Page 65 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
I smile sweetly and spear a piece of fruit, then I glare at Cristiano as I chew and swallow. “Are you going to eat your eggs, or do you prefer to just stare at me while I eat?”
He runs his tongue over his teeth as if he’s only just getting started, then he wordlessly cuts into his breakfast. By the time he’s devoured it in four mouthfuls—and yes, I counted—I’ve managed to put a two-strawberry dent into my three dishes.
I gently push the fruit to one side and pick up my spoon. I lift a scoop of granola-laden yogurt up to my face, and my stomach tightens. Why did I choose yogurt? It’s thick and oozy and impossible to swallow at the best of times.
Cristiano’s gaze warms my face, so I do what any worthy opponent would do and go in for the attack. The yogurt sits unmoving on my tongue, and I attempt to smile as I squish it around my mouth. The texture is all wrong for how I’m feeling. The second it slides down my throat, I’m going to puke.
With my mouth still full, I pour out another glass of water and suck a load back before swallowing everything in one go. Then I keep swallowing, because the nausea is already creeping up my esophagus.
Cristiano frowns. “Are you okay?”
“Mm-hmm.” I tap the base of my throat. “It’s a little sour, that’s all.”
He cocks his head to one side. “That’s funny. I thought coconut yogurt was sweet.”
I purse my lips and push the offending dish to one side. Maybe I’ll have better luck with the omelet.
The scent of truffle invades my nostrils, putting my eyeballs on the brink of watering.What the hell was I thinking?I take a deep breath and feed a morsel into my mouth. I’m pleasantly surprised. The taste of porcini is subtle, and the eggs are soft. I can do this. With a look of triumph, I feed more forkfuls into my mouth.
Cristiano sips his espresso and watches me with uncomfortable intensity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was glued to a pornographic movie.
I’m about to cut another piece of omelet when my stomach groans. I’m full already. I look down to see I’ve barely eaten anything. Defeat makes my cutlery clatter against my plate.
Cristiano clears his throat. “You’ve finished?” There’s a note of glee on the edge of his tongue.
I lift my chin. “No. I’m having a rest.”
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “You can’t do it, can you? You can’t eat any more.”
“Yes, I can,” I protest, but the conviction in my voice is weak.
He allows his lips to curve into a satisfied smile. It’s the smile of a winner.
“You put up a good fight, Castellano.” He reaches over and takes my plate. “Now let’s leave the real battle to the big guns.”
He winks playfully, and it’sdevastating.
I could watch him eat for days, so imagine my disappointment when only another six mouthfuls later, he’s devoured not only the omelet, but the yogurt and the fruit cup too.
To his credit, he doesn’t gloat any further, but he can’t hide his smile behind his curled fist.
And neither can I.
I thank God when Penelope helps me into my dress, because my fingers are too clammy and shaky to do it myself. We’re behind a thick velvet curtain, but I can feel Cristiano’s presence as though he’s standing inches away breathing hot air onto my neck.
“Have you been starving yourself, Miss Castellano?” she hisses, my lack of appetite clearly an inconvenience to her. “I’ve never had to take a dress in so many sizes. This is going to be double the work.”
“Then Savero will pay double for your time.” Cristiano’s voice sails over the top of the curtain, and the blood drains from the seamstress’s cheeks.
“I apologize, Mr. Di Santo.” Her fingertips fumble with the pins. “My surprise got the better of me.”
“Let me see the dress.”
His instruction makes us both jerk our heads up.
“Um, Mr. Di Santo, I believe that may be bad luck,” Penelope responds, with wide eyes fixed on me.
“It’s only bad luck if it’s the groom who sees the dress. I am not the groom.”
