Page 150 of Stalking Ginevra

No matter how far I walk, I can’t escape Ginevra. Her tears, her trembling, the way she pleaded beneath my touch. She seeps into my mind like smoke, filling every breath, invading every thought. I can’t shake her, can’t outrun the need she’s branded into my soul.

In business, I never lose.

But Ginevra could be my downfall.

SIXTY-EIGHT

GINEVRA

The next morning after Benito’s rejection, I sit at the dining table by the window, staring at my breakfast. I’m wrapped in a toweling gown, since Carla took away my green kimono for cleaning.

It won’t be as silky once it’s back. Nothing feels the same anymore.

I give up pushing around the eggs with my fork. My appetite has turned to shit. As I trace my fingers over the rim of the porcelain cup, my mind drifts to last night.

What will it take to fix us when Benito still controls everything? He gets to walk away and toss me aside like yesterday’s trash. I’m trapped here, clinging onto the last vestiges of his pity.

Sunlight bathes the honeymoon suite, but all I feel is the weight of last night’s silence. I can’t shake the image of Benito, fully dressed, walking out the door without a backward glance. The emptiness he left behind claws at my chest, making it near impossible to breathe.

A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Carla enters, carrying a garment draped over her arm.

“Good morning, Mrs. Montesano,” she says, her voice bright. She places a folded kimono on the bed. It’s a deep sapphire blue that shimmers in the sunlight.

My gaze drifts to the garment. It’s even more beautiful than the green one from last night, but I can’t muster the energy to care.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“You don’t like it?” she asks.

“I do,” I reply, trying to inject my voice with warmth. “I just…”

My shoulders sag, dragged down by my stormy thoughts. What’s the point of getting excited about a gift from Benito when it’s not given with love?

Her smile falters again, but she picks up the breakfast tray, careful not to meet my eyes. “If you need anything, just call room service, alright?”

“Thanks, Carla,” I mutter.

As she turns to leave, something catches my eye—a piece of tissue paper, folded beneath my coffee cup. It wasn’t there before, and I know I didn’t leave it. Pulse quickening, I unfold it, revealing a single line written in hurried handwriting:

It’s not safe to talk here. If you need help, order ultra glide tampons.

Freezing, I stare down at the note. My mind races with rapid-fire questions. Carla must have slipped this to me while clearing the breakfast tray. But is she talking about hidden cameras? Panic prickles at the thought of someone watching.

I stand so quickly, the chair tumbles to the floor with a crash. Pulse pounding, I head for the bathroom and sit down on the toilet.

After tearing the paper into small pieces, I drop the scraps into the bowl and flush. As the remnants of the note swirl down the drain with a rush of water, one name rises to the surface.

Benito.

He must have installed cameras in this suite.

Carla means well, but I don’t need her help. Involving her in my relationship could make things worse. If I’m going to get Benito back—I need to face him.

Alone.

My thoughts sharpen with a sudden clarity. If there’s one thing I know about Benito, it’s that he’s cautious. He’s probably watching me right now, wondering if I’m cheating.

That’s something I can use to my advantage.

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