Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Before I reached the dining room, a hand encircled my waist and pulled me close to a warm body leaning into my back.
For one startled moment, my body thought it was Matteo and responded. My nipples hardened and my breath caught in a quick gasp. I was reacting to his touch despite the surrounding guests and my precarious situation as reason fled my mind the same way it had when his thigh grazed my hand earlier.
What the hell was wrong with me?
“Looking as beautiful as always, Antonella.”
I shivered with revulsion when I realized it was Falcone, an old associate of my Father's. As in, older than my father. As in, old man who shouldn’t be touching a woman younger than his own daughter.
Without turning to meet his gaze, I tried to pull away.
His grip tightened.
When I would have taken more drastic measures, I caught my father’s eye.
He looked over my shoulder at Falcone, then back at me. Instead of insisting the man unhand his daughter, he raised his glass and called out, “Looks like you got yourself a handful, Falcone.”
Eww.
Falcone stroked my hair while still keeping a proprietary grip on my hip. “She looks just like her mother at this age.”
Bile rose in the back of my throat.
My father spit on the floor. “That whore. The only good thing about that woman was her tits. Too bad Antonella didn’t inherit them.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat as I stared at the floor. Hearing my mother referred to as a whore never got easier. No matter how many times my father did so, which was often.
It also wasn’t unusual to have to endure obscene comments from my father and too-familiar touches from his soldati. In fact, my father often encouraged it. Forcing my sister and me to walk among his male guests as if we were possessions, allowing them to briefly touch and ogle.
My father tilted his chin up. “At least Antonia did and knows how to show them off. And why not? It’s the only thing a woman is good for.”
Antonia turned at the sound of her name. “What, Father?”
“Your tits.”
She smoothed her hands down her waist as she pushed her chest out, displaying her cleavage. “Thank you, Father.”
“Antonella, be nice to Falcone. The next marriage I arrange may be yours. It’s past time you and your sister got out of my house and made yourselves useful.”
I’m going to be sick.
The room spun as my eyelids fluttered.
“Falcone, is it? You don’t mind if I take the privilege of a future brother-in-law and escort Ella into dinner, do you?”
Matteo wrapped his hand around my upper arm and drew me away from Falcone’s grasp.
Later tonight, under my bedcovers, I'd reflect on his failure to recognize me.
Part of me was relieved, since it would have set off a clusterfuck of problems, but on the other hand, I was a little disappointed.
Another tiny, rebellious part of me wanted him to have stormed across the room, taken me in his arms, and declared he had never been deceived for one moment.
The music playing would, of course, be Rota’s "Love Theme" from Romeo and Juliet, as arranged by R. Hayman for the Boston Pops Orchestra. My favorite version because of the raw passion and drama of the notes, instead of the usual solemn, plaintive interpretation.
Sigh. I was a music geek, even in my fantasies.
It was silly, of course. It wasn’t like I wanted to marry Matteo Cavalieri in my sister’s place.
But still … it would have been nice. In a fucked-up, make a mess of my life, betray my sister, anger my father, ruin my life sort of way.
Falcone frowned and tried to snatch my arm back. “Actually, I do—”
Matteo used his body as a barrier between me and Falcone, smoothly stepping closer to my side. “Excellent. I knew you’d understand.”
He placed his palm on my lower back and led me into dinner.
Visions of last night flashed through my mind, of when he placed his hand there to hold me still so he could force the dildo handle between my legs until I came. My cheeks burned at the memory.
Tilting my head forward so my hair would fall over my cheeks, I stole a quick glance at him from under my eyelashes and said, “Thank you for the rescue, brother.”
He winked. “No problem, sis.”
There was no reason why our playful banter should cause a sharp, piercing ache in my chest. I touched a fingertip to the corner of my eye. No reason at all. It was endearing that his nickname for me would be sis. Yup, super endearing.
We circled the long, polished oak table before Matteo pulled out one of the ornate, filigree-backed chairs for me to sit. Then took the seat next to me.
No. No. No. Think nothing of this. It didn't mean he suddenly recognized me. It definitely didn't mean he’d prefer to sit next to me. It was a future brother-in-law sitting next to his future sister-in-law. Nothing more.