AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Money is not an issue. Just pick a designer, and I’ll make sure they personally come over.”
“I don’t want to pick a designer,” she snapped.
“Okay, I’ll pick one then and—”
“No.”
I was confused. A few hundred guests would be there, and she wanted to wear a DIY dress. I was a believer in all her talents. She was amazing with Cora, and my staff adored her. I feared that Rosa had a new favourite, and it wasn’t me. Of course, her ability to entertain me sexually and otherwise was noteworthy in and of itself. But she hadn’t even started her schooling, and she thought she could whip up a dress to stand out among all others? Didn’t she realise the bloodhounds that my family were? They’d eat her alive if she appeared in anything but perfection.
“I really think you would be better off with a good designer. You can tell them what you want,” I said gently, trying to persuade her.
Adamantly she shook her head “I would like to work on my dress.”
I sighed. “Fine. Suit yourself.”
I made a mental note to contact designers about a backup dress. I knew what she would look good in.
“Can I invite someone?”
“Who are you going to invite?” The hurt reflected on her face told me that my words came out harsher than I intended. But really, her parents were gone, her friends were back in England, and she hadn’t been here long enough to acquire new ones, or had she?
She crossed her arms in front of her, offering her breasts to my eyes. “I have a couple of friends. They may not be like your Italian family, but they are my friends.”
Cora was tiring of my boring talk and wiggled her legs, trying to get to Divya. She came over and took her. A whiff of her scent snuck up my nostrils, filling me up in all kinds of places. I knew so many little things about her. She liked to shower in the morning rather than at night; she slept all curled up like a kitten. She preferred to walk around the house barefoot. The framed picture of her parents was always next to where she slept….
But some things I didn’t know about her. I didn’t know who these friends were of hers, who were obviously closer to her than I was. I didn’t know why she had suddenly changed her phone number. I wanted to, though. I enjoyed discovering what made Divya tick. Layer by layer.
“Give their names to Marco. He will check them out.”
She flipped her head around to glare at me. “Of course. Imagine the danger they might bring.”
Ah! Her innocence. I hoped the darkness of my world never touched hers.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ANTONIO
My chest tightened and, for a moment, the air was sucked out of my lungs.
I should never have doubted her talent. Now she was taunting me with it. This siren floating down the stairs had done the unimaginable. She had risen beyond any dress any designer could have made. Simply by setting her own rules. This was no ordinary dress.
I was familiar with the saree, the traditional attire in India for women. I’ve seen plenty in my travels, and it was beautiful on the right woman. Yet I had never seen it like this. Divya’s was in some kind of see-through fabric with white sequins, wrapping her like a delicious second skin. Clinging onto her to hide what my eyes needed to see, yet tauntingly hanging loose to give me peeks of hot naked skin. She claimed modesty by wearing some kind of long-sleeved bodice, but the deep cleavage stopping just above her boobs made a mockery out of it. So did her entire naked midriff. This was made solely with one objective in mind. To drive a man insane.
I didn’t know how I got there, but I was at the bottom of the stairs when she made it to the last one. Relief washed through my veins. For a moment, I had feared her breasts would be visible under the barely-there fabric. I wasn’t sure what I would have done had that been the case. My wife’s boobs on display to other men’s eyes wasn’t what I fucking wanted.
It was beautiful. The saree. She was beautiful. I couldn’t tell if she had makeup on or not. She looked just like she did yesterday, only so much prettier today. I liked she had pulled her hair away into a low ponytail. It left her neck free to touch, to kiss, to bite. She probably wanted to come off as sweet Mother Mary, but all I wanted was to push her against the wall and fuck her.
I should fucking say something.
The display of emotions on her face was obvious. Anxious, nervous… she wanted me to say something. I knew that. But what could I possibly say to give justice to what was before my eyes? A man’s wet dreams.
Should I worship her?
Or drag her up and fuck her, reception be damned.
Why did I have to be a fucking pussy and wait for her to say yes when her whole body had been screaming it for weeks?
Words abandoned me when I was considered the diplomat of Cosa Nostra. A fucking joke.
