Page 23 of Sins of the Father
His mother smiled. “Yes, he has told me much about you.”
Mia almost snorted but managed to hold back the sound. “I was not aware he truly knew anything.”
A light laugh left Mrs. Valachi. “I left a few by your bedside. Some I read when I was your age and have since read them a dozen times; they are that wonderful.”
Mia smiled. “I am certain I will enjoy them as well.”
“Good. The balcony doors open all the way, so you’ll hear the waves at night. Dinner will be served shortly, so freshen up, and I will have someone escort you to the dining area when it’s time.”
“Thank you.”
A few minutes later, Mia entered her bedroom on the second floor, which had a lovely balcony. The garden suite smelled faintly of ocean and linen, evoking a soothing and clean scent. In the bathroom, Mia stripped out of her travel clothes, folding them neatly before setting them aside. She stepped beneath the shower, and the moment the hot water struck her skin, a sigh broke free. Heat poured over her, loosening the knots in her shoulders, washing away the stiffness in her limbs. For long moments, she stood there, eyes closed, letting the stream beat against her until the ache in her muscles finally melted. It felt decadent—more than cleansing, it felt like a small surrender, a luxury she had not known in years. Bath time had always been so practical and efficient at the convent, then quick and economical at the small apartment.
But the steam could not banish the memory that rose unbidden. Luc’s mouth on hers. The taste of him—heady, demanding, devastating. Her body flushed hotter than the water as she thought of it, as she wondered what it would be like in his bed, claimed as his wife.
A whole year of him.
A year of kisses that stole her breath, of touches that promised both fire and ruin. Her pulse raced, shame and confusion tangling with the secret spark of wanting.
When at last she shut off the shower, Mia dried herself and reached for the clothes laid out for her. A silken blue shirt, soft as a whisper against her skin, and crisp linen trousers that fit perfectly. She had never worn anything so fine, and slipping them on was like stepping into another life, one she could never belong to. Mia left her hair loose, too tired to tame it, the damp strands trailing down her back.
A knock sounded on her door. In the hallway, Gabriella met her with a bright smile and looped her arm through Mia’s. “I have always wanted a sister! I am happy you are here. I was getting bored with Luc and Tonio.”
Mia smiled faintly, still at a loss for words, but something in Gabriella’s infectious spirit eased the knot in her chest, if only for a moment. The dining room was stunning—featuring high ceilings, crystal chandeliers that cast a golden glow, and a polished mahogany table set with fine china and gleaming silver. Luc stood by the mantle, speaking quietly with Antonio, both of them framed by the fire’s flicker.
Luc turned briefly at her entrance, his eyes unreadable, before returning to whatever exchange he was having with his brother.
Their mother swept into the room a moment later. With a graceful nod, she took her place, and the family gathered around the table. The meal unfolded with laughter and conversation. Gabriella’s lively chatter filled the air, Antonio teased her mercilessly, and even Luc softened enough to share a wry remark. Mia sat quietly at first, but soon the warmth drew her in. They asked about the convent and the children she taught. She found herself speaking easily, explaining how most were orphans, how their faces lit when they learned to readtheir first words. Gabriella clapped her hands in delight; Luc’s mother’s eyes flickered with something close to approval, and Antonio watched her with curious laziness as if he were trying to understand just who she was.
For the first time in days, warmth bloomed inside Mia, and she felt at ease. If this were Luc’s family—welcoming, attentive, even kind—perhaps she could endure this year. Perhaps she could even find some measure of peace here.
But then she felt it. A gaze, steady and unrelenting. She turned and found Luc watching her. He wasn’t smiling. The warmth that had softened him in the presence of his family was gone, replaced by the same cold, cunning edge that chilled her to the bone.
The laughter around her dimmed, fading beneath the weight of his stare. The warmth she had allowed herself drained away, replaced by the reminder of who truly held her fate. He was not like his brother, whose laughter and easy banter could disarm anyone; nor was his mother’s serene warmth like Mia’s quiet acceptance; nor was Gabriella’s effervescent joy. Luc was something colder. Something dangerous. Mia lowered her eyes to her plate and silently prayed she would survive Luc Valachi for a year.
A couple of hours later,Mia stood on the balcony, her face tilted to the heavens. Moonlight silvered the waves below, the ocean’s restless call whispering for her to run outside to surrender and lose herself in its depths. Mia smiled at her fancy, and then she sensed Luc before she saw him—his scent, a headyblend of his cologne and something dangerous, curling around her like smoke.
She did not turn when his voice came, smooth and low, purring through the shadows.
“Are you unable to sleep?”
His voice drifted across from the balcony beside hers. Only then did Mia realize that the connecting door in her chamber must lead directly into his rooms.
“No,” she said softly, her throat tightening. “I just wanted to see the stars and the ocean. I realized I have never felt the sand beneath my feet or the ocean breeze on my face.”
“You’ve never left the convent?”
Mia was almost startled at his interest. “Only a few times, and always for practical matters. I don’t even know how to swim or roller skate.” A soft, embarrassed chuckle slipped out. “I suppose I’m being silly.”
“No,” he said. “Life is meant to be lived, savored. It’s already too short to be endured with empty hopes that will never come true. As my wife, you can do whatever you want.”
She gave a startled laugh. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” His gaze held hers, steady and unyielding.
“What if I wanted a tour through the White House?”
“I will have it arranged.”
