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Teeth gritted, I looked up at him. “What gives you the right to go behind my back and talk to my doctor? I’m suing that bastard.” I shook my head. “So much for doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Your grandfather has a medical power of attorney. He gave his approval for me to speak to your doctor.”
“I’m not fucking crazy!” I shot up from the floor. “Stop treating me like it. My grandfather uses that stupid document to control me. I only agreed to let him make decisions for a few months. It’s been six years.”
Marcello slid his arm behind my back and pulled me closer, suffocating me with the delicious citrus scent of his aftershave. “C’mere, princess. Just breathe.”
I let him cradle my head against his chest and stroke his fingers through my hair. Even though I hated him, I kind of needed a hug.
I needed Aiden.
“My phone died a few days ago. I don’t have a charger and need to find my brother.”
He hugged me harder, pressing my cheek against his hard chest. “I’ll get you a phone charger.”
I lifted my head and looked up at him. “Is my brother okay?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?”
I inspected his face for a lie and didn’t find a hint of malice.
Marcello studied my painting with a semblance of a smile, then his eyes met mine. “This might be your best work.”
“You think so?”
He nodded. “You have a natural gift. My mom could see the flaws in every person and bring them out.” Then he tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingers softly brushing my cheek. “We’re eating in the dining room in one hour. Change into something more appropriate.”
I lifted the strap over my right shoulder and snickered. “Do my paint covered overalls offend you, sir?”
He moved past me and into my walk-in closet. Seconds later, he dropped a black dress onto my bed. “Luca wants you to wear this one. Get ready.”
Fuck Luca.
I wasn’t a Barbie doll for him to dress up. If he thought I would play by his rules, he was sadly mistaken.
Marcello walked out of my bedroom and closed the door behind him.
The hell with their demands.
I grabbed two paintbrushes from the cup holder on my desk and pinned up my curls into a chopstick style. If the Salvatores wanted to control when I ate and what I wore, I could have a little fun with them. Add some personality to my boring cocktail dress. Plus, I knew it would annoy the hell out of Luca to see me so… imperfect, which gave me another crazy idea.
* * *
An hour later, Marcello escorted me to the main dining room, commenting about my dress. He warned me not to mess with Luca tonight and begged me to change. Apparently, the Prince of Hell was in a bad mood.
Tough shit.
Arlo sat at the head of the table. Luca was on his right beside Bastian and Damian, leaving the left side for Marcello and me. I wore a black v-neck rosette dress that hugged my curves. The fabric stressed my breasts and ass, a slit running down my right thigh.
Luca couldn’t take his eyes off me. Bastian and Damian undressed me with their minds. But Luca’s sinful expression quickly twisted into an angry snarl.
“What the fuck did you do to that dress?”
I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. “You don’t like my modifications?”
All of my clothes were plain and blah, typical rich asshole shit. I preferred jeans, tanks, and shorts, but Luca spared no expense, providing the best clothes his money could buy. The dress was beautiful and elegant, but it wasn’t me. So I added red and gold streaks of paint and set the acrylic with the hairdryer.
He balled his hand into a fist on the table, teeth clenched. “No, I don’t. You ruined a vintage Oscar de la Renta.”
