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This has gone into such fictional territory now, I can’t help myself. “What other terms do you have?”
Stephano slows down and turns to face me, as if we’re Romeo and Juliet and this is the balcony scene. Instead of breaking into a soliloquy about my beauty and his undying love for me, he retraces his steps and comes to stand flush with me.
I inch back to get away from his dominance, his body radiating heat and power. My back connects with my room’s closed door. He comes even closer then, leaning with his arm against the doorjamb and trapping me with his body.
Oh, God. We’ve been here before. That night in Cannes. Him in total control of himself and the situation, me a wanton mess. I inhale his scent as my eyes run over the stubble on his jaw, up to his ear and a knife scar below his lobe. I’ve never noticed it before, but half an inch deeper and it could have been deadly. We don’t touch, but my breath has caught, and when our gazes connect, the look in his eyes sends shivers of desire down my spine.
“Of all the shit they could lock me up for, marriage fraud won’t be one of them. So this will be a real marriage,” he says, his tone soft but serious. “You’ll move in with me, I'll look after you as I would look after the wife I vowed to never have, and you will let me take care of things, no questions asked.”
I close my eyes for a second, dipping into the dream of letting go and having this man take care of everything, Franco Fiore included.
Allowing him to look after a wife he vowed to never have.That could involve so many things…
It’s too easy. It’s too dangerous. I know what Stephano Scalera is capable of, and it’s a whole new level of danger I’ve never anticipated.
I can’t let him have control over me like this. Already, this situation is veering towards being a repeat of Cannes, but this time, so much more is at stake.
He’s already proven how easily he can make my body succumb to him, but getting more intimate with him, going all the way, will connect me with him on an emotional level I can’t afford. No, not with this man. There is something about him that will make me latch onto him, a needy mess of a woman who’dalways want more, need more, give more, until there was no return.
I’m so used to keeping my distance, knowing where to draw the line to protect myself when it comes to men. I’d be an idiot to think having sex with Stephano would be a one-off. The way that night in Cannes has been occupying my mind, my fantasies, only gives a hint of what going all the way with him would do to me. Once will never be enough and I won’t be able to distance myself from him. I’d fall hopelessly in love.
Falling in love is the last thing I can afford, least of all with a man in the Mafia. I can’t break every vow I’ve ever made to myself by falling irretrievably in love with Stephano Scalera.
Thank God a marriage to him will be temporary, but for my sake, it will also have to be as short as possible. And as much as I want him to succumb to me, to lose control for once, I can’t afford for it to happen.
When I look at him again, his eyes are so close, I can see how the lighter milk chocolate brown on the inside of his iris melts into the darker outside rim.
“And a divorce at the end of it, no questions asked?” I murmur, trying to steel myself against his charm which he turns on like a faucet, but being weak in the knees at him standing this close to me again.
“Yes. You’ll go back to Italy, and our lives will go on as if the marriage never happened.” His gaze caresses my face, as if he’s memorizing each part of my bone structure like a sculptor would. “What are your terms, angel?”
“My terms?” Except for making his life hell? Which would probably grow old quickly once routine sets in. “We’ll never consummate the marriage.” Being a good Catholic girl, I need a solid reason for divorce.As if.He doesn’t need to know what his physical presence does to me. “We’ll never have sex.Ever.”
There. I’ve said it. He can have everything exceptme.
Stephano pushes away from the wall, a smirk on his face. “That’s your only stipulation?”
“Yes. No kissing either. No nothing.” That should cover all bases.
“Right. No kissing, no sexever, angel, because you definitely don’t want me to fuck you. Noted.”
Stephano is out of my personal space and down the stairs so quickly, I feel like catching a breath. And throwing something at him. He is such an arrogant ass. He doesn’t look back, not once as he jogs down the stairs or when he crosses the open-concept living area to the foyer that leads to the front door.
If only I could have a smidgen of the control he seems to have over himself and over everything he does, I’d be at peace around him. But I don’t. My body’s reaction to him belies every emotion I’m trying to suppress when it comes to Stephano.
God. I love to hate him, because all I can do is stare after him as he walks away, sagging against the door with the sinking feeling that I’ve just denied myself the thing I secretly want the most.
24
GIGI
I struggled to fall asleep last night. Our options are limited. I can’t come up with any other solutions, and panicking doesn’t help. It rises in me every time I think back of Friday night, because I have no clue what happened to Don Trapani. Whether he is dead or alive.
We’re cut off from the rest of the world. I desperately need to shop for some basics, and even this seems like a mountain to climb now we’re stranded. Tasha lent me some clothes, and the adjacent bathroom is kitted with everything I need, but this isn’t sustainable either. Stephano’s promise he’lllook after the wifehe vowed to never have andtakecare of thingsis very tempting, but I’m not sure what he’ll table underlook after the wifeandtake care of things.
After showering, I deal with my cuts while trying not to look at them or gag, and dress again in some borrowed clothes. As I open the door to the landing, voices echo from downstairs. This apartment is weirdly soundproof—I wasn’t even aware other people were awake. By the stark sunlight falling through the windows, it’s past midday already.
I glance over the glass railing to the big room below. Carla sits at the dining table with Tasha, Matteo, and Stephano. Several boxes, empty plates, and some food platters clutter up the twelve-seater. Two chairs are covered with clothes, and a pile of boutique totes and shoe boxes are discarded to the side.
