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Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, she pulls the chair out and slips into it. Beside me, I can smell those candied apples, and it once again attempts to hit me right in the chest, reminding me of happier times. But I pick up my wine and swallow back a mouthful, allowing the scent of merlot to fill my nostrils.
"This looks nice," Luna remarks in a whisper as she picks up her fork to stab at the pasta. I wonder if she's imagining me, allowing the fork to pierce flesh. When I don't respond, she looks up, her gaze flickering with calm, with something akin to comfortable emotion.
"I’ve hired a private chef to prepare only the best meal for this evening."
"And you trust someone else cooking for you?" Her question gives me pause. "My father didn’t allow anyone but my mother to cook. When she died, I had to do it." Sadness laces her tone, and I want to pull her into my lap and soothe her pain.
"Eat your food. I don't need to hear about your bastard of a father," I bite out before refilling my glass. Her mouth pops open as I watch her from over the rim of the crystal goblet. But she says nothing. Instead, she does as I asked and eats her meal without uttering another word.
But what she doesn't realize is that I watch every movement she makes.
Chapter 12
Luna
Silence.
He seems to enjoy it, but only around me, I'm sure.
With it just being us in the apartment, there aren't any noises. Not even the bustle of the traffic reaches the double-glazed windows up here. I'm sure they’re bulletproof as well. It feels as if we're sitting in a glass cage with noise canceling headphones on.
I can feel his burning gaze on me, watching me intently. But I don't meet those dark eyes because they seem to burrow into me, digging, scraping at me, wanting to know my secret. I only have one. The most important thing I hold close to my heart. At least, that's what I tell myself as I finish my dinner. Upon the last bite, I pick up my wine and sip down the last few drops before setting the glass down.
Laying my hands on the table, I sit back and look out at the city that glints before me. Twinkling stars in a city that never sleeps.
"You're welcome to go back to your room now."
Anger surges through me. "Is that what this marriage is going to be?" Snapping my glare on him, I narrow my eyes watching his expression turn from calm to something akin to rage.
"I never wanted this. You are a punishment from my father. His last dying wish was for me to marry you, to kill off the Cavallone line. I never refused my father. He was not just my parent, he was my Boss." His voice is clipped, void of emotion, but his eyes are as expressive as ever. They tell me everything he's feeling. And it's no longer anger at me, it's pain at losing the man he looked up to.
I want to fight back. I want to throw an insult at him and his family, but I know what it's like to lose your parents. So, instead of responding, I nod and push my chair away from the table. Silently, I rise to my feet and offer him a small smile. "Thank you for dinner, it was lovely." I turn and make my way to the bedroom, where I'll stay until he leaves for work in the morning. At least, I pray he will.
I'd like some time alone, and with him being out of the apartment, I can think about how I'm going to change his mind about me. Deep down, I realize Enzo hates my family, not me specifically. And on top of that, he's heartbroken.
It's the same pain I felt when I lost my dad. He was my hero. In my eyes, he will always be that, even though I know he's done some unspeakable things. Sighing, I slip the sleeves of my dress down my arms and shimmy out of the soft fabric. It whooshes to the floor in a heap at my feet just as my bedroom door opens.
Spinning around, I almost topple as the material binds at my ankles. Within seconds, Enzo is there, his arm wrapped around my waist, his body cocooning me, and his hot breath fanning gently over my face. His lips are inches from mine as he leans over me, holding me up. Everything south of my belly button tightens when my palms land on his chest, and I feel the muscles under his dress shirt tensing.
"Be careful," he orders, his tone gravelly, husky with desire as it dances in his dark eyes. His hand is still splayed on my back as he grips me in his harsh hold, and yet I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. When he straightens, he pulls me with him before releasing me.
