Page 15 of The Lies We Tell

Wrapping a second towel around her hair, she quickly dried herself off and crossed to the closet. One of the maids, an older woman with hair going gray whose name Tessa couldn’t remember, had insisted on unpacking Tessa’s small collection of clothes.

Two pairs of jeans, a handful of tops, and some bras were all she’d managed to stuff into her small bag. She was going to have to go shopping for a few things and figure out who was responsible for laundry.

Hopping into a pair of jeans and tugging an emerald green sweater over her head, she unwrapped her damp hair and dropped the towel into the hamper before turning back for the bathroom and running her fingers through it to get out most of the tangles.

Pulling it back in a quick French braid since she didn’t have any hair products, she secured it with a tiny elastic she’d found marooned at the bottom of her purse. After brushing her teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste someone had left in the bathroom, she turned off the light.

The curtains were pulled back on the wide set of double doors, but the sun was hidden behind thick clouds. Wind rustled the trees lining the edge of the property, and she moved closer when she noticed two figures strolling across the back lawn.

If she stepped out onto the narrow balcony, leaned far over the railing, and looked to her left, she could see the Tyrhennian. The sound of the waves crashing against the base of the cliffs was familiar, but the view was better, all green grass and trees instead of the short outbuildings surrounding her father’s compound.

Looking out to her right, she saw four cottages sitting neatly side by side and connected by a winding walkway that led to the kitchen. The figures were moving away from the cottages, on their way to work in the house, she imagined.

The closer they got, the easier it was to recognize the old butler, carefully adjusting the lapels of the black suit he wore. He was a tall, lanky figure, head bent, listening to the woman walking next to him and talking with her hands. She was dressed in a pale gray and white pants suit, and Tessa wondered what exactly her role was. Head housekeeper, maybe.

When the figures disappeared from view, she turned away from the window and studied the room. Her bedroom at home was a closet by comparison, half the size at least, with a small uncomfortable bed that was as old as she was and the same pink and green furniture she’d had as a child. It still looked like the room of a little girl.

But this one was richly decorated in shades of pink and gold with pops of crimson. The four-poster bed was draped in a canopy that reminded her of a fairytale. All it needed was curtains to draw between the posts and shut out the light.

The dresser and vanity matched the bed, antique hand-carved pieces polished to a beautiful shine by the army of maids that were no doubt required to maintain a house this size.

Maids who had probably been tasked with tracking her and reporting all her movements back to Matteo. Just like they did at home. At this point in her life, she’d developed a finely honed skill of knowing when she was being watched. Which is probably why when Matteo went to bed last night, she’d felt him on the other side of the door as clearly as if they’d been standing eye to eye.

It was just her instinct kicking in and not the way she remembered his gaze dragging over her when they were alone in her bedroom back home, Drago’s body between them. Those dark brown eyes with a ring of amber around the irises taking her in from across the room. Even the memory of it sent unfamiliar sensations rippling through her.

She hardly knew what to do with the attentions of a man. Especially not one who looked like Matteo. He was tall, over six feet if she had to guess, with broad shoulders and a trim waist under those three-piece suits he liked to wear.

His hair was dark but streaked with gold that looked like he spent a lot of time in the sun. She couldn’t picture it, though, the ever-serious Bianchi Don having fun at the beach. Her favorite thing about him might be his beard. Neatly trimmed, it gave him a rugged, dangerous look, along with the scar slashing through his right eyebrow.

The man was mysterious. She was going to have to be careful around him.

A knock sounded on the door, and she glanced at the antique gold clock on the nightstand. The maids had come in before she took a shower. Were they back to let her know she wasn’t ever going to be allowed out of her room? Just a prisoner in a different villa.

“Coming,” she said, reaching for her phone where she’d tossed it on the end of the bed and heading for the door.

Tugging it open, she stopped short. Matteo’s eyes were trained on the phone in his hand, brows drawn together over a serious expression as he read whatever was displeasing him.

She watched him read for a bit longer, his mouth moving rapidly, before clearing her throat to get his attention. Finally, he noticed her standing there, his gaze traveling the length of her body before settling on her face. There was that unfamiliar tingle again. She didn’t like how unsettled it made her feel.

“Did you need something?”

Locking his phone with a click, he slid it into his pocket and turned to face her fully. “I need your phone.”

Expecting him to ask for information about her father, she was thrown off by his demand. “My phone? Why?”

“As a precaution.”

Tessa waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, she huffed out an irritated breath. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

Matteo raised a single brow. “I don’t have to give you anything. You’re a guest in my home, and now I want to make sure you’re not going to eat my food and sleep under my roof and stab me in the back.”

“Well, then dump me at a hotel or a bus stop or something if you don’t want my help then because I’m not giving you my phone so I can be both trapped in this room and at your mercy.”

When he took a step forward, she took one back, her chin lifting in defiance as she shoved her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. Matteo’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to her hips and then snapping back to her face.

She had the distinct impression he wouldn’t hesitate to put his hands on her to get what he wanted. She also had the distinct impression she wouldn’t mind as much as she maybe should.

“You’re not trapped in this room. And I’m not leaving you at a hotel or letting you hop a bus to Christ knows where. You’ll get yourself murdered.”

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