Page 162 of Stalking Ginevra

My footsteps squeak over polished floors gleaming under the light of opulent chandeliers. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and the faint fragrance of leather. I glance at the gowns displayed on the racks, feeling underdressed in my leggings and tank top.

Benito walks beside me in his black suit, his hand resting on the small of my back, but all I can think about is coming here to meet Mom. She was with Bossanova, picking out a wedding dress, and that leathery old bastard tried to fuck her in the changing room. I shudder, the image of him slobbering over her sickening enough to regurgitate my French toast.

Maria, the boutique’s owner, bustles over, flanked by girls holding trays of champagne and canapés. My back stiffens, my gut tightening with tension.

Last time I was here, Benito came in with that dark-haired woman to buy lingerie. I left before he could take her to the changing room, but imagining them together still grates on my nerves.

“Pick anything you want.” Benito says, his voice pulling me back to the present.

His words hit me like a slap. Wasn’t that what he said to her? I spin around, my mouth moving before I can stop myself. “Did you fuck her here?”

“Who?” he asks with a frown.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” I snap, my heart racing. “The femme fatale you’ve been parading around town.”

Benito’s features remain infuriatingly neutral until something flickers in his eyes. It’s a micro-expression but all the confirmation I need to know they’re still together. My heart sinks into my stomach like a ball and chain.

What on earth made me think he would end their relationship? Benito never spends the night with me. Yesterday was an exception because I was still panicked about Bob Brisket and refused to let Benito go. He probably returns to his lover every evening for a night of passion before coming to breed me like a mare.

“Did you bring me here to rub her in my face?” I glare into his dark eyes, watching every flicker, every clue behind his impenetrable mask.

Benito’s lips twitch with the barest hint of a smirk. I’m right. This is his idea of petty revenge.

“What’s so funny?” I snap, my hands clenching into fists.

“She’s Elania,” he says.

I blink, the name not registering. “Who?”

“Elania Salentino,” he replies, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

It takes me a second to process the name, but when I do, it’s like the ground shifts beneath my feet. The Salentino twins are Benito’s cousins, but they’re Roman’s age. They sometimes visited with their older brother, Giorgi, a lumbering brute even more psychotic than Samson.

“Oh... I didn’t recognize her without Aria.”

“They’re not so identical anymore,” Benito replies, his eyes never leaving mine.

My anger fizzles under a rush of hot embarrassment. Why hadn’t I noticed she was Elania? Cringing, I peek up at him through my lashes. “Sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“Were you jealous?”

“No,” I say, my cheeks heating.

Benito’s lips curl into a smirk, the one that always makes me feel like he’s two steps ahead of me, like he can read every thought running through my head. My stomach twists with equal parts frustration and nostalgia. I want to crawl under a clothes rail and hide, but his dark gaze pins me in place.

“Shut up.” I shove him on the chest.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies, his poker face gone. Now he looks like he’s barely holding back laughter.

“You don’t need to say it,” I shoot back. “I can read your mind.”

All he does is smile again, that infuriating, knowing smirk, and it makes my insides flutter. I tear my gaze away, looking anywhere but him.. “Stop it.”

He steps closer, wraps an arm around my waist, and leans down to kiss my temple. “Pick out a dress.”

Still overheated, I snatch a flute of champagne from the tray and take a long sip, hoping the bubbles might douse the flamesof my embarrassment. Turning to Maria, I mutter, “Something in green.”

Maria and the girls disappear in a flurry of activity, finding me every green evening gown. Dinner with Emmanuel Demartini is the closest thing to getting invited to see the King of England. Not only is he from a cadet family of the House of Borgia, but he owns the oldest and largest casino in New Alderney.

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