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“Fuck off.”
His large hands wrapped around my waist, and I was lifted into the air before being set lightly on my feet.
Benvolio kept his hands on my waist sending all kinds of strange feelings through my body and causing both nipples to peak which I found horrifying. Benvolio’s eyes locked on mine. There was anger as I expected but also confusion.
“You have two minutes to change before we go downstairs. You are not meeting my parents dressed like that.”
I slammed both hands on my hips. "Really? They would expect me, a future stripper, to be dressed like a lady?"
“Nikita,” Benvolio growled.
I smothered a smile, knowing I was getting under his skin. He released my waist, crossed to the robe and when he returned, held out a dress. "Put this on now or I will do it for you."
Oh, having him strip and dress me wasn't happening in this lifetime. Considering I wanted to have a word with his father, and Benvolio had made it clear there wasn't a hope in hell of that happening with how I was currently dressed, I snatched the dress from his hand, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
The dress Benvolio had selected was soft blue silk. The bodice was exquisite lace with a round neck and short sleeves. The skirt floated out to sit just above the knees.
I admired myself in the full-length mirror, and had to admit, the dress flattered my olive colouring and suited my petite frame perfectly.
I pulled a hairbrush from a drawer in the vanity unit and brushed out my waves before pulling my thick hair into a high ponytail, leaving a few tendrils to frame my face. After washing my face, I applied a coat of mascara, pinked my cheeks with a hint of blush, and slicked on pale pink lipstick.
One last check in the mirror and I returned to the bedroom where Benvolio stood peering through the window, a pair of matching blue shoes were grasped in one hand.
When he heard me enter, Benvolio turned, and his eyes widened before he skimmed the full length of my body.
“You look lovely.”
His positive comment came as a shock. He moved closer and held out the pair of strappy sandals which I took from him and slipped onto my feet.
Benvolio held out his hand but when I refused to take it, he shrugged, walked past me, and left the room. I followed him downstairs and towards where I could hear voices.
He led me into a dining room with a beautifully set polished wood dining table. Several people were seated. When we walked in, everyone stood.
Benvolio urged me to his side where he stood before a couple I estimated were in their late seventies or early eighties.
“Mother, Father, this is Nikita Ashe.”
I took the opportunity to take a close look at them while we shook hands.
His mother was a tall lady with thick chestnut-coloured hair cut into a bob that framed her beautiful face. Sparkling hazel eyes sat above high cheekbones and her bow-shaped lips were painted with pink gloss. Her skin was the colour of fine porcelain and there was barely a wrinkle or blemish in sight. Benvolio had inherited his mother's perfection but his father's olive colouring.
I turned my attention to the man I hated almost as much as I loathed his son. He was tall but slightly stooped. His dark eyes were dull, and his gauntness left no doubt he was ill. Deep wrinkles punctuated the skin on his face and hands. Despite my anger, and wanting to tear him a new one, I shook his hand.
Benvolio fixed his gaze on me and indicated his parents. “My Father, Enzo and Mother, Lucia.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I lied through my teeth.
“These men are my family.” Benvolio pointed out each man as he spoke their names. “You know Gaetano, and this is Cosimo, Danila, and Savastino.”
After the introductions, everyone resumed their seats at the table. Benvolio sat at one end, insisting I sit to his right. His father sat at the other end with his wife on his left. Cosimo sat between me and Benvolio's mother, Gaetano, Savastino, and Danila sat opposite.
We all sat quietly while a woman dressed in a white uniform set out platters of meat and cheese. After returning to the kitchen, she came back with bowls of fresh salad. Platters and bowls were passed around and although I wasn’t hungry, I put a little of everything onto my plate.
Benvolio poured me a white wine and the bottle was then passed to his Mother. We all started eating and a moment later, Enzo cleared his throat and spoke.
“Welcome to our family, Nikita.”
“Really? You’re going there?” I set my knife and fork down.
