Page 106 of Stalking Ginevra

Pausing, she sweeps her gaze down my robe and bare feet before meeting my eyes. My hair hangs in wet clumps around my face, which is probably still reddened from the hot shower.

“Yes, ma’am?” she says.

“I need your help?—”

“One moment, ma’am. I just need to deliver this ice.”

She continues to the door opposite mine and knocks. It swings open, revealing a gorilla of a man in a black suit. His gaze lands on me, lingering a beat too long for comfort.

Suppressing a shiver, I step back into my room and pull the robe tighter around my neck. Even though the woman hands the man the ice, his eyes don’t leave mine until I dip behind the door.

What a creep.

The woman turns back to me with a faint smile. “How can I assist you, ma’am?”

“Can you come inside for a moment?” Not wanting that man to overhear our conversation, I step aside to let her in.

She hesitates, then nods and enters the suite. Her gaze darts around the room as if taking it in for the first time. She’s several inches shorter, with huge brown eyes and petite features.

“I just married Benito Montesano but I have no clothes—nothing but this robe.”

Her brows furrow. “Did you send them to housekeeping, ma’am?”

“No, I didn’t send anything anywhere,” I say, my voice tightening. “They were here this morning, and now they’re gone.”

She looks even more puzzled. “That’s strange. Sometimes guests send their clothes to be pressed or cleaned. Maybe that’s what happened?”

Frustration builds in my chest. I try to keep it from seeping into my voice, but it’s a losing battle. “Can you please find me something to wear? Anything.”

The woman’s eyes dart toward the door, and she swallows before taking a step back. “I’m really sorry, ma’am. But I don’t have access to any clothes. You might want to ask Mr. Montesano.”

“I’ve been trying to reach him but he’s not answering. Can’t you just find a hotel T-shirt and sweatpants so I don’t have to keep wearing this robe?”

She grips the door handle, looking ready to bolt. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I really can’t help with that.”

I lurch forward before she slips out. “What’s your name?”

The woman flinches, her eyes widening. “It’s Carla.”

Fear flashes across her face, and I take a deep breath. I need to calm the hell down. She isn’t my jailor—that’s Benito fucking Montesano.

“Carla, I’m sorry,” I say, my voice softer. “I didn’t mean to scare you. This whole situation is overwhelming.”

Hesitating, she nods. “Would you like me to pass on a message to Mr. Montesano?”

When I nod back, she adds, “If you need anything else, just call room service and ask for me by name. I’ll do my best to help.”

“Thank you,” I say, forcing a weak smile. “I appreciate that.”

Carla slips out the door, leaving me alone with my swirling thoughts. My gaze drifts to the barely touched breakfast table laden with pastries, fruit, and eggs. My stomach churns with a protest, but I need my strength for whatever comes next.

With a sigh, I cross the suite, drop into a chair, and grab a fork. I take a tentative bite of the eggs, then a piece of fruit, barely registering the flavors. Each mouthful feels like a struggle, but it’s the only way to reclaim some control.

I won’t be weak when Benito finally comes to visit—I’ll be ready.

FORTY-EIGHT

BENITO

---