Page 174 of Stalking Ginevra

“Sorry for what?”

“For not realizing what I had sooner. For not appreciating your genius earlier.” Lowering his lashes, he leans in for another kiss, but I place my fingers on his lips.

“Not sorry for anything else?” My voice trembles, bracing for an apology.

His gaze hardens. “When your heart walks out on you and leaves for five years, the first thing you’re going to do when it returns is put it in a cage.”

A lump forms in my throat, the weight of his words pressing down on my chest. “You’re comparing me to an organ?”

“You’re more to me than my beating heart. More to me than the blood that runs through my veins. You’re the spark that gives me life. Without you, I’m just a shell.”

Emotion clogs my throat, making each breath a struggle. Tears prick my eyes, threatening to spill. I blink, forcing down a surge of guilt. I wasn’t prepared for this—his vulnerability, the way he’s laid everything bare. I knew leaving would make Benito miserable, but I’d selfishly hoped the hurt would fade.

“Don’t tell me you were pining for me the entire time we were apart,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

“Every single day.” His voice is rough, the words almost strangled.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my heart lurching. “If I’d been thinking straight?—”

“It’s alright. You’ve explained yourself so many times I almost have the visuals.”

A bitter laugh escapes my chest, and I rest my head against his. Every breeding session was a chance to tell my side of the story. I recounted the events of our breakup from my point of view over and over. It’s a surprise he could even maintain an erection.

“I understand why you kept me imprisoned,” I murmur against his lips. “But you need to understand I was also miserable.”

His body tenses. “What do you mean?”

“Samson isn’t anything like you.”

Benito pulls back, his features creasing with concern. His eyes grow frantic, searching my face for answers. “Tell me.”

I glance around the office, my gaze landing over the bustling casino below. It’s too busy, too vibrant, too inappropriate for a confession of this magnitude. If he wants the sordid details, I’ll need to be grounded to open up about my five years of hell.

“Can we go somewhere else?” I ask. “This isn’t the sort of conversation I want to have in a casino.”

He nods. “Let’s leave.”

EIGHTY

BENITO

I drive home in silence, with Ginevra shrinking in the front seat. Our marriage has finally reached a spot of mutual respect. Will this information shatter that fragile balance?

The setting sun dips behind the tall juniper trees lining the winding road of Alderney Hill. Occasional bursts of harsh light stream in from the gaps between the branches, making me squint.

I prefer the darkness. It’s more comforting than the blinding truth. Part of me wants to gloss over the five years we were apart, but my baser instincts bellow for answers. I should tell Ginevra there’s no need to speak. I’ve heard enough. I know why she left, but our previous relationship was based on the truth.

We held no secrets from each other between the ages of eight to twenty-three. But if I can barely handle her having feelings for Brisket, how the hell will I react to her sleeping with Samson?

Ginevra says it was unpleasant, but she also talks badly of Brisket, who pushed her limits, made her moan, gave her more pleasure than she could ever handle.

Just before the final bend, I take a turn into one of the vacant plots surrounding our family estate.

“I thought you were taking me home,” Ginevra says.

My heart melts. “Do you already see it as your home?”

She shifts on her seat, hiding her features behind a curtain of auburn hair. “I spent more time at your place when we were growing up,” she replies, sounding gruff. “Every time mom went on one of her retreats, Uncle Enzo and Aunt Lucia let me stay over.”

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