She should have slapped me across the face. It might have stung less.
I back away slowly. Swallowing my shame as I glower at the burning expression on my mother’s face. No hint of remorse is betrayed in her expression.
Because we both know she’s right.
Unable to bear it, I march out of the sunroom without another word.
The problem is that Carmen has her own kind of gravity.
I had intended on leaving her alone. I had intended to leaveeveryonealone after such a volatile breakfast.
There was a significant number of things on my mind, after all. Enough that a smarter man might have spent time musing and cataloging his thoughts in order to understand them better.
The news that we would be staying in Emilia-Romagna, in the Iron Castle, indefinitely had floored me. The fact my mother now had an indefinite timeframe to spring a wife on me terrified me.
But the sound of my name on Carmen’s breathless lips haddestroyedme.
Truly, it was all I could think of. The way she had clutched at me, sunk into me. How she’d trusted my every word until she’d climaxed in my arms.
The way she hadtasted.
It was enough to drive a man insane.
So there was really no surprise that I ended up at her new bedroom door, driven by a primal kind of hunger. An insatiable one.
One that I desperately needed to get under control. And yet…
“Is everything to your liking?”
Carmen’s eyes snapped over to me from her perch by the window. She hadn’t heard me enter, clearly too enraptured by whatever she saw through the glass.
She’d asked for sunlight and it grazed over her now like a second skin, illuminating all of her finest details. In this light, she shone brilliantly, like the embodiment of the sun itself—but even I noticed how the glow seemed too ethereal, too pale.
How long had it been since she last felt the sunlight on her skin? We arrived here weeks ago.
Suddenly, the window didn’t feel like enough.
“It’s all awful, actually,” she said after a moment. Her voice was flat as she gestured around the room. “I truly can’t comprehend how you could stand living somewhere as terrible as this. No wonder you’re so desperate to go back to Brooklyn.”
Her words clashed sarcastically against the incredibly decadent master bedroom and matching en suite. The stone walls are softened by rich tapestries—reds and golds woven into intricate patterns.
A four-poster bed dominates the room, its heavy wooden frame carved with elaborate details. The bed is draped with lush fabrics that spill onto the floor like a cascade of opulence.
I lean casually against the doorframe. “Not as nice as your castle back home, princess?”
She pretended to ponder this for a moment. “I suppose the dragon guarding me is slightly more handsome.”
This, too, was destroying me. Her sudden shift into backhanded flirtations to try and disarm me. Each delivered with that same sense of unwavering indifference as if she were stating a fact instead of an opinion.
She’s goading me. And mortifyingly, it’s working.
“Come to the gardens with me.”
Carmen’s calm expression shatters in alarm. “What?”
I push away from the doorframe and hold out my arm. “You look like a wilted flower stuck in here.”
“And whose fault is that?” She’s scowling, but she gets to her feet anyway.
