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For a second, she looked as shocked at the physical manifestation of her fury as I was, then she regained her composure and took a swift step back, as if worried about what I would do next.
As furious as I wanted to be, the fight Ginevra had in her was hot as hell. She was right, of course, but if I ceded ground now, I’d lose an opportunity for leverage later on.
“Are you done?” I asked her, my expression impassive. When she didn’t answer, I rose from the bed and stalked toward her, backing her into her desk. I gripped her jaw, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks. “You are an imperfect substitute for your sister. We allowed you to take her place because we don’t need illegitimate sons, but don’t think for a moment that you’ve earned a place at my side that I wouldn’t have granted her.”
Ginevra’s eyes filled with tears. I shoved down the urge to take her in my arms and tell her I didn’t mean it, that she was right, that she deserved better. It wouldn’t get us anywhere. All three of us had given away too much when we freaked out this morning, and I needed to gain that ground back. We didn’t intend to change our lives to accommodate her, and the sooner she realized it, the better.
A lone teardrop left a wet track down her cheek, dripping onto the fingers that held her face in place.
“Areyoudone?” she asked me.
I dropped my hand, and she jerked away, disappearing into the bathroom, where the sound of her trying to silence her sobs burrowed deep into my chest.
Fuck.
By the time Ginevra reemerged,she had regained her composure and fixed her make-up. I kicked off my shoes, stripped off my jacket, and stretched out on her bed, relishing the opportunity to observe her while she worked. She pretended I didn’t exist.
After a few minutes of fussing over the light, she turned on her laptop and angled it so I was out of sight, then logged in as she thumbed her way through dozens of messages on her phone.
Rian: Text us when you’re done. We’ll come downstairs.
Cormac: Where are you?
Rian: Ginevra’s room.
Cormac: *head exploding emoji*
Rian: She’s working, asshole.
She frowned at the exchange, but didn’t join in. Better that she have no illusions about the type of man I was, even as something in me wanted to do nothing but gather her in my arms and do whatever it took to make her happy.
I watched her cycle through a series of meetings where she checked in with her team, following up on milestones, gently prodding managers, and deftly dealing with myriad personnel problems. Her team liked and respected her, and I could see why she’d been such a successful entrepreneur.
After an hour, she turned around in her chair. “I need you to be fucking quiet for this next call,” she said to me as I lazed on her bed.
“Have I not been quiet this whole time?” I asked, pretending amusement.
“This one’s important, Rian,” she answered. “Please.”
I sat up. “What will you give me for it?”
Ginevra swore. “I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.”
“You should’ve,” I agreed. “Now, princess, what will you give me for my silence?”
She looked me up and down, her eyes tired. I suppressed the guilt that followed—I didn’t want to care that she wasn’t in the mood for sex games, or that including her that morning likely would have avoided her injury.
After a pregnant pause, she nodded. “What do you want?”
“Your lips wrapped around my cock as soon as you hang up from that call.”
She closed her eyes, but not fast enough to stop a tear from trickling down her cheek. Good. Better that she understand clearly the terms of our relationship. “Yeah, okay,” she said, defeated. I tried not to let the disappointment in her eyes hurt.
I lay back down on the bed, with my hands behind my head, and stared at the ceiling.
“Richard,” Ginevra said, answering the call, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. “It’s so good to hear from you.”
Jesus, their conversation was insipid as she sucked up to him, making the man comfortable, coaxing his secrets out. Ginevra was a master at her craft. As I listened, I wondered why she’d never turned that charm on us.
