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“We’re back to that, are we?” But this time, I’m exhausted. If he wants to end me, there’s no stopping him. I yawn again and walk to the couch, where I sit down but can’t keep my body upright. I topple over on my left side, rest my head on the decorative pillow, and lift my feet.
Severio appears at the foot of the couch.
He looks displeased, like I’m a dirty rag someone left on his furniture. When he grabs my ankle, I think he might drag me off the couch, but his fingers start unlooping my sandal straps.
“You can ask me anything,” he says, sounding sincere. “Particularly about the Order. A man who makes you feel like you can’t ask him a question is a man you should run from.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t run from you?”
He slips off my sandals and tucks my feet back on the couch. “You asked me a question.”
With that single reply as his answer, Severio walks onto the terrace. At the iron railing, he picks up his phone and turns from the view of the moonlit sea. He leans against the glass, crosses an ankle over the other, and watches me.
6
THE MORNING AFTER
CRISTINA
Iawake with a pounding headache and soreness below the base of my neck. Groaning, I turn on my right side and peel open my eyes. Under the thick blackout curtains, the sun’s rays leave a strip of yellow light. The weather channel said today’s heat wave will raise the temperature several degrees above normal, and I bet people will venture to the beach or swimming pool until nighttime, when the temperatures will return to what they normally are this time of year.
Wait a moment.
I sit up and look around. Soft beige interior. A round table for two in the right corner across from the bed. Natural caramel glazed hardwood floors. It takes me no time at all to recognize Villa Segreta’s master bedroom. Oh no. No, no, no.
What am I doing here?
My headache intensifies, seemingly wishing for my head to explode.
I plop back on the pillow, throw a forearm over my eyes, and expel a tired breath, even though I slept well under the influence of alcohol.
We didn’t…
Did we?
I don’t think so. I feel the same. Not that I think losing my virginity in a drunken state would make me feel different the next day, but still, I wonder, considering I woke up in Severio’s bed.
I recall last night. Nearing four in the morning, exhausted, I plopped onto the couch in the living room. Severio stood at the foot of the couch and took off my sandals. After that, I must’ve crashed, but I don’t remember walking to the bedroom.
Wait, my wedding dress.
I lift the light sheet and look down at my body. I’m wearing a V-neck T-shirt. The cotton is soft and definitely not mine. And is that cologne I smell? I sniff the neck of the shirt. Most definitely cologne, and it’s the same one Severio wore last night. I’d recognize the smell anywhere.
My headache-ridden brain slowly computes what must have occurred after I fell asleep.
Severio Mancini undressed me, put his T-shirt over me, and laid me down in his bed. I glance to his side of the bed and note his pillow is rumpled. Immediately, I start to self-soothe, telling myself we didn’t sleep together, even if it was only sleeping. Perhaps it’s even worse if all we did was sleep. Somehow, it’s more intimate than if we spent the night having sex.
I could’ve rumpled his pillow in my sleep. It means nothing. But there’s a way to be sure he didn’t sleep next to me. I bring his pillow to my nose and inhale his masculine scent and his cologne. Since this is the first night Severio spent in the resort, I’m sure we slept together.
Severio Mancini and I slept together.
We did it on the night the island people think I married his uncle.
I’m a virginal tramp. Ugh. I throw his pillow against the door of the closet near his nightstand and cover my eyes with myarms. My headache now pounds with fury, and if I don’t calm down, I’ll throw up. Also, I have to pee.
In the bathroom, after I finish my business, I splash water on my face and pause at the mirror. Long dark brown hair covers my large breasts, and my cheeks flush when I think about Severio undressing me, seeing all my curves.
I pull down his T-shirt and check the tattoo dressing, briefly wondering if I’ll summon the courage to remove it today and view the design I’ll wear for the rest of my life. Gordon said it was a serpent, so I’m imagining some badass snake tat I’d never think of getting myself. I never considered ink on my skin anyhow, but if I had, I’d prefer a butterfly or maybe a flower. Most definitely not a serpent.
