Page 95 of Brutal Crown
A soft thud.
I pause outside one of the old sitting rooms, my heart beating in my chest. Has someone been following me?
But when I hear a soft gasp follow, I trace the sound to the slightly open door of the sitting room.
I quietly move toward the door to take a peek, and my body freezes at the sight before me.
Silvia Moretti, her body pressed against the wall, her lips locked with Antonio.
Her bodyguard.
They’re tangled up in each other like they’ve been starving for the kiss. His hands are buried in her hair. Her fingers grip his jacket like she’s afraid he’ll disappear. The more she moans, the more the kiss heats up.
I stand there for a few seconds, unsure of what to say or do.
And just then, her eyes open and meet mine across the room.
Her face drains of color as she immediately shoves Antonio back. Seeing the look on her face, he turns to look at me, and I notice his jaw clench. But he doesn’t move away. Instead, his hand hovers protectively near her hip, like he’s protecting her from whatever the consequence of catching them might be.
We stare at each other for a few more seconds. Eventually, Silvia removes Antonio’s hand from her waist and steps forward.
“I know you… saw what you saw,” she starts. I’ve never heard her sound so nervous. “Please, don’t say anything.”
There was a time I used to crave something that looked like this, the kind of hunger that made you forget the rules. But in this house, forgetting comes with a price.
So I smile. That brittle, sharp kind that barely hides the ache.
“It’s fine. We all have our cages, don’t we?”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk away.
I return to continue with the decorations. By the time I return to my room in the evening, I’m exhausted.
I walk over to the vanity, ready to take off the ridiculous pearl jewelry I have to wear every day now, when I see a note sitting on the surface.
I pick it up and read the short note in handwriting I don’t recognize.
‘Wear a pretty dress. You’ll see why in an hour. —Marco.’
In a few minutespast one hour, I see why.
The guard leading me stops and gestures with his hands for me to walk forward. I walk into the garden, and the scene before me looks like something out of a dream.
Candles flicker along the low stone wall. A small table waits beneath the olive trees, dressed in white linen and soft, warm light. The scent of rosemary and citrus drifts through the air. A bottle of non-alcoholic champagne rests chilled beside two fluted glasses.
Marco turns when he hears me. He grins, and it makes him look much younger. “You’re two minutes late.”
I roll my eyes and step forward. “I didn’t know what I was getting dressed for. Your note was vague.”
He kisses my cheek and pulls a chair out for me. “That was the point.”
I take a seat, and he does the same.
When he starts pouring the non-alcoholic champagne into glasses, I ask, “Are we celebrating something?”
“No.” He hands me a glass. “I just felt like giving you a nice night. You deserve it.”
“Oh, how kind of you.”
