Chapter 3

CHAPTER

THREE

Anya

H is wife.

The words punch me straight in the gut, stealing my ability to breathe.

“ Ex -wife,” Saverio says with palpable anger from somewhere on my left.

Too shocked to speak, I look in the direction from where his voice comes. He’s walking toward us with quick, angry steps, reaching me in two long strides.

“I apologize, Anya.” He turns a frosty gaze on the woman in front of me. “Excuse us for a moment. I need a word with Rachele.”

Gripping her arm, he drags her toward the sliding doors that give access to the lounge. She almost trips before righting herself.

I stare after them with a cocktail of unpleasant sensations churning in my gut. Unwelcome and unexpected jealousy is like ice in my veins while betrayal burns like hot coals in my stomach.

Why didn’t Saverio tell me?

He could’ve at least warned me that his ex-wife would be here. I didn’t even know he was married, for crying out loud. It never crossed my mind. Why, I don’t know. He has a healthy sex appetite. He’s a normal, virile man. In his circles, he must be quite a catch.

Stupid, stupid, girl.

Trust me not to consider such an obvious possibility.

People shoot curious glances at me, but they don’t dare to look at Saverio. Once he’s pushed Rachele inside the house, the guests who’ve gone quiet around me resume their conversations.

I leave my glass on the table. I’m about to slip away to find a quiet spot somewhere when someone says to my back, “Don’t mind my sister.”

My spine goes rigid.

I recognize that voice.

My fingers tighten involuntarily on the clutch bag in my hand as I swing around.

Giorgio leans on a terrace pillar, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wears a tux with long coattails and a bowtie. “She just got used to having Sav at her beck and call.”

An uninvited shiver rolls through me. I glance over his shoulder to where the guards are positioned, only marginally reassured that they’re in place.

Giorgio straightens, pulling my attention back to him.

“When someone’s been your lapdog for so long, you tend to think you’ll always have them at your feet with a flick of your fingers.” He adds with a smile, “It must hurt her female pride to discover the husband she rejected moved on. Rachele is very sure of herself. She didn’t believe Sav would ever get over her. To be fair to my lovely sister, Sav is the first man whose heart she broke to defy the norm.”

I rub my arms as a chill works its way through my body. “Why are you telling me this?”

He shrugs. “To put things in perspective.”

I glance around to check that no one is eavesdropping and lower my voice before saying with animosity, “Only, you know Sav and my relationship isn’t real.”

“Rachele doesn’t. She must hate the one woman who finally outshines her. No one here is any the wiser either. In their eyes, you’re the most beautiful and most coveted girl now, the new queen of the prom, and that gives you power.” He takes a step in my direction. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

I stand my ground, not backing away. “What are you getting at?”

He smirks. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Leaving me with that, he saunters away. I follow him with my gaze as he walks up to a couple and shakes the man’s hand.

Saverio exits the house and makes his way over to me. He’s donned a mask, his expression blank. It’s impossible to read him.

Rachele steps out a moment later, straightening her dress and shaking out her long, shiny hair before tilting up her chin and walking in the opposite direction.

Saverio stops in front of me.

I’m too upset with him and about what Giorgio said to speak to him right now.

Saverio tips my face up with a finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Say it. ”

“Say what?”

“What’s going on in your head.”

I pull away. “Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t lie to me, tesoro .”

“Take a hint from Dante’s advice.” I spin on my heel, not knowing where I’m heading and not caring. “This isn’t the time or the place.”

He fastens his fingers around my wrist and pulls me back to him. “Don’t walk away from me, Anya. We’re not done.”

“What are you going to do? Drag me into the house like you just did with your ex-wife?”

“No,” he says, his expression serious. “I’ll carry you upstairs to save you from climbing the thirty polished and potentially slippery marble steps—which should be illegal for pregnant women—in those very sexy but unpractical heels.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I don’t give a damn if people stare, but you may, so I’ll give you a choice—the study on the first floor where anyone can walk in or a bedroom on the second floor with a door that can lock. If you choose the first floor, you can walk. If it’s upstairs, I’ll carry you.”

“Why?” I ask with a bite in my tone. “Because you want to fuck me to prove your dominance? Do you want to make sure you can control me?”

“The idea was to talk, but I’m always up for a fuck if it’s with you.”

I want to smack him. “You’re a bastard, Saverio. The worst is that you don’t even have a clue.”

His jaw bunches. “That’s it.”

He wraps one arm around my shoulders and the other underneath my knees, lifting me to his chest. I utter a squeal and bite back the curse on the tip of my tongue .

“Put me down,” I say through clenched teeth as he makes for the house.

Like he promised, people gawk as he carries me inside, but he’s not to be deterred. I have no choice but to wrap my arms around his neck, holding on while clutching my bag in one hand.

He passes caterers and waiters who strain their necks to look after us, climbs the stairs, and walks down the hallway like a man who knows his way around the house. At the first room where the door stands open, he enters and kicks it shut behind him.

“Put me down,” I say again, wiggling in his arms.

He only obliges after locking the door with one hand.

My gaze falls on the wedding dress that hangs against a closet, layers of tulle tumbling to the floor. The bedroom is an explosion of disorder with clothes littering the unmade bed. Cosmetics are strewn over the dressing table. A diamond tiara hangs over the frame of the mirror.

“We shouldn’t be here,” I say.

“I don’t give a damn.” Saverio advances on me, confining me between the bed and the dressing table. “Talk to me, Anya.”

My patience snaps. “You could’ve told me.”

“Told you what?”

“That you were married,” I exclaim.

“What difference would it have made?”

“All the difference.” I throw my hands in the air. “Can’t you understand that? At least I would’ve been prepared.”

He watches me stoically. “For what?”

“For facing off with your ex-wife who thinks I’m a stripper.”

He crosses his arms. “That won’t happen again.”

“How do you know that?”

“I had a word with Rachele. ”

“Is that what you did in the house? You talked?”

“What else would I have done?”

“Kiss her. Fuck her. It’s clear you’re not over her.”

He reaches out so fast I don’t see it coming until it’s too late.

Pinning my shoulders with his hands, he says, “We talked, Anya.”

“Is that so?” I don’t recognize this version of me, this woman who wants to scratch out Rachele’s eyes and slap Saverio across the face. “What did you talk about? Me?”

“I told her to stop behaving like a child. She had no right to say to you what she did.”

“Damn right.” I twist out of his hold. “If you’d warned me, I wouldn’t have stood there looking like a damn fool.”

“You’re right.” He lets me go. “I’m sorry.” Stabbing his fingers through his hair, he says, “I don’t like to talk about my marriage to Rachele. I admit that much. That was my mistake.”

His apology catches me off-guard. I expected him to shun me and tell me to mind my own business because what’s going on between him and his ex-wife doesn’t concern me. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I shouldn’t ask, damn me, but I do.

“Do you still care about her? Is that why you brought me? To make her jealous?”

“Would you do that if I asked you?”

“No.” I glare at him. “I don’t play those games.”

“Good.” He takes a step toward me. “Neither do I.”

It doesn’t escape me that he hasn’t answered my question. Yet the answer is obvious. If he doesn’t like to talk about it, his emotions are still too raw, which means he does care. Which brings me to a new question. No, not a new question. The same question.

Why me ?

And the answer stares me in the face.

Because I’m convenient.

Because he doesn’t have to feel anything with me. He doesn’t have to care about my feelings either. It’s a foolproof plan for a man who doesn’t want to get hurt. I guess Rachele must’ve really destroyed him if that’s how far he’s prepared to go. Only, his plan doesn’t protect my sensibilities. His ingenious scheme leaves my heart wide open for the breaking. If I’m not careful, he’ll wreck me like his ex did to him. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let my guard down with him, no matter how hard he makes me come or how strong and powerful he makes me feel.

“Anya.” He searches my eyes. “I admitted that I was wrong. I apologized. What more do you want me to say?”

There’s a lot I want him to say, but I can’t let him know how vulnerable he makes me. I won’t give him that kind of ammunition to use against me. It’s enough that he holds my life in his hands.

Steeling my heart, I say, “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Like hell there isn’t. Will it make you feel better if I tell you that I didn’t leave you in the dark on purpose? I haven’t spoken about my marriage to anyone since my divorce.” Raising his arms, he says, “Here I am. Ask me anything you’d like to know.”

“What’s the point?” I ask with frustration.

“The point is that you’ll feel better.”

“Why do you care if I feel better or not?”

“Because it affects the baby.”

Something twists in my chest. Wrong answer. Yes, it’s also the right answer. Yes, I care about my baby’s wellbeing. I just want him to care about me too. But this isn’t about me. This is about Saverio. He’s offering to talk about a subject that’s painful for him because, for a reason I don’t understand, he cares about the child I carry. To throw that back into his face would not only be a sign of bad character but also cruel.

It hurts to push my own sentiments down. A bruise spreads in my heart as I open my mouth and ask, “How long ago did it happen?”

He adopts a stoic expression, no doubt bracing himself for the pain that comes with talking about his breakup. “Six months.”

Ouch. That’s still new. My heart squeezes with compassion. “How long were you married?”

His answer is clipped. “Five years.”

“Why did you break up?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. “She met someone else. They had an affair for a year before I found out.”

“Saverio,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says in a harsh voice. “It is what it is. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

“I didn’t mean?—”

“Let’s just get on with it.”

Should I push him for more? Will it help him to get it off his chest?

“Go for it, treasure,” he says with a smile that breaks my heart. “After today, we won’t bring up this topic again. This is the only chance you’re getting.”

Instead of soothing me, his words hurt me more. He’s not being open with me willingly. He’s only offering a consolation. Yet I can’t stop myself from asking, “How long have you loved her?”

He stares at me while working his jaw from side to side. I don’t know if he’s reluctant to answer because he wants to spare himself or me.

Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he says, “Since I was fourteen.”

Oh my God. No wonder it’s hard for him. He’s loved her for just about forever. Giorgio was right when he said no woman could rival Rachele.

“How did you meet?” I ask. “Did you become friends with Giorgio after you met his sister or was it the other way around?”

“We didn’t attend the same school. Rachele went to a private girls’ college. I met her when Giorgio invited me home.”

“Did she feel the same way about you?”

He gives me a grim look. “Our marriage was arranged.”

“Like Elena and Raphael.”

“Yes.” The only sign of emotion he shows is in the slight flare of his nostrils. “I thought I’d win her over in time.” His laugh is mocking. “I failed spectacularly.”

“Don’t put yourself down. Just because your first love didn’t work out doesn’t mean you should carry all the blame.”

His expression is almost pitying, as if he feels sorry for me for not getting it. “You know where I come from. Rachele is in a different league.”

“Where you come from doesn’t define the man you became.”

“Our relationship wasn’t like that.”

I frown. “How was it?”

“Rachele is from good stock.”

Unlike me. The most important is always what’s not said.

I suck my bottom lip into my mouth, willing myself not to ask more, but he said himself this was my only opportunity to get a better understanding of the man I’m stuck with.

Lifting my gaze to his, I ask in a small voice, “Did you spank her? ”

A beat follows in which he says nothing and everything. Rachele is too precious. He put her on a pedestal. He revered her too much to degrade her like that. She was the adored wife. I’m the convenient plaything.

The truth is like a sucker punch. I don’t know why I’m comparing myself with her. I’m nothing like Rachele. She was loved. Saverio gave her his everything. Whoever comes after will only get crumbs.

Damn, but it hurts. What the hell is wrong with me? This isn’t even about me. This is about Saverio.

I nod, pushing down the turmoil that threatens to spill over into tears. “I see.”

“Don’t do that,” Saverio says.

Blinking away the buildup of moisture that burns at the back of my eyes, I adopt a neutral tone. “Do what?”

“Don’t demean our chemistry by thinking what we share is wrong or dirty.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, my voice wobbly.

He strikes out, grabbing my biceps and pulling me so roughly against him that the air leaves my lungs.

“We happen to like the same things,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a darkness he reserves only for me. “There’s nothing wrong with our brand of kink, tesoro , and I’ll prove it to you too.”

He crushes his mouth on mine before I can get a word in, parting my lips violently with uncontrollable passion. My body answers immediately, the flame that licks in my core the blazing proof of the point he’s trying to make. Our chemistry is undeniable, but the fire that scorches my skin where he trails his fingers over my arms doesn’t incinerate the ache that throbs with dull beats under my breastbone.

He takes my bag from my hand and leaves it somewhere on the dresser behind me. My wrap falls from my shoulders, a piece of silk that sifts to the floor like a feather ripped from a wing. A broken thing. Slain. It lies at my feet with my conquered willpower, a red puddle of forgotten fabric as Saverio sweeps his tongue through the depths of my mouth and nips my bottom lip with his teeth.

I cling to his arms as he destroys me, creating need and wreaking havoc in his wake. He bunches the fabric of my dress into his fists and yanks the skirt up over my hips while walking me backward. Bowls and cosmetics rattle as I bump into the dresser. Bottles fall over. He sweeps a hand between my legs, groping for my center. Fresh arousal coats the remnants of his seed that have long since dried on my thighs. A perverse part of me revels in carrying that part of him on my skin. And inside me. It cheats me into believing I own a piece of him.

He doubles the onslaught on my lips while preparing me with his fingers, sliding two inside me and scissoring them. I moan into his mouth when he pumps before pulling out and smearing the slickness over my clit.

“Sav,” I say with a gasp, breaking the kiss to drag air into my lungs.

“Damn right, tesoro .” His voice is hoarse and his features are strained with the same need that steals my reason. “This…” He pushes inside me, stretching me so wide he must be using three fingers. “Is never wrong.” He fucks me harder with his hand, stressing every word with a punch that sends me closer to the edge. “This is beautiful. Rare.”

I burrow my face in his jacket to muffle the sounds that escape my mouth, but he twists my hair around his fist and pulls my head back to look at me.

He keeps his fingers inside me, curling them to hit a spot that makes my toes curl while rubbing his thumb in a circle over my clit. He brutally shoves me over the abyss while staring into my eyes, not allowing me to escape or hide as he gives me the ultimate truth. “And this is mine .”

I come so hard on his fingers that white spots dance in my vision. Aftershocks ripple through my core, tightening my lower body with pleasure. He drinks in my expression like a vampire feasts on blood, blue flames leaping in his eyes as he releases my hair and closes his fingers around the naked globe of my ass. The fire that lights beneath my flesh is instantaneous. I suck air through my teeth as he ignites the burn of earlier where the hairbrush tanned my skin. The pain is blunt, a lingering echo of glowing embers that amplifies the pleasure convulsing my inner muscles.

“That’s our truth,” he says, victory shining with possession in his feverish gaze as he keeps his hand between my legs and makes me ride out the storm.

When he goes down on his knees, I think about the destruction that will follow in the wake of that storm. Holding my gaze, he licks my slit from the bottom to the top. He pins my hips between his large hands and eats me as if he hasn’t just made me see stars. My body sags against the dresser, the edge biting into my back as he nips and sucks my swollen clit before working it between his teeth.

I need to hold on to something.

“I can’t,” I cry out, finding purchase for my fingers in his hair.

“Give me another one, treasure.” He spears his tongue into my opening, making me yelp and go on tiptoes. “Show me how right this is.”

He laps up my arousal, flicking his tongue over my sensitive flesh and alternating between nips and licks until my need climbs again.

Voices come from the hallway .

“I don’t care,” a woman says. “I hated the make-up. I looked like a fucking clown.”

“Sav,” I whisper, pulling on the thick, soft strands of his hair.

Someone else, an older woman, says something soothing that I can’t discern.

Saverio grins against my folds, the sharp edges of his teeth scraping over my flesh. His deep voice reverberates in my core. “Not until you give it up for me, sweetness.”

“I can’t,” I say again, glancing at the door.

Saverio licks around the seam of my opening, watching me with a wicked gaze. My heartbeat spikes, adrenaline pumping through my veins. We’re going to get caught, and the worst is that I can’t bring myself to care, not when he bites down gently on my clit and swipes the tip of his tongue over the nub.

The first woman speaks again. “I don’t give a fuck if I have mascara under my eyes. You know what? Give me that.”

The older woman shrieks.

I jam a fist into my mouth to prevent myself from moaning as pleasure coils through my lower body.

“You’re all fucking useless,” the woman yells, her voice shrill. “I’ll just do it myself.”

A loud thump sounds on the door.

I jerk in Saverio’s hold. He doesn’t let up, the determined look in his eyes telling me he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants.

“What the fuck?” the woman says. “It’s locked.”

“Calm down, dear.” The older woman’s tone is placating. “Let me try.”

Saverio doesn’t increase his pace. He sucks my clit into his mouth as if someone isn’t jiggling the handle on the other side of the door .

The orgasm builds slower this time. Saverio drags it out, bringing me there in his own sweet time.

“It is locked,” the older woman says, sounding confused.

I bite down on my knuckles as the vise starts to tighten.

“Call one of our men.” Another thump. “Get someone here right now.”

“Maybe one of the staff…”

The older woman’s voice washes away. The ringing in my ears makes me deaf to everything. My body is so sensitive the climax is almost painful. I shake in Saverio’s hold, giving him what he wanted. I’m helpless to do anything else, not only because someone, most likely the bride, wants to get into the room, but also because I’m a slave to Saverio in every way. He doesn’t even have to blackmail me. He doesn’t have to threaten me with my life. All he has to do is touch me.

“If there’s anyone in there, you better open this door right the fuck now,” a very furious woman calls through the wood.

The older woman says something I can’t make out. It sounds as if she’s trying to calm the younger one down.

Saverio rubs his stubble over the inside of my thigh, making me shiver. He plants a kiss on my folds before straightening.

“For fuck’s sake,” the woman says. “Can you stop talking and just go get security?”

He drags my dress over my hips and pulls it straight. The skirt is creased, looking as if it just came crumpled out of a suitcase. Saverio brushes down my hair with his hands and flashes me a smile that melts my insides. After handing me my bag, he presses his mouth on mine for a quick but deep kiss. Tasting myself on his lips does things to me. He may like it when I smell like him, but I love it when he tastes like me.

He grins. “Ready?”

I want to say no. His hair is disheveled, and I must look well-fucked, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, he appears proud as he takes my hand and leads me to the door.

When he turns the key and opens it, a woman dressed in a robe stumbles into the room, almost losing her balance. I recognize Elena, although she’s a far cry from the woman I met at the nightclub. The one facing me with black rivulets running down her cheeks and red lipstick smudged around her lips looks a mess.

“What the fuck?” she screams, balling her hands into fists at her sides and throwing daggers at us with her eyes.

The stocky woman behind Elena places a hand over her heart, gaping at Saverio as he pushes past her while dragging me along.

“Congratulations,” Saverio says to Elena. “Nice dress.”

The older woman, whom I judge to be the housekeeper by the uniform she wears, exclaims, “You’re not supposed to see the dress before the wedding.”

Saverio winks. “At least we didn’t see it on the bride.”

He leaves promptly, letting them stew in their assumptions. They no doubt know what we did. Just like at the restaurant in Little Italy. It counts in Saverio’s favor, strengthening the illusion he’s trying to uphold.

I bet Elena will tell her cousin what happened. I cringe inwardly at the thought. Saverio doesn’t care about the opinion of others, but what will people think? I just can’t keep my head straight when Saverio goes directly into the attack, not giving me time to raise my defenses before he razes every one of my inhibitions to the ground. Despite my unfounded jealousy, I don’t want to damage my already fragile reputation. It’s bad enough that Rachele thought I was a stripper.

Wait.

I pull on Saverio’s hand, hanging back on the landing. “Why did Rachele think I was a stripper?”

He looks over his shoulder without breaking his stride. “I used to fuck a few after the divorce.”

“How many?” I ask, not caring for that piece of information at all.

He shrugs. “I have no idea. It was an outlet at the time.”

“An outlet?” I parrot.

He stops at the staircase and sweeps me into his arms. “I had no intention of ever dating again.” Brushing the comment away with careless words, he says, “It doesn’t matter.”

I wrap my arms around his neck, balancing my bag in one hand, and hold on as he descends the stairs.

Oh but it does matter. Very much. He just told me in not so many words that he’ll never date me, that I’m nothing more than a stripper to scratch an itch. Someone to use on the rebound. I already knew that, so why does the verbal affirmation feel like a spear through my heart? The lie we left in the bedroom upstairs only makes the ache worse. What we fed Elena and their housekeeper is just a story, no matter how right it feels when he’s inside me.

I think about what Giorgio said, that he wouldn’t tell Rachele the relationship between Saverio and me is fake if I keep my mouth shut about Mr. Lewis’s murder. He’ll exchange one lie for another. He’d let me have that power, to let the world believe that Saverio loves me, but the illusion turns bitter in my mouth.

Saverio lets me down at the bottom of the stairs. He offers me his arm to lean on, escorting me back outside. As earlier, people stare and whisper, coming to their own conclusions as they take in my ruffled hair and swollen lips.

They may be right about what happened upstairs, but they’ll never guess how warped the story behind it is.

Rachele stands in the middle of the lawn, hanging on the arm of an attractive man with a blond ponytail. She stops in mid-sentence when she spots us, her lips frozen around the word she was about to say.

I steal a quick glance at Saverio.

If he notices her, he doesn’t show it. He weaves through the crowd, bringing me to a table where finger food is laid out.

“Hungry?” he asks, brushing his knuckles in a tender caress over my stomach.

My appetite is gone, but he’s right. I have to think about my baby.

I nod.

He gives me an appraising smile before busying himself with loading a plate with every hors d’oeuvre that contains tomatoes.

A breeze flirts with the blood-red leaves of the stewartia trees on the border of the lawn, sending goosebumps over my skin. It’s only then that I realize I left my wrap in Elena’s room. I rub my arms, trying to drive out the chill that comes from inside me.

“Cold?” Saverio asks with a smile that must appear caring for people looking on.

“A little,” I admit.

He leaves the plate on the table and removes his jacket.

“Here,” he says, hanging it over my shoulders.

His warmth and smell envelope me, wrapping me in beautiful lies. “Thank you. ”

He selects a bite-sized quiche from the plate and brings it to my lips. “Eat. You need your strength.”

I obey on autopilot, opening my mouth for him to feed me.

While he replenishes my body with energy, a part of my soul shrivels up and dies.

Giorgio was wrong.

Power only feels good when it’s real.