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He slowly shook himself from his reverie to get his own phone, accessing the screen mirroring application so he could see what had her so entranced.
Yet as he traced her actions on the device, he was surprised to see she was accessing the audiobook app, selecting a book she'd already started before.
Since he'd forced himself to limit his watch time, he'd also stopped payingtoomuch attention to what she was reading. After all, that knowledge could only take him in one direction—reading the same book and thusly wasting more time.
And Michele had decided he wouldn't waste any more time. It was too uncharacteristic of him. No, instead, he would use all his timeeffectively.As witnessed by the moment at hand, which he rationalized asveryefficient.
Plugging her earbuds in, she clicked play on the title. Leaning back on the bench, she tucked her legs under her, smoothing her skirt to cover herself up.
Michele's lips tugged up.
His pet's maidenly shyness was quite endearing at times.
Curious to see what she had picked, he put on his own earbuds, choosing the same audiobook.
Kiss an angel.
An interesting title.
Yet as he perused the book's description, he realized it was a romance novel.
Blinking in confusion, he looked from his phone to his pet, shocked to realize her excitement and the smile that painted her lips were all a result of that romance novel.
What could possibly be so good for his pet to be so enthralled by it?
The answer came immediately as the audiobook started playing in his ears. The characters were engaging in a sensual encounter that had his pet blush from head to toe as she brought one hand to her mouth, a slight giggle escaping her.
She looked so young and cheery unlike Michele had ever seen her. And the smile that seemed to grow wider by the moment hadhimenthralled in return.
The book wasn't lewd, and it exemplified the act of lovemaking between a man and a woman in all its glory—all its fun, physical and spiritual glory. Something they'd never had.
Discomfort pricked under his skin the more he listened at the carefree way in which the couple in the book were behaving with each other and he could only see one thing—herpain.
He'd hurt her.
Time and time again, he'd hurt her. And the worst thing was that so many times he'd been so caught up in himself he hadn't even noticed—hadn'twantedto notice.
He took his time watching her, matching her reactions with the events happening in the book and wondering, not for the first time, what went inside her mind.
Before, he thought he'd known her. He'd thought her simplistic because it had suited him to do so. Armed with some background information that didn't even begin to cover everything that she was, he thought he'd had her all figured out.
The abandoned little girl who craved some attention.
So he'd given it to her. He'd used his charm, making her feel she was the only woman in the world until she'd irrevocably fallen for him.
But only now did he realize his mistake.
Shewasn'tjust the pitiful little girl he'd thought her to be. She wasn't made up of just that. And the realization stumped him. Because she'd been playing a role just as much as he had.
Who was she?
Retrospectively, he could see those tiny instances—those little moments when her act had slipped. Because her calm, good disposition and her easy acquiesce were just that. An act.
The real Venezia was maybe one percent of that.
The rest of her was a chaotic ball of destructive emotions, of dreams and aspirations, of hard work and perseverance. And there was also that part of her he'd never touched—the part she kept tightly to herself.
Her mind.
