“Federico can be a little coarse,” Mr. Antonucci said. “I apologize.”
I inclined my head, but didn’t answer. How her stepfather could have sat there and allowed her brothers to pick her apart and break her down like that was beyond me. Perhaps he barely heard it anymore. That was a disturbing thought because it meant this behavior had been going on for years.
We finished the meal with a smattering of careful small talk. Rosalia kept her eyes down and ignored everyone except the dog, which appeared in the middle of the meal and sat at her feet. She slipped it bits of sandwich until her stepfather noticed and sent her a harsh glare.
“I’m going to put Lily in the backyard,” she said, clicking her fingers for the dog.
I watched her body sway as she left the room with the ancient dog in tow. She had the fucking prettiest round ass and it jiggled just a little when she walked. Tearing my eyes away, I leaned back in my chair and exchanged a few more minutes of small talk with her father. Then I excused myself, saying I needed the restroom, and went out into the empty hall. There was no one in sight and the back door was shut. I crossed to the window, but the porch was empty save for the dog sunning itself.
I’d been in the Antonucci house many times and I knew where Rosalia’s room was, but I’d never been inside it. I kept my steps quiet as I ascended the stairs and moved down the main hall.
At the end was a set of spiral stairs that led to the third floor. They were cramped, the perfect size for Rosalia, but not quite big enough for me to comfortably use. I bent my head and climbed up them, spilling out into the empty hall. At the end was a door with a rounded top that led to the tower where Rosalia slept.
I was never sure why she chose to lock herself away, but now it made sense. She liked quiet and comfort and the upper floor was peaceful. Soft sunlight fell through the row of windows and played in patterns across the pale wood floor. I walked down the hall and knocked on her door. There was a long silence and then the knob jiggled and pulled open an inch. Rosalia’s eye appeared and she sighed and pulled the door open. I could tell she’d been crying.
“May I speak with you?” I said.
“About what?”
“What just happened downstairs.”
Another sigh and she backed up, allowing me to step in the room. Perhaps her stepfather wouldn’t like it if I was in here with her with the door shut, but I didn’t really care. I closed it anyway.
Her circular room was strange and eclectic. The bed was made, but there were so many blankets and pillows in the middle that it looked more like a nest. There was an electric keyboard by the double, stained glass windows that looked out over the front yard. She had framed various book covers in glass and covered an entire wall with them. As someone whose house was cohesive and filled with expensive pieces passed down to me, I found her decor startlingly outdated. But that made sense. She was only twenty-one and she’d never lived on her own before.
The bookshelves were crooked and I had to stare at them for a moment before realizing she had probably constructed them herself. That struck me as a little sad. She had all those brothers and no one had bothered to help her. Or perhaps she hadn’t felt comfortable enough to ask for help.
“What do you want?” she said, an edge to her voice.
I sat down on the edge of her bed even though I could tell it annoyed her. She sank into the chair opposite me and clasped her slender fingers. I noticed she wasn’t wearing my ring and I had to bite back my words. Now wasn’t the time to scold her.
“Were you crying?”
She glared. “No. Please don’t make fun of me, I can’t handle it right now.”
“Why would I make fun of you for crying?”
She shrugged miserably. “Because that’s what they all do.”
“I’ve never made fun of a woman for crying,” I said. “And I’m not about to start, especially not with my future wife.”
She stared at me and sniffed, running the back of her hand under her nose. “Sometimes I fucking hate my brothers. I have no idea how you’re such good friends with them. They suck.”
“I’ve never seen that side of Federico,” I said. “I knew he could be a bit of a dick, but he was vicious to you today. I’m going to have a word with him before I leave and you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“I doubt they’re going to listen to you.”
“They wouldn’t disrespect me,” I said firmly. “And they will not disrespect my wife starting today. You can call me if you need me to kick their asses.”
“I’m not a snitch. I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can, but you don’t have to.”
My words shook her and she stared at me with wide eyes, her lips parted. I’d never really noticed how beautiful she was until she’d become my fiancée. She had a subtle, sweet beauty. I wondered what it would look like dressed down, barefaced.
The thought intrigued me and I entertained the image of Rosalia in just a lace bra and panties with her hair falling around her shoulders. Her face bare with those little half circles under her eyes exposed and her lashes washed clean. Fuck, that made my dick twitch in my pants.
It felt vulnerable and I liked that. Not for myself—no, I wasn’t interested in ever being vulnerable because that was far too dark a place for her. But I did want to see her vulnerable. The naked, soft parts of her beyond her guarded eyes intrigued me more than I was willing to admit.