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Sofia
Luca is already gone when I wake up, and I’m grateful for that, at least. I don’t know how I would face him this morning, after what happened last night.
I feel achy and sore when I climb out of bed, and I take another hot shower, trying to wash away the memory of it along with all of the physical soreness. But both of them linger, and even though I go through the motions of my new morning routine—washing my face, stretching, getting dressed, going down to the kitchen to find breakfast—I can’t shake the confusion.
So I try to work it out as I open up a yogurt and smear almond butter on toast—I still can’t figure out the espresso machine, so I’ve given up on coffee for now. I try to think about Luca, about my feelings for him.
He rescued me.Okay, one point for him. He saved me from the Bratva.
He forced me to marry him.In his defense, though, Rossi would have killed me otherwise. I can’t give him credit for forcing me against my will, but I can’t deny that he saved my life.
He was an asshole about it, though.
I mentally subtract his one point, swirling my spoon around my yogurt. What else?
He took back his promise to give me my own apartment. He took back his promise to leave me alone after the wedding.
But he hadn’t chosen that. He hadn’t wanted us to be attacked the morning after. Luca might be a cold man, an asshole in so many ways, even brutal in others. Still, I believed him last night in his anger and hurt over Giulia’s death. He wouldn’t have wanted that. I don’t think he really even wants me here in his penthouse still.
He threw himself over me during the explosion. He protected me.
Okay, a point for that. What else?
The front door. The couch. The wedding suite. Last night, in his bed.All times when I swore I didn’t want him, that I wanted nothing more than to getawayfrom him, and yet I responded to him every time anyway, my body is drawn to his like a moth to a flame.
And I’m equally likely to get burned.
I give up on the mental math. There’s no way to make it make sense. Luca is a man I would never have chosen in the real world, a man I would have been too afraid of to ever get close to. The kind of man who exudes power and charisma, who I would never have been brave enough to look at, let alone speak to.
And now I’m married to him. I wear his ring, I took vows, and last night he did things to my body that I never even knew could feel that good. And if I gave in, if I went to bed with him without a fight—
You have to earn it.
His words echo in my head, and resentful anger replaces every other emotion in a hot rush that leaves me feeling dizzy. How dare he treat me like a child? How dare he tell me that I have to earn something I didn’t even want, something—
A knock at the door cuts off my train of thought, and I yelp, almost dropping my yogurt in surprise. I toss it in the trash as I walk out, only half-eaten, but my appetite is long gone.
When I open the door, Caterina is standing there.
She looks elegant as always but pale, her face bare of makeup. She must have eyelash extensions because they still look long and fringed despite her red eyes, but there’s not a speck of makeup otherwise on her skin. It doesn’t matter—she still looks flawless, and I feel a small flicker of envy.
And then I remember what she’s lost, and I immediately feel guilty.
“Can I come in?” she asks quietly, and I back up, letting her step through the doorway.
“Of course. Are you okay?” I ask and then mentally kick myself.Of course she’s not fucking okay.
Caterina smiles thinly. “I just needed someone to talk to. Franco is busy, of course, and—well, Luca said you might be someone who could listen. On account of—” she takes a deep breath. “You having lost a parent, too.”
“Both of them, actually.” A sort of calm settles over me, and I feel a little more like myself. This, I can help with. This, I understand—being a friend, grief, loss. It’s simpler to handle than my strange marriage or my confusing feelings about my husband. Caterina’s presence helps push the thoughts of Luca away, and I shut the door behind her, glancing over at her sympathetically. “Do you want something to drink? I can’t figure out the coffeemaker, but I can still make tea, or—”
“Tea would be lovely.” Caterina follows me to the kitchen, sinking into a chair as I poke around for a mug and tea leaves. Luca has one of those fancy strainers, the kind you put leaves in that sits in the water, but the rest is easy enough. Thankfully there’s a microwave. Even though it looks as expensive as everything else and is built into the wall, I can heat up a mug of water, even if I can’t figure out much else in here.
“I have—peppermint, vanilla, Earl Grey, and—rooibos.” I stumble over the last word, and Caterina laughs, the sound breaking off abruptly as if she’s surprised herself.
“Earl Grey, please,” she says politely. “Just black, no cream or anything.”
“I can do that.” I hope I’m telling the truth as I fill the mug with water from the pitcher in the fridge and pop it into the microwave. “So Luca told you to come to see me?”
