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He leans down until he’s a breath away from my lips, then he looms before me, his eyes locked on mine.
“Bellissima, you don’t have to be wearing my ring on your finger or using my name to be mine.” He speaks slowly, pausing where necessary for effect. As if he knows exactly what words to speak to reach the secret parts of me that long to be touched. “As far as I’m concerned you were mine from the moment I saw your naked body, and I won’t be sharing you with anyone. Ever.”
My lips part in shock and an angry blush races down my body. I try to breathe but we’re so close we’re sharing the same air.
Locked in the tension surrounding us, I’m trapped.
It’s silly. All I have to do is step back but I can’t move. It’s not the first time he’s done this to me. The only difference between then and now is that I’m not naked.
Hunter inches away, allowing the air to move again.
“See you on Sunday, Bellissima. Try to remember my warning.” He winks at me before he walks away toward Dad’s office.
I stare after him, watching until I can’t see him anymore.
My heart is still beating too fast and my pulse is galloping as if it’s in a race.
What the hell just happened?
Releasing the burning breath I was hanging on to, I walk back the way I came, focusing only on getting outside and away from here as quickly as I can.
It’s not until I step outside and a burst of fresh air hits me that the haze fades from my mind. With it comes a dark thought. An unhinged realization that part of me—that secret part of me—liked being called his.
It liked the feeling that I was being claimed.
Claimed by him.
Chapter 7
Luna
Istare out the dark window of the Maybach, watching the trees roll by as the car careens down the long winding road.
It’s Sunday.
I was collected from my parents’ doorstep thirty minutes ago by Hunter’s driver, Richard.
He seemed to be the talkative type when he first arrived, and as Dad and Kimberly were there to see me off, he spoke to them.
After he packed my cases and me into the car, it seemed he quickly realized I wasn’t in the mood for any kind of conversation. Good, bad, or about the weather.
Unless you live in a place where the weather continuously surprises you, people usually talk about the weather here as a last resort. I couldn’t even do that.
I got in the back of the car and allowed myself to be driven away like I was part of a herd of cattle being whisked off to the slaughterhouse.
My problem is stress.
My mind is lumbered with the bad kind of stress that turns into an aneurysm or a heart attack if left unattended.
The answer came with clarity this morning at breakfast when Dad handed me a postcard from Layla.
It came from Tahiti. On the back she wrote:
Congratulations on your wedding. Sorry I can't make it. We'll catch up soon, though. Luv ya. Big hugs xx
I’m going through the biggest thing I’ve had to deal with in my life since Mom’s death, and that’s all my sister could say. Nothing more, nothing less.
I suppose in Layla’s world I should be happy she ended the message with such a nice salutation, but like fuck, I’m not.
