Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Where?” she asks nervously.
“Wherever you want,” I tell her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Mother says goodbye, and then I sit beside Elena and wrap my arm around her. For a moment, she cringes, and I think she’s going to tell me to move, tell me I’m pushing her too fast. Instead, she sinks against me.
“How can you scare me and still make me feel warm and safe?”
“I don’t want to scare you,” I whisper.
“I know.”
There’s a long pause, and I’m unsure what else to say or what words I can mash together to make this right. Perhaps I should accept that it will never be as simple as that.
“We can have a date,” she goes on. “Just give me a couple of hours to get ready and straighten my head.”
“Why don’t I book a restaurant for us, just me and you, nobody else? I’ll make it a secure, safe location, with my most trusted men keeping watch. Nobody will be able to touch you.” My voice grows husky as I lean in close for a kiss. “Elena, nobody’s ever going to touch you again. Just me.”
At the last moment, she turns away, meaning my lips connect with her cheek instead of her mouth. She moans as I kiss her cheek, then down toward her neck. I’m getting carried away again.
“Stop,” she says.
Without hesitation, I let her go and move away from her. I have to lean back in my chair and put my hands in my lap. Being close to her after three days is enough to get my blood pumping hotly, my insistent thickness throbbing.
“I’ll make arrangements,” I say, standing.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ELENA
Ispend an hour moving around the townhouse as sneakily as I can. I’m doing something bad. If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that bad and good and right and wrong are flexible concepts, at least to the Morettis. I can still see, hear, and even smell what happened at the farmhouse: the noises and the fury on Dario’s face. I shouldn’t let these confounding feelings reenter my heart. I try to stamp on them, drench them in darkness before they take hold.
Yet it’s no good. Even as I put my contingency plan in place, they’re there, simmering beneath the surface. Let him go. I scream the words in my head. You hardly know him. I saw how he looked at me when Maria asked if he wanted to make the marriage real. He looked like he wanted to say yes.
In the back of the car, I hug close to Dario. It’s one of the ironies of our situation that he can inspire so much fear and want in me simultaneously. He looks down at me with serious, intense eyes, his arm wrapped comfortingly around my shoulders.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“You don’t?”
“Your opinion matters, too.”
“Maybe I want you to take the lead,” I say.
He gently kisses me on the forehead, a warm imprint that signals the rest of me, telling me to get more, more, more. Telling me to grab his face and sink against him, throw myself at him like I did right after the kidnapping, but that instance came from a different place.
“You look beautiful,” he tells me.
Something in his tone shapes my lips into a complicated smile. “You wouldn’t prefer if I wore one of your fancy dresses, like at the charity gala?”
I’m wearing faded jeans and a sparkly top from my old wardrobe, an outfit that would’ve seemed extravagant in my old life. Dario looks dashing in his steel-colored suit, his cufflinks glinting, his black hair combed aside.
“You always look perfect,” he says huskily.
When my cell phone rings, I almost ignore it again. Dario looks at the screen and says, “That’s your friend, isn’t it? Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“I’ve been ignoring her calls,” I admit.
“Why?”
“I feel like we’re from different universes now. She’d never understand why I’m still here after what happened.”
“Why are you still here?”
Money, I try to say, but it’s more complex than that. I answer the call, mainly to avoid his question, trying to make my tone casual so she doesn’t notice anything is wrong. “Hey.”
“Finally,” Giulia says. “How’re you doing?”
“Uh, good. You?”
“Yeah, we’re good. Except Mafia men are tailing us everywhere we go.”
“That’s just a precaution. They just want to make sure you’re safe. How’s Aunt Rosa?”
“That’s why I’ve been calling. She wants to speak with you.”
“But her therapy and everything, it’s going well?”
“Very well. These fancy-pants therapists know their stuff. The doctors are much nicer when they realize we can pay any fee they throw at us. Hang on. I’ll take the phone to her.”
“No, wait …”
Giulia doesn’t hear me. Not consciously thinking about it, being on the phone with ordinary people makes me retreat to the other side of the car. Dario says nothing but looks hurt, a glint of pain through his savagery.