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She holds my eyes unflinchingly as she darts a pointed pink tongue out to wet her pouty lips.
Lips that are utterly perfect for sucking my dick. God help me.
One side lifts in a half smile. “I’m—”
The door opens behind me, and I twist about, thunder in my black orbs. “Who thefuck—”
Joseph Fratelli steps inside, a chagrined look on his slim face. “Sorry I’m late—”
His eyes narrow as they take in the girl before me, even as my hand falls away from her smooth cheek.
“Christ, Jo. Heard of knocking?”
I round the desk, my face hardening with each step. As I take my seat, I look at the girl who’s taken the same seat I found her in, her hands folded and resting across her slender stomach.
“And you mayleavenow, little bird.”
My words sour in my mouth even as I speak them, and I open a drawer at my desk, pretending to mess about with paperwork that I could care less for.
“Leave?Now?” She barks a laugh. “I fucking wish.”
I swallow harshly when her words hit my ears, and I lift my head, ready to retort, only for Joseph to cut me off.
“Vaughn, meet Wren Caputo. She will be staying with you while we search for her mother.”
Vaughn Burton and Wren Caputo’s forbidden age gap, Rogue Villain, is coming later this year. Preorder here: https://geni.us/RogueVillain
READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF PAINTED TRUTHS.
PAINTED TRUTHS PROLOGUE
HENRY
Aged Six
“Stay hereand do not leave this room. You hear me, you little shit?”
Opening my eyes wide at Nanny Lauren’s words, I nod rapidly, crossing my feet at the ankles to stop the sudden need to use the bathroom.
“I mean it. There will be hell to pay if you so much asattemptto touch the door handle. You don’t want to test me, Enrico.”
“It’sHenry.”
As though of their own accord, those two words fly from my mouth as her lips turn up in distaste. “Not anymore, it’s not. She’s not here to save you now.”
And with that as her parting shot, she slams the door as she marches down the hallway, leaving me to my thoughts.
My chest burns as I remember these last couple of weeks leading up to this horrible day when Dad and I buried my Mum, and he drank all the funny-smelling special juice in his office, refusing to leave even though I’d cried and begged for hours through the locked oak door.
A single tear escapes and tracks along my already tear-stained, puffy cheek, dropping down and landing on the black shoes Nanny Lauren had made me wear this morning before we went to the funeral service.
I’ve lost count of the number of days since Mum left us.
Since she leftme.
But I miss her like it was only yesterday, and I can still hear her magical voice telling me crazy stories about pixies and elves, knights and dragons, princes and princesses.
My favourite one was always the one about the Prince meeting his true love.
