Page 61 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
I count in my head as I swallow three more mouthfuls, then I place my fork in the bowl. His scrutiny has me tied up in knots. I burn under his eyes, but at the same time, I can’t bear the building tension. It feels like something has to burst or erupt for it to simmer down.
I pull back my now dry,unrulyhair, pull a band off my wrist, and tie it in a knot on top of my head. He watches me, his gaze thoughtful.
“I don’t have my straighteners,” I say by way of apology. “This is the best I can do.”
He runs his tongue across his top lip and lets his gaze weigh heavy. “I prefer your hair like this.” His voice drops to a cavernous whisper. “It looks like you just got out of bed.”
My stomach rolls inward, and I realize I don’t have the energy to make sense of it. “I’m tired,” I say with a sigh. “Is it okay if I go lie down now?”
He sits back abruptly, as though he’s just been broken out of a trance. “Of course. I’ll show you to your room.”
I follow him to a door a little farther down from the master. A blush threatens the edges of my cheeks at the memory of standing in that shower. He holds the door open and lets me walk inside. This room is the polar opposite of the primary.Light, airy, peaceful, and inviting, not dark and oppressive like his own.
“This is perfect. Thank you.” I turn to face him and swallow a gasp. He looksagonized.
His gaze licks up from the hem of my shorts to the collar of my tee, and his jaw tenses. “When I close this door, lock it. Do you understand?”
Nerves that are already bristling near the surface of my skin cause the hairs along my arms to prickle. “Why?”
He inhales deeply, his chest filling out. “To keep yourself safe.”
My brows knit in confusion. His apartment is like Fort Knox already—I haven’t missed the myriad security systems. Not only that, but the building is managed, adding another layer of security.
“From who?”
He releases his breath, his gaze darkening even further. Then he straightens and draws the door closed.
I guess I’m not getting an answer.
Trilby
I wake up disoriented. Despite the fact my restless dreams were filled with gunshots, memories of my mother, and the overpowering presence of my fiancé’s brother, it still takes me a few minutes to recall the previous twenty-four hours and the reason I’m in Cristiano Di Santo’s spare bedroom.
I get out of bed and unlock the bedroom door. When I remember Cristiano’s warning, I open it with trepidation. When nothing on the other side of it seems amiss, I pad on bare feet to the kitchen. Or at least I try to. Blocking my path is an enormous box in the shape of a closet, bearing the name of the city’s most exclusive designer boutique.
“Open it.”
His voice on the other side makes me half-jump out of my skin.
“What is it?”
“Your new closet.”
I huff. “I don’t need a new closet. I have a perfectly good one at home.”
“You’re not going home. I told you.”
“Then ask Allegra to bring me some of my clothes whenshetakes me for my gown fitting.”
“I’mtaking you to your gown fitting. Don’t you remember anything, woman?”
I seethe quietly at the thought of being caged in, and then again at being branded “woman.”
“Remembering isn’t the same as agreeing.” I step forward and pull the handle to the box. An unwitting gasp leaves my throat. Every single dress I’ve ever coveted is inside this box, and a quick skim through tells me they’re all in my exact size.
“Pick one. Get dressed. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
I pull a face at the command, safe in the knowledge he can’t see me. “What about breakfast? I thought you said I had to eat.”
