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He’s not confused.
He knows exactly whose bed he’s in.
I want to scream, but I don’t, because eighteen years on this earth has taught me that no matter what goes wrong, it’s always my fault. If Mom runs in here, Lazzaro will protest that he made an honest mistake. Mom will tell me I’m attention-seeking, and I’ll end up being forced to apologize for causing drama in the middle of the night. I’d rather gargle hot sauce and toilet cleaner than say sorry to this man.
“What are you doing in my room?” I hiss, holding tight to the blankets.
“Your mom’s pissing me off.”
When are they not pissing each other off? Every time they fight, I’m the one who pays for it. Mom walks around slamming doors and shouting. Lazzaro finds me and destroys whatever peace I’ve found watching TV, swimming in the pool, or reading in the garden.
“Then go and sleep on the sofa.”
“But I like your bed.”
“Then I’ll go sleep on the sofa.”
But Lazzaro grabs the back of my pajama top as I try to get out of my bed. “Running off? So fucking rude when I’m being nice to you.”
“How is this nice?” I exclaim in an outraged whisper.
“Did anyone else talk to you today?”
Tonight, Uncle Tomaso and Aunt Sofia came to dinner with their children, two cousins who are older than me and another who is younger. At one point I asked one of my cousins how school was going. Aunt Sofia immediately talked over me and changed the subject.
“Screw you,” I whisper, shuddering with anger and humiliation.
Lazzaro slides an arm beneath me and drags me back against his chest. “Cold? I’ll warm you up.”
His burning hot flesh presses against my back, scorching me from the nape of my neck to my heels. I struggle to get out of his grip, but both of his arms come around me. One of his hands is on my waist and the other is on my bare inner thigh. He’s wearing sweats, but as his hips press into me, I feel the telltale ridge of something hard and thick against my ass.
Panicked words fall from my lips. “What the... is that your... Oh, my God.”
“What’s what?” Lazzaro speaks directly into my ear, his deep voice rumbly and tinged with lust and amusement. I dig my nails into his muscular forearms and grit my teeth against the restless, fluttering feeling low in my belly. He gets off on tormenting me, and he’s made that clear from day one. The moment he crossed the threshold into this house after their honeymoon, his expression dark with anger and every muscle bunched beneath his black T-shirt, he zeroed in on me. Someone was going to suffer for what he’d been forced to do, and I’m his perfect victim.
No, it started before that day. Our eyes met at the church altar and his gaze fell to my nipples, which were pebbled into points and painfully obvious through my pink satin bridesmaid gown. It was so cold in the church, they were practically visible from space.
The priest prompted him to say his vows, and he lifted his eyes to mine as he spoke the words,I do.
Like a curse.
Like athreat.
“Why are you torturing me like this? What did I ever do to you?”
In our reflections, Lazzaro’s eyes narrow with spite. “It’s nothing personal, Mia. I just hate your fucking family.”
He didn’t want to marry Mom, and Mom didn’t want to marry him, but it was arranged by our families like something out of the Middle Ages. The Rosetti family wants to force Lazzaro to settle down, and Mom wants some of the power and money that the Rosetti men wield like weapons in this city. Absolutely nothing about their marriage has to do with love. It’s pure business.
I lie still for a moment, letting Lazzaro think he’s won whatever sick game he’s playing. He reaches up and palms one of my breasts like he owns it. My nipple hardens against the friction of his hand, and pleasure courses through me.
I ram my elbow into Lazzaro’s stomach and fling myself off the bed. I manage to get to the edge of the mattress before he snatches me back against his hard chest.
“Ah-ah, Mia,” he taunts. “Can’t have you roaming the house in the middle of the night. Good girls stay in bed.”
I growl with frustration as loud as I dare. “I hate you,” I seethe, wrenching myself back and forth in his iron-like grip.
“I hate you more.”
