Chapter Eight_ Well you're not Isabella

“Teach me then. Teach me how to defend myself.”

There was nothing hotter than my grey eyed wife, standing before me while asking for things like she had nothing to lose.

I couldn't help but chuckle.

I had spent the night staring at the little Instagram post she made yesternight from our ride to the party.

My hand on her bare thigh, the black gown complementing my black suit.

Some photos were meant for aesthetic purposes. I knew the reason what that one meant.

But just one word kept replaying in my mind.

Mine.

I let out a low chuckle. "You think you can just demand for something, and I would simply hand it to you on a silver platter?"

A part of me admired her boldness, her refusal to cower for her mother, and in the face of the storm that was our marriage.

But another part of me knew better.

Her jaw tightened, and she took a step closer. "I'm not asking you to hand me anything, Matteo. I'm asking you to teach me how to protect myself," She said. "Everyone talks about how being the wif