my cooking teacher, which is why I’m now watching a brand new stove get christened with Big Man Bowie’s burgers.

Before tonight, the most complicated food I’ve learned how to cook is oatmeal. I can also boil an egg. My microwave skills are outstanding. Despite my mother’s best efforts to school her daughters in the kitchen, the only one who ever showed the slightest inclination to learn was Daisy. I never started a grease fire the way Sabrina did when she tried to make French toast, but I’m also without any patience for measuring ingredients or waiting for sauce to boil.

“Anni, you should come and stir the aioli sauce,” Daisy singsongs from her place at the kitchen island. She and Bowie arrived an hour ago with six grocery store bags and a determined wish to turn me into a great chef.

“Eat it, sucker!” Sabrina yells at her laptop and throws up her hands in victory. “Everyone hail the Combat Destiny queen.”

“Did you win your game?” Daisy says.

Sabrina closes the pink lid of her laptop and rolls on some lip gloss, smacking her lips together. “I always win.”

She tagged along for the cooking lesson with Daisy and Big Man Bowie. As the last daughter still living at the Barone estate, she’s feeling particularly under the microscope and hangs out elsewhere as much as possible.

When I returned from my honeymoon last week, I discovered that my father had arranged for most of my possessions to be moved here, to an oversized modern box of a house in Richie Amato’s neighborhood. The house was a wedding gift from Richie to his nephew and I’m just expected to play housewife in it.

“See how the meat is plumping up?” Big Man Bowie points with excitement.

I look at the meat. I confirm that it’s plumping up.

“That’s why you always want to put that well in the middle of each patty,” he says. “You just press your thumb in the middle, like I showed you.”

I have to admit, Big Man Bowie sounds far smarter when he’s talking about hamburgers.

Daisy floats over here to inspect our progress. “Ooh, those look yummy.”

“Almost ready to flip.” Big Man Bowie sticks a metal spatula in my hand.

“You want me to flip them?”

He grins. His hairnet slides back. “Sure.”

“You can do it, Anni,” Daisy cheers and starts clapping her hands.

Even Sabrina has left her seat at the counter to watch me wrangle with some beef patties. She stands on tiptoe in an effort to see over Daisy’s left shoulder.

This is a lot of pressure. The last time I felt this level of performance anxiety I was standing in an ice rink as a full arena watched.

Sliding the spatula under the nearest patty, I take a deep breath and flick the spatula over. The burger nearly rolls off the griddle but ultimately holds on. Repeating the process with the other five patties, I’ve grown fairly competent by the time I flip the last one.

“Great job,” Big Man Bowie says.

“I knew you could do it!” Daisy exclaims.

I’m starting to feel like a five-year-old who just learned how to write her name.

“Our Anni sure has a talent for handling the meat.” Sabrina slaps my back. Leave it to my little sister to imply there’s a link between smut and hamburgers.

Daisy pulls me over to the counter to mix the aioli ingredients together. After giving patient instructions on how to stir ingredients in a mixing bowl, she hands over the wire whisk. “Here, you can try.”

While I stir and Daisy hovers, Big Man Bowie starts slicing blocks of cheese.

“What do you and Luca like on your burgers?” he asks.

“Pepper Jack cheese on his,” I say as I whisk for all I’m worth. “No cheese on mine.”

“Where is Luca?” Daisy looks around the kitchen, possibly just realizing that he isn’t in the room.

“He’s, uh, working.”

This is true. At least, I think so. I’m being vague because I know very little about how Luca spends his days. The morning after we returned from Florida he dropped a kiss on my head and left at the crack of dawn to fulfill Richie Amato’s task list.

Six days later, his schedule stays the same. He wakes up early, he’s gone before I’ve even brushed my teeth and he arrives home long after dark. He always looks a little drained when he walks through the door. I don’t know how he has the energy to tear my clothes off and fuck like crazy for hours on end but he does.

Only when we’ve taken our fill of each other in half a dozen creative ways do we pass out in a tangle of sheets. The next day the pattern is the same. Luca stays gone while I’m here, unpacking boxes and inventorying wedding gifts and shopping online for random things to fill this empty house.

I may as well try some new hobbies, like learning how to cook. I’m not a fan yet, but maybe that will change if I keep whisking this aioli sauce for long enough.

Sabrina steals a slice of cheese from Big Man Bowie’s pile and decides to torment me. “I love how you blush whenever Luca’s name comes up.”

“I’m not blushing,” I grumble.

She chews on her cheese. “What will it take to get you to spill the raunchy honeymoon tea? I need all the vulgar details.”

“That’s enough stirring,” says Daisy and gently takes the bowl out of my hands to stop me from violently whisking the aioli to death.

“Do you guys go at it every single day?” Sabrina says. “You’re walking kind of funny. Maybe Luca should give you a break.”

“The secret to getting the cheese perfectly melted,” declares Big Man Bowie, who apparently hears nothing of the current conversation, “is to spray the griddle down with water to create steam.” He pumps from a small spritz bottle. Water sizzles and clouds of steam fill the kitchen.

“I am not walking funny,” I inform Sabrina.

She laughs and then starts to choke on a mouthful of cheese. I’m ready to perform the Heimlich but she recovers and agrees to take a seat with a glass of water.

“You see?” Big Man Bowie gestures with the spatula. “Look how nicely the cheese melts.”

“That’s awesome, babe,” Daisy tells him and they share a prolonged smooch.

“Anni, you really are walking funny,” Sabrina announces and resumes gulping her water.

There’s nothing to be gained by arguing with her. Besides, she might be right. After a rocky start, the honeymoon became a haze of wild sex, beach lounging, wine drinking and more wild sex. Luca is practically insatiable and I’m not complaining at all but at times I can admit to feeling pleasantly sore.

When we weren’t busy having orgasms, Luca and I managed to get along. Mostly. Petty bickering matches still broke out but they turned more flirty than vicious. And they’d usually end with yet another steamy outbreak of passion.

Now I’m stuck with the disconcerting idea that I might be developing a serious crush on my husband.

All sex aside, Luca can be…fun. He’s quick to laugh and makes friends everywhere he goes.

I’ve never been fun. Since I tend to gravitate toward equally serious and un-fun people, no one I’ve ever dated has been fun. Being on the arm of a charming, charismatic and absurdly sexy man is a new and dizzying experience.

Big Man Bowie is now toasting brioche buns and Daisy removes a sheet of homemade seasoned fries from the oven. Sabrina asks if she can just have ketchup on her hamburger instead of aioli or grilled onions or cheese. For the first time ever, Big Man Bowie looks offended.

“I’ll just put Luca’s food in the fridge,” I say and add a cheese-topped burger with fries to a plate before covering it with tin foil and placing the plate in the fridge.

When I turn around again, all three of them are smiling at me. To be fair, Big Man Bowie is always smiling and he probably has no special reason for smiling now. The smiles of my sisters are different.

Sabrina rocks on her barstool with a smug grin. Daisy’s head is tilted as she gazes at me with almost maternal affection.

“Our little Anni is in love,” Sabrina says and bites into her hamburger. Ketchup drips on her pink hoodie.

Daisy envelopes me in a fragrant hug. “Anni, I’m so happy for you. I knew it would all work out.”

Everyone is getting quite ahead of themselves. Not a word has been said about love. Explaining this to my sisters will be useless.

Instead of arguing, I eat my burger. It really is excellent. I feel a small amount of pride in knowing that I helped create it.

Big Man Bowie won’t leave until the kitchen is completely clean. He and Daisy brush me off when I try to assist. They truly make an adorable team and Daisy has taken an active role in the food truck business.

Sabrina and I are relegated to the counter barstools while they bustle around the kitchen. Not a minute goes by without Big Man Bowie glancing at Daisy. From the goofily pleased look on his face, it’s clear he can’t believe his luck that she’s all his.

“I’m feeling left out,” Sabrina says while shoving her sticker-covered laptop into her backpack. “Sleeping alone sucks.”

Daisy pauses in the middle of wiping down the counter and stares at Sabrina with confusion. “But you’ve slept alone your whole life.”

“Thanks for pointing that out,” Brina grumbles and lays her head on my shoulder in dramatic fashion. “Anni, please assure me that I won’t die before experiencing a real orgasm with something made of flesh and blood.”

I give her a squeeze and kiss the top of her head. “You’re still recovering from surgery. The orgasms can wait.”

“I’m completely recovered.” She slides off her barstool. “Are we going now? I have class in the city early tomorrow.”

On his way out, Big Man Bowie surprises me with his thoughtfulness when he hands me some index cards with his own recipes written out. “But don’t, like, post them on the internet or anything.” He flashes his trademark toothy grin. “Can’t let everyone know my secrets.”

“They’re safe with me,” I assure him.

Daisy kisses my cheek. Brina hugs my waist.

The minute my sisters are gone, the silence becomes oppressive. Even the temperature seems to drop and I rub my arms as I wander through the house.

The floorplan leaves out a lot of walls and blends all the common living areas. It’s the kind of open layout loved by those who enjoy being the hostess. I’m not that person. The vast warren of rooms in the mansion where I grew up was filled with my mother’s maximalist taste and there were always a dozen cozy places to curl up and escape for a while.

Here, the grey walls are bare, every designer touch is dully neutral and the slate-colored tile plank floors make the place look institutional. Most of the brand new modern furniture arrived before we did. Another gift from Richie Amato. The black and white and grey color scheme is the opposite of warm and inviting. I’d like to hire a decorator and start from scratch. An added bonus is this would give me something to do.

Luca won’t care. He already told me to go ahead and do whatever I wanted to the house.

Like every other day so far, he didn’t say when he’d be home. Usually, he shows up between eight and ten p.m. It’s now half past eight.

Sending him a text would be entirely reasonable. But before I’ve even finished slipping my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans I chicken out. Sending a message feels too needy and we’re already in a weird place.

We’re married. We’re having sex. A LOT. We’re living together.

And we’re not sure if we like each other.

This is not entirely accurate. With each passing day, I’ve grown to accept the idea that I do like Luca. I’ve abandoned all plots to make his life miserable. I feel good when I’m with him.

From what I can tell, Luca doesn’t hate my company either. There were times on the honeymoon when he was downright sweet, like our last night there when he made special arrangements with the kitchen to serve my favorite dessert of panna cotta topped with fresh berries, though it wasn’t even on the menu.

Life with Luca Connelly is proving to be far from terrible. Sabrina didn’t lie. I’m aware that I blush every time I say his name.

A low rumbling interrupts my thoughts. By now I can recognize the sound of the garage door opening.

The sudden fluttery feeling in my belly feels pretty close to excitement. I make a quick dash upstairs to our bedroom. There’s no harm in checking the mirror and running a brush through my hair, especially after spending the evening in the kitchen.

I rinse my mouth out to get rid of any lingering burger breath and exchange my boring black sweater for a daring red V-neck top.

All the while, I strain to hear the sound of the door connecting the garage to the house. Luca never enters quietly.

When I still don’t hear anything after another minute of primping I start to wonder if I imagined the sound of the garage door opening.

This room is right above the garage and a set of French doors in the bedroom opens up to a shallow balcony. When I step outside, I’m greeted with the pleasant chill of an early November evening.

The night air is still and Luca’s voice is very clear. He’s directly below and he must be talking on the phone.

“I get it,” he says. “Some days are a struggle. But it won’t be forever.”

He’s quiet for a moment as he listens to whatever is being said by the person on the other end.

Then he barks out a laugh.

“Hey, I’m right there with you. There comes a time when you’ve got to take one for the team and get what you can out of it.”

It takes a few seconds for his words to really sink in. When they do, a panicked message from my brain insists that he could have been talking anything. Anything at all.

But coldly grim and rational logic has a different warning. Luca was most likely talking about us. And our joke of a marriage.

Luca never wanted to marry me. Why would he? We weren’t even friendly, let alone romantic. But Luca has a talent for turning every situation to his advantage. He’s biding his time here and nothing more.

On our honeymoon, all he really promised me was lots of hot sex while we’re both trapped in this arrangement. He’s doing his part for his family and getting what he can out it. He’s ‘taking one for the team’. Whatever feelings I’ve caught are mine alone.

I’m ridiculous for feeling distraught. My throat is tight and the taste in my mouth is sour. This is worse than getting dumped in public on New Year’s Eve. It’s worse because I can’t just run home and cry in the arms of my sisters. I am home and so is he.

The stupidest thing I can do is show him my tears. I can’t handle the idea of receiving pity from Luca Connelly.

He’s still talking but the conversation is wrapping up. In silence, I retreat from the balcony. Right before I close the double doors I hear him say, “All right, man. We’ll talk soon.”

If Luca knows I was out here then it might occur to him that I’ve overheard what he said. Hastily, I dash down the stairs and return to the kitchen. When the door leading to the garage finally opens, I’m busy pretending to clean a countertop that’s already spotless.

Luca calls my name but walks into the kitchen before I can answer. At the sight of me, he breaks into one of his absurdly handsome smiles. No matter how hard I try to stifle a reaction, I fail.

“Hey you.” He doesn’t await an invitation as he pulls me close. His mouth is warm and tastes like peppermint. Without even thinking, I lean in and give him my tongue.

The heart really is a strange instrument. It can crack with pain and light up with pleasure at the same time.

Luca presses into me and threads his fingers through my hair. “I’ve waited all day for this,” he whispers and moves his hips to show off how hard he is. “Let’s go upstairs.”

I twist out of his grip. “I’ve got my period,” I snap and turn away.

He tries again, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Then I’ll give you a back rub.”

Even under these circumstances he’s tough to resist. How I’d love to forget all this new turmoil and just enjoy feeling good.

“Forget it. I’m not in the mood.” I move away from him and cross my arms, giving my final answer.

There’s confusion on his face, even a passing glimpse of hurt.

Or maybe he was just committed to getting his dick sucked before bed.

In any case, he’s over it in a flash and opening the fridge. “I smell food. Were you actually cooking?”

I shrug my shoulders. “The girls were over with Big Man Bowie and they were messing around in the kitchen. Were you doing something in the garage?”

He glances up. “What do you mean?”

I regret blurting out the question. But a small, pathetic hope insists that I might be wrong about what I overhead. If so, he has nothing to hide. “I just heard the garage door open a while before you came into the house.”

The change in his face is so slight it’s easy to miss. His eyes shift for a split second and then return with new vigilance. “Just a quick call with my brother.”

“How is Cale? And how’s his wife? She’s due in a couple of months, isn’t she?”

Luca rarely allows his brother to come up in conversation. It’s not as if they’re estranged. Obviously, they are still close. Yet any mention of Cale causes him to clam up and change the subject. Luca is capable of talking a blue streak but he won’t share anything that matters. At least not with me.

“They’re fine.” He clears his throat, sticks his head in the fridge, and points to the foil-covered plate. “What’s that?”

“A hamburger. Feel free to eat it if you want.”

Luca pulls a beer out of the fridge instead. “Nah, I just ate an hour ago.” He pops the cap of the beer bottle. “Your father called today.”

My father hasn’t spoken to me since the night of the wedding. The memory of that conversation stirs a queasy feeling in my gut as I watch Luca take a big swallow.

“What did he want?”

Luca offers the beer bottle to me and I shake my head. He takes one more drink and pours the rest of the contents down the sink. “He’s concerned about your safety.”

Hilarious. It’s more accurate to say that he’s concerned about his investment but I keep my mouth shut.

Luca fires the bottle into the trash can. He has excellent aim. “Anyway, he wants to send one of his guys around to look out for you when I’m not home.”

“NO!”

Completely unplanned, the way that word shot out like a scream.

Luca is startled. “What’s wrong?” He’s already reaching for me.

I back away from him so quickly that my hip smacks into the counter. “We don’t need any of my father’s men around here.”

Because I know how my father’s mind works and I know exactly who he’ll send.

But now Luca is perplexed and a new suspicion is starting to dawn on him. “Anni, why are you afraid?”

On instinct, I hug my arms around my body. When I notice that Luca is watching closely, I relax them immediately.

“If you won’t tell my father no,” I say, “then I’ll tell him. I’m not a kid anymore and I won’t tolerate getting roughed up in my own house.”

I’ve said too much. That story is unknown outside the immediate family. If I hadn’t been feeling so raw already then I would have managed to keep my mouth shut.

But Luca has already caught on and he’s furious. “Which one of those bastards touched you? Tell me right now and I swear to god I’ll fucking handle it.”

I believe he would. But if I revisit that awful day then I’ll end up blubbering in Luca’s arms. And I won’t be doing that tonight or any other night.

“Never mind,” I say. “It’s in the past. But no one from my father’s crew is allowed anywhere near here. Understand?”

Luca’s jaw is tight. He dislikes this answer but there’s nothing he can do about it. “They’re not welcome at our house. I’ll make that clear to your father. You have my word.”

A few minutes ago I wasn’t tired at all. Now I’m so weary that it’s a struggle to keep my eyes open. “I’m going to read for a little while and go to sleep.”

Luca nods. He rakes a hand through his hair. It’s a habit of his when he’s especially troubled.

“Anni, I hope you know that I would never ever let anyone hurt you.”

I can’t answer him. There are too many intense and mingled emotions threatening to surface. If I open my mouth, I’ll surely cry.

As I slowly climb the stairs without acknowledging Luca’s last words, I hear him breathe out a sigh of irritation.