Page 84 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
“You don’t regret that night at all. You would have slept with him even if he hadn’t asked.”
I start to shake my head but hebellowsat me. “It’s NOT a question.”
I jump with fright, my eyes so wide they hurt. I don’t understand what’s going on. I’ve never seen this side of Benito before and I’mterrified.
He straightens and starts pacing the floor. My gaze follows him side-to-side until he stops and looks over his shoulder at me. “You loved him.”
I want to scream that I didn’t but his temper is bristling over his entire body like a livewire.
“You still do.”
I’m too afraid to defend myself so I just let my lids close. Even when he’s burning up with bitterness and anger, Benito Bernadi is still the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and the pain of seeing him hate me so much for reasons unknown to me is unbearable.
“Do you know how much that hurts?” His voice carries a softer note but I dare not look up. “To know that you’ve been lying to me? You had me think it was all my fault, when you’d wanted it all along. I suppose you were a little bit honest in the beginning… You said you hated me for having the Falconis sent away. Well, now it’s time for me to be a little bit honest with you. I can live with you hating me for that. What I can’t live with is knowing you’ve hated meall along, that you’vebeen playing me this whole time to help Federico get his revenge…”
I look up sharply. His summary is so far from the truth it’s laughable. “What?”
He opens his jacket and pulls out a folded note. I recognize it immediately. It’s the note Bambi passed to me at the lunch. My stomach drops as I try to remember everything Federico wrote. I wasn’t able to take in or process a whole lot in because my mind and body were so preoccupied with being in the vicinity ofthisman.
“You’ve been writing to him,” he states.
“No, I?—"
He points to the note. “It’s here, Tess. In black and white. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply’. Reply, to what, Tess?”
“I—” Shit. I haven’t written to Federico in a few months but I kept it up for a long time. Still, it was before I became close to Benito. I haven’t anything wrong. “My letters. I write to him every month.”
His eyes narrow. “So, you knew his address?”
“No! I had a PO Box number. I have no idea where he lives.”
He ignores my defense and ploughs on. “You’ve been discussing ways to get revenge on me.”
My breaths are short and tight. “We never discussed that…” My gaze darts about, frantically. He talked about it before he left, but it was one sentence, Benito! I didn’t take him seriously. And I haven’t heard back from him at all… until now.”
“Until now?”
He walks around the chair and holds the note up in front of me. “Don’t you mean two months ago?” He points to the date in the top corner and my heart plummets into the base of my stomach. The note is dated March, not long before I saw Benito that first time at Cristiano’s house. That day was the first time I ever spoke to Benito and I wasn’t polite to say the least. I look up into his eyes. They’re sad and hostile at the same time. “Interesting timing, wouldn’t you agree?”
I rewind back to that afternoon, trying to piece together the chronology of events. “Bambi gave it to me after lunch. I read it once but I was too preoccupied to process it so I put it in my bra to read properly later.”
A sadistic slant crosses his face as he straightens. Then he laughs. “You expect me to believe that? The timing is too perfect, Contessa. You’ve hated me for three long years, then you show up at Cristiano’s and suddenly your childhood sweetheart is ‘replying’ to your letters explaining in some detail how he’s planning to exact his revenge on me. It’s too much of a coincidence.”
My heart is rocketing around making me feel nauseous. “Benito?—”
His jaw grinds, then he holds up three fingers. “You were thinking abouthimwhen I ate you out on the hood of your car,” he rasps, ticking off one finger. “You were thinking abouthimwhen you came to my apartment and jerked me off.” Second finger. “You were thinking abouthimwhen youcrawledto me.” Third finger.
I shake my head frantically. “That’s not true!”
“What do you know about the Marchesis?” he shouts, spit landing on the damp floor.
My hands curl into fists behind the chair. “They killed my mother!”
“And?”
Tears start to well in my eyes. I can’t believe this is happening. “What do you mean ‘and’? Isn’t that enough? They took away the most important person in my life.”
Damp air licks at the streaks on my face as tears course down it and drip to my knees.
