My heart beats faster.
After I get you settled, like he has to tuck me in bed and pull up the covers first.
Oh, Santo.
Santo.
I’ve missed him so much. I’ve missed what we had.
I’ve missed who I was when I was with him.
We’ve never had any kind of relationship anyone else could know about. We were discreet, and we were cautious.
Most of the time.
But even if we’d never touched each other… even if we’d never gone to the places where we did… we shared a bond I imagine no one else has. Something just between the two of us.
We walk in silence up the carpeted steps and land on the second floor, where my room and Natalia’s are. We live sometimes here and sometimes in Tuscany, though I spend more time here since Santo’s exile.
Not of my own choice, though. I need to keep him safe.
As our footsteps reach the landing, I talk out loud, in case anyone’s listening. I know the cameras are trained on every doorway, I know that guards are in the shadows.
“I’ll have your sheets changed and make sure you have everything you need.”
He nods. “Thank you. I’ll get what I need from my room.”
He steps aside when we reach the doorway and lets me open the door.
My heart beats faster.
A part of me’s on edge, as if holding my breath, like Tavi or Orlando or someone will come around the corner and point their fingers at us. “Traitors! Liars!”
As if.
And yet…
And yet I’m nervous about what might happen next. Maybe a small part of me hopes someone will stop us. Fate’s thrown us in close proximity… and I fear what will happen without an ocean between us. With nothing but principles and rules between us.
Santo and I have no future together, and we both know that. At any moment, Romeo could arrange for me to be married to someone and eventually will. Though I’m not as exclusive a commodity as Marialena, in her untouched virginity—God—I am a Rossi, and that means something. Marriage to me would strengthen any family we joined forces with.
I open the door to my room and enter, and he follows behind me. Even if I didn’t know he was there, I could… feel him.
I can’t look at him. I can’t even make eye contact.
My heart races as I turn the lock, my fingers trembling on the cold metal. Downstairs, I hear cars approaching the house. Santo immediately stalks to the window and opens the shade.
“Montavios have arrived early, looks like.”
I join him. Our elbows brush each other. “Ah, just a few. They’re not all here yet. Some come from further away than others. They’re party animals, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” he says with a laugh. I give him a sharp look. Is there a reason for that comment?
“Don’t get your panties all in a wad, baby,” he says, drawing the shade back down. “Jesus, I didn’t bang your cousins.”
Yet. Hmph.
Maybe he doesn’t remember how lovely they are. Mama comes from strong stock.
Our rooms here are large and expansive, Natalia’s and the nanny’s all attached to mine. The nanny’s door’s shut tight.
“Let me have a word with her,” Santo says, his heavy brows drawing together over piercing eyes. I almost feel bad for the girl, until I remember in my negligence that she allowed my daughter into danger.
And I don’t feel so badly anymore.
“Go,” I say with a nod. “Should I join you?”
“Better if you don’t.”
“Alright, then. Good. I’m going to take a shower.”
His eyes drag lazily from my face to my bare chest. Across my cleavage. To my slim waist and curvy hips, before dragging back up to my eyes.
“Go, baby,” he whispers. “Go shower.”
I hitch in a breath when he reaches a finger to my cheek, the mere ghost of a touch, before he turns away, straightens his shoulders, and heads to the other room.
I don’t release my breath until the door shuts.
I look around the rooms. Impeccably tidy, thanks to twice-daily housekeeping. I love having my space clean. There’s a window in the large sitting room that overlooks the stone wall, the ocean churning and crashing behind it. We had this wing outfitted with comfortable Italian leather furniture and a plush, vibrant carpet. Simple but bold art adorns the walls, chosen by Mama and Marialena when we remodeled this wing.
I have a small but functional kitchenette, where I make our tea and small meals when we’re not eating with the rest of the family. A short distance from the kitchenette is the door that leads to my room and the bathroom.
I have a white desk in the corner of my room with a matching white leather chair. I’ve always liked white. Maybe because it’s a sign of purity, something I’ve always craved but never could quite have. Not when you have a family like mine.