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It was—she thought—exquisitely Dante.
He was that sort of man. Not a spare ounce of body fat on him, muscular, honed. His suits cut to tailored perfection, sleek, dangerous lines. Nothing overshadowed him. Rather it became a part of him. Absorbed into his orbit.
This house was no different.
He moved to the back seat of the car and retrieved Isabella’s car seat, his movements as casual as if he had been doing it for the past three months.
“You’re very good at that,” she said.
“Thank you,” he returned, and she couldn’t tell if he was genuinely thanking her, or if he was making fun of her. She could never tell with him.
He made quick work of showing her the rooms about the place, and when he showed her to the beautifully appointed nursery she nearly collapsed.
It was an oasis. And Isabella would be safe.
Her daughter would be safe.
Whether Isabella had come from her body or not was irrelevant.
Carlo was her father, and he had blood ties to her, and it didn’t mean that he cared. It meant nothing.
What mattered was love.
Isabella had given Minerva a sense of purpose she’d never experienced before. And yes, it had come with extreme exhaustion, uncertainty and a niggling feeling that she might be doing something wrong.
But mostly it was...purpose that she hadn’t found before.
She’d left home to study in Rome because at home she’d always felt lost. She hadn’t had a clear sense of what she wanted to study and she’d switched classes around at an alarming rate. History. Art. Art history. Business—which she’d quit immediately because it had depressed her since she had felt she would have to compete with Violet of Maximus to make it relevant.
But with Isabella she felt focused. She felt...fulfilled.
She gave Isabella a bottle, changed her diaper, and yet again, the little girl was ready to nap. Minerva took the opportunity to explore the rest of the house. Her bedroom was beautiful. Stark white walls, a white marble floor with the plush marble throw over it. The bedding was also white and soft, with large windows overlooking the sea. And she found that when pushed, they slid open, and were actually doors that gave way and led to a path outside. As far as she could tell that path led to the beach, and she had every intention of exploring it later.
For now, she needed a bath.
She slipped into the en suite and found a large tub that was also white, and looked like a freestanding bowl. It appealed to the romance in her spirit, and she began to fill it as she went back into the bedroom and began to rummage around for clothes.
It was then she realized that none of these were her own.
But of course they weren’t.
Dante had procured a wardrobe for her. As she looked at the pieces, she couldn’t imagine which woman he had been dressing when he had selected them.
Of course, Dante hadn’t had anything to do with it.
But for a moment it was... Interesting. To entertain the idea that he looked at her and thought that she was the sort of woman who should wander around a place like this in a brief crop top, flowing pants and a sheer caftan. That she was the sort of woman who should wear many dresses in various bright colors and... A white bikini.
She hated wearing swimsuits, and she definitely didn’t gravitate toward bikinis. Not when her sister often wore them in her signature purple, showing off her brilliant curves.
Minerva’s curves were so slight she doubted she could even roll a penny down the slope of her breast.
She imagined herself in the swimsuit. If it got wet it might be somewhat see-through. She wondered what Dante would think of that.
The idea sent a sip of something forbidden through her body and she immediately turned away from it. She went back into the bathroom with the crop top, pants and caftan and stripped her clothes off, settling herself into the warm water. It was only there that she allowed herself to reflect on everything that had happened. The kiss...
She was submerged in warm water, and yet she felt her nipples pebble when she replayed it in her mind.
No. She wasn’t going to think of it. It was shocking. She should be angry at him, because he had kissed her in a way that no one would expect a man to do in a church.
