He returns it to the atlas, taking care to put it facedown. He closes the book then turns to me.
“Interesting reading?” he finally asks, his voice level. Like we’re talking about the weather.
“It was in Italian, so no.” My heart is racing. I don’t know how he’ll react, but it’s not that he forbade me to enter this room. It’s not that I broke in, and it’s not like I was snooping. It was just there.
Still, when he takes a step toward me, I take one back, but that’s a mistake because I’ve backed myself into a corner.
“Are you afraid of me?”
I don’t answer. I don’t want to lie, but I won’t admit the truth.
He grins. My silence is answer enough. He sets one hand on the wall beside me, leans into it. Into me. His gaze roams over my face then downward.
“Don’t you want to ask me anything?”
I shake my head no, but we both know it’s not true.
“Come on,” he taunts, setting his forearm on the wall, leaning into it. He undoes the top button on my shirt, then the second, then the third, and slides his hand inside to cup my breast, knead my nipple. My breathing is ragged by the time he pulls his hand out and meets my eyes. “You must have some questions? I told you all you had to do was ask.”
I stare up at him, and every hair on my body stands on end as I again shake my head.
He leans in close, so close his nose is almost touching mine. “Ask me your fucking questions.”
“I look just like her.”
“I already told you that, and that’s not a question.”
“Did you…is she…did you hurt her?”
“There you go,” he says, backing up a little, giving me a dark grin. “No. I didn’t hurt her. But I didn’t save her either.”
I’m processing his words when he continues.
“That letter, I finally found out what my father did. When I understood why she did it. Why she killed herself. Too little too late, though. So no, I didn’t hurt her. I hurt him. And this letter is a reminder to me. A reminder that trust is for fools. That family will betray you like no other.”
I know this already. I know the sting of blood betrayal.
Abruptly, he steps back, but not far enough that I can slip past. He takes my hand, and his grip is tighter than it needs to be.
“Does that satisfy your curiosity?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer but continues. “Let’s go upstairs,” he says, but I draw back.
“Is that why you’re the way you are?”
“And how is that?”
“Cruel.” I don’t mean it. I don’t know why I say it.
He exhales. Cocks his head to the side. “You don’t know cruel, Emilia.”
“You have no right to say that. You don’t know me like you think you do. You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
His eyes narrow. “Then tell me. Because I’m dying to know. Because what I’m thinking is that lashing your brother gave you, there’s more to it that you’re hiding and I can’t figure out if you’re protecting him or yourself.”
But he doesn’t give me a chance to respond, and I’m glad because I can’t. Not only do I not want to, I can’t. Instead, he picks up the bag and, with my hand in his, he walks me up the stairs to the third floor, to his bedroom. There, he releases me.
“Get undressed.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I stand there as he unzips the garment bag, takes the dress out. He holds it up to show it to me.
It’s beautiful, a dark red that will compliment my olive skin and dark hair. But there’s a problem with it.
“I can’t wear that.”
“Why not?”
“It has no back.” It’s a halter-top dress, with a deep V down the front and cut on a bias low on the back. It’s long, floor-length, but the back is cut so low, it will frame every single mark on my back like a painting.
“That’s the point. Get undressed. Put it on. I want to see you in it.”
I swallow. It’s hard to breathe sometimes when he’s close like this.
When I don’t move, he tosses the dress on the bed and comes toward me, walking me backward, kissing me just as my back hits the wall. He pulls the shirt I’m wearing over my head and turns me around. He unhooks my bra and peels it off before reaching around to unbutton my shorts. His fingers brush over my mound, my clit, and I suck in a breath. But that’s not what he wants right now. He pushes my shorts from me, takes my hands, and places them flat against the wall. My panties are the last to be stripped off. Once I’m naked, he stands back.
He’s close, but he’s not touching me. I feel him behind me, though. Feel his eyes on me. The heat of his body near mine. I turn my head, so I can see him from the corner of my eye. He takes off his button-down shirt, tosses it on the bed, and steps closer to lift my hair up and set it over my shoulder. His touch is soft. He’s not hurting me. He nudges my legs apart with his own and kisses the nape of my neck, and when he steps back, I set my forehead against the wall.