“If you insist.”
Her eyes rolled. “Speaking of family, where are your parents? They weren’t at the…mansion.”
She wouldn’t even say wedding. I didn’t blame her there. It wasn’t a wedding. It was merely a means to an end. Our wedding was yet to come, when she’d ask for it, and it was going to be the best she’d ever seen.
“Like yours, they’re dead,” I answered.
She pivoted a little, looking at my face but still not showing me her full frontal. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“Half.”
“But you’re not close enough for them to be there yesterday?”
I dragged a deep breath. “I used to have a half-sister that I liked.”
“What happened to her?”
Her beast took over, and she couldn’t live with herself. “Also dead.”
“Shit. Are you—”
“Hungry? Very much.” My family was the last thing I wanted to talk about, at least, now. “There’s a washroom to the left. Clean yourself up and start cooking.”
Swearing under her breath, she got to her feet and kicked the bucket before she lifted it. Then she swore again all the way to the washroom as her toes must have hurt like a motherfucker.
When she came back, the apron covered most of her front but failed to contain her tits. They jiggled and spilled from the sides as she twirled her long hair in a more secure bun. “What would you like me to cook for you tonight, Signore?” she taunted.
“Sanguinaccio,” I teased back.
“I don’t know what the fuck that is, but it sounds gross. Sanguine, isn’t that blood?”
“Vero. Sanguinaccio is pork-blood sausage sweetened with chocolate.”
Her jaw twisted with disgust. “Are you a vampire or something?”
I laughed. “I don’t grow fangs and lose it at the smell and sight of blood. If anything, it soothes me.” And, because I was a sick fuck psycho like she eloquently described, it turned me on. “So no, I’m not a vampiro. I’m a big fan of blood, though.”
She blanched but as usual pretended to be strong. “I’m not squeamish around it either. If you give me a recipe, I’ll make your bloody intestine dessert.”
Interesting. “Will you eat it, too?”
Her lashes fluttered, and her lip curled under her teeth as if even the idea of the taste of it in her mouth was too much. “What will be my reward if I do?”
“Hmmm, how about chicken parmigiano?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll make sanguinaccio, and I’ll make you chicken parmigiano. If you eat thebloody intestine dessert, you get to eat a decent meal.”
Her brow shot up. “You’ll cook for me?”
I nodded with a smile. “It’d be my pleasure…prigioniera mia.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her tits spilling more from the sides of the apron and stirring my cock in my pants. “Do you even know how to cook?”
