Chapter 50

Chapter 50
Sophia's POV
The château's rose garden sparkled under the afternoon sun, filled with guests in designer gowns and tailored suits. Isabella's wedding reception was everything she'd ever dreamed of—elegant, extravagant, and completely perfect.
And I was miserable.
I stood at the edge of the crowd, watching my sister laugh with Michael as they posed for photographs. She looked radiant in her custom Vera Wang dress, every inch the blushing bride. No one would ever guess she'd stolen him from me just months ago.
"Well, well. If it isn't my dear sister."
I turned to find Isabella approaching, champagne flute in hand and that familiar cruel smile on her lips. Even now, on her wedding day, she couldn't resist twisting the knife.
"Isabella." I forced my voice to remain neutral. "Beautiful ceremony."
"Thank you." She sipped her champagne, studying me with predatory interest. "You look tired, Sophia. Rough night?"
I felt heat rise in my cheeks. "I'm fine."
"Are you?" Her eyes glittered with malicious curiosity. "I couldn't help but notice you and your husband seemed rather... distant this morning. Tell me, did you two actually sleep together last night? Or are you still living like roommates?"
My stomach twisted. She was fishing, but her aim was disturbingly accurate.
"That's none of your business."
"Oh, but it is." Isabella stepped closer, lowering her voice to an intimate whisper. "See, I've been thinking about your situation. Poor Sophia, trapped in a marriage with a man who can't even..." She paused dramatically. "Well, you know. Function properly."
The words hit like a slap. "Isabella—"
"It must be so frustrating," she continued, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "All dressed up as the perfect wife, but never actually getting to experience what marriage is supposed to be about. How long has it been now? And still nothing real between you two."
I wanted to walk away, but my feet felt rooted to the ground. 
"At least I'm not a husband-stealing bitch," I said quietly.
Her laugh was like broken glass. "Oh, sweetie. Michael chose me. That's very different from stealing." She leaned closer. "But I suppose you wouldn't understand the difference, would you? After all, when will you ever experience a man actually choosing you for passion instead of obligation?"
God, she knows exactly where to hit.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" Isabella's smile widened. "Come on, Sophia. We both know the truth. You're stuck in a sexless marriage with a man who can't give you what any woman needs. You'll spend the rest of your life wondering what you're missing, what real intimacy feels like."
My mind flashed back to this morning in the hotel. The way I'd woken up with Vito's body pressed against mine, his arm heavy across my waist. The unmistakable hardness I'd felt against my lower back when he'd shifted in his sleep.
For one breathless moment, I'd stayed perfectly still, cataloging every sensation. The solid weight of his chest against my shoulders. The warmth of his breath on my neck. And most shocking of all, the impressive evidence that whatever physical limitations everyone assumed he had, they clearly weren't universal.
Jesus, he was so hard. So big. Even through the layers of our clothes, I'd been able to feel exactly how substantial he was. It had sent a wave of heat through me that I'd tried desperately to ignore.
No wonder he'd only used his hands on me yesterday. If he was proportioned to match what I'd felt this morning, I wasn't sure I could handle the full experience.
"You're wrong," I said, my voice stronger than I felt.
"Am I?" Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Prove it. Tell me about all the amazing sex you're having with your disabled husband."
The challenge hung in the air between us. I could see the triumph already building in her eyes, the satisfaction of having cornered me into admitting my humiliation.
But something rebellious flared up inside me. Maybe it was months of swallowing her cruelty, or maybe it was the memory of how Vito had made me come apart with just his fingers. Either way, I was done being her victim.
"You want to know about my husband's capabilities?" I said, my voice dropping to match her whisper. "Fine. Let me tell you exactly how capable he is."
Isabella's smug expression faltered slightly.
"His hands know exactly how to touch me," I continued, emboldened by her surprise. "He makes me come so hard I can barely remember my own name. And as for the rest of him..." I let my eyes drift meaningfully downward. "Let's just say his cock is absolutely perfect. Thick, long, and he knows exactly how to use it."
The lie rolled off my tongue with surprising ease. Isabella's face had gone pale beneath her makeup.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" I smiled sweetly. "You seem awfully interested in my sex life for someone who just got married. Having second thoughts about Michael already? Because I can tell you from experience, he's not exactly impressive in that department."
"Shut up."
"What's wrong, Isabella? Realizing you might have made the wrong choice? At least my husband can satisfy me completely. Can you say the same about yours?"
For a moment, I thought she might actually slap me. Her free hand clenched into a fist, and her champagne glass trembled in her grip.
Then her gaze shifted to something behind me, and her expression changed entirely.
"Well," she said, her voice suddenly honey-sweet. "Why don't we ask him ourselves?"
My blood turned to ice. I turned slowly, and there was Vito, approaching us across the garden with that fluid grace that always made my heart race. He was devastating in his black tuxedo, every inch the powerful man he really was beneath the wheelchair facade.
How much did he hear?
"Darling," Isabella called out brightly. "We were just talking about you."
Vito's dark eyes moved between us, and I felt my face flame with embarrassment. There was something in his expression—a dangerous sort of amusement.
"Were you?" His voice was smooth as silk. "How flattering."

"Soph—" Isabella started, then caught herself, her eyes widening in panic. "I mean, Isabella was just telling me how... satisfied she is in your marriage." Her recovery was quick, but I caught the slip. So did Vito, if the slight narrowing of his eyes was any indication.
My heart hammered against my ribs. She almost said my real name. In front of Vito.
Isabella's smile looked more strained now, but she pressed on. "She had such interesting things to say about your... performance."
I'm going to die. Right here, in this rose garden, I'm going to die of mortification.
Vito's gaze moved between us slowly, and I saw something dangerous flicker in his dark eyes. "Did she?"
"Oh yes," Isabella continued, clearly flustered but trying to regain control. "She was very descriptive about your various... talents."
"Isabella," I managed to croak, shooting her a warning look. She was playing with fire.
"I have to admit, I was surprised. Given your condition, I would have assumed certain aspects of marriage might be... challenging for you both."
The temperature in the garden seemed to drop ten degrees. Vito's expression didn't change, but something lethal shifted behind his eyes.
"I see," he said quietly, his voice carrying an undertone that made my skin prickle. "And what exactly did my wife tell you about our intimate life?"
Isabella's smile wavered. Maybe she was finally realizing she'd pushed too far, especially after her near slip-up.
"I—well, she just—"
"Because," Vito continued, his voice still perfectly calm, "I'd hate for there to be any misconceptions about my capabilities. Or my wife's satisfaction."
He moved his wheelchair closer to me, and his hand settled possessively on my waist. Even through the fabric of my dress, his touch burned.
"Isn't that right, cara mia?" His fingers squeezed gently, and I felt that familiar heat pool low in my belly.
"Yes," I whispered, acutely aware of both Isabella's jealous stare.
"Good." His thumb traced a small circle against my hip, a gesture so subtle only I could feel it. "Because I'd hate for anyone to question whether I can take proper care of my wife."
Isabella was staring at us with something that looked like envy mixed with fear, her earlier triumph completely evaporated.
"Well," she said finally, her voice strained. "I should get back to my guests."
She turned and walked away with as much dignity as she could muster, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. The near slip-up had rattled her.
"Interesting conversation," Vito murmured, his hand still resting on my waist. "Very interesting indeed."
"I can explain—"
"Can you?" He looked up at me, and there was something in his expression that made my pulse race. "Or is the sex life you just described what you want? You should have told me earlier that you didn't just want my fingers inside you. I think... at least in terms of sex, I can definitely satisfy you."