Page 41 of Luca
"You drive me fucking crazy," I tell her, my mouth moving to her neck.
"You deserve it," she breathes.
Her dress pools at her feet, and I have to step back to look at her. Really look at her. The lingerie is black lace that makes her skin look like porcelain, and there's a confidence in the way she stands that has nothing to do with shyness or innocence.
This is not the woman I thought I married. This is someone who knows exactly what she wants and isn't afraid to take it.
"I swear, you're different," I say, running my hands along her waist. "Everything about you is different."
"No, I’m not. You simply weren’t paying attention to me before. You know it’s true."
Maybe she’s right.
She reaches for my shirt, undoing buttons with steady fingers. I lift her onto the desk, scattering papers I don't care about. She wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, and when she kisses me this time, there's nothing careful or hesitant about it.
She kisses like a woman who knows what she's doing. Like someone who's been kissed before, often and well.
"I was so angry," she whispers against my mouth. "When she told me about your arrangement..."
"There is no arrangement. There never was going to be."
"Prove it," she says.
I show her with my hands, my mouth, the way I memorize every inch of her skin. When I find the small tattoo on her shoulder – the one I glimpsed that first morning –I trace it with my tongue. It's a compass rose with words in Portuguese underneath.
“Ready to tell me what this means?” I ask.
"Not all who wander are lost,” she replies.
Odd for a woman who has never seen the world.
One burning question keeps circling in my mind though I won’t ask it tonight.
Who the fuck are you?
Chapter 15: Gabriella
When I wake up, he’s already gone.
Even after clearing the air last night about Lucia, I’m still on edge. It’s not so much Luca as the dull, boring routine that's already forming after only a few days of marriage. The same breakfast on the terrace. The same careful conversations with Rosa. The same polite smiles for Paolo and Tony. And especially the same beautiful, though completely suffocating villa where every door I want to open requires permission and every step I take is monitored by cameras.
I've been living other people's lives all of my adult life, but they were always temporary. A few weeks here, a month there, then on to the next adventure. This feels permanent. And I don’t like it.
I slip out of bed and steal one of his dress shirts thrown carelessly over a chair. The shirt is white cotton, and it falls to mid-thigh on me. The sleeves swallow my hands, but it smells like his cologne and something else that's purely him.
Downstairs, I find him in the kitchen with Rosa, discussing household issues over espresso. He's already dressed for business in a dark suit. His hair is still slightly damp from the shower, and when he sees me, his eyes slowly take me in. They travel from my bare legs to the shirt that's obviously his, lingering on the collar that's sliding off one shoulder.
"Morning," I say, heading for the coffee.
"Good morning, Mrs. Romano," Rosa replies with a smile. She glances between us with a satisfied expression that suggests she approves of whatever she's witnessing.
"You're up early," Luca says.
"Couldn't sleep." I pour myself espresso and add sugar. "It’s too quiet here."
Rosa excuses herself, leaving us alone in the kitchen that suddenly feels smaller.
"Too quiet?" Luca asks, leaning against the counter. “What do you mean?”
