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Bianca
Rio ignoresme for most of the journey. The flight isn’t long, but it feels like forever. I am placed in a seat at the opposite end of the cabin to him, and an attendant straps me in. As if I’m a child and cannot do it myself. Partway through the flight, my contrariness gets the better of me, and I stand and move to the leather seat opposite Rio, sitting down and staring at him in the hope of gaining his attention.
He looks up briefly, spears me with that intent chocolate-brown gaze, then waves a hand, and the attendant appears seemingly out of nowhere, gently taking my arm and urging me back to my designated seat.
Is this how it’s going to be from now on? He’s punishing me with the silent treatment?
It seems childish, and not what I expected from a man like him.
I half expect a dungeon and handcuffs. Not the fluffy, erotic kind either.
It isn’t until we are back in Boston and inside yet another limousine, gliding through the city that I used to call home, that he deigns to speak once again.
“Why did you keep the rings?”
“I beg your pardon? I mean…are you referring to the wedding ring your men photographed? In my bathroom?”
His nod is short and sharp.
“Well, because…” WhydidI keep them? Why did I take them in the first place? “I…”
I love you, and I wanted a reminder of that love, even though what we had was twisted and toxic and unhealthy.
“Because they’re worth money, and I planned to hock them in the future when I needed to,” I say.
I expect his expression to tighten, his eyes to spark with displeasure.
Instead, his mouth quirks up, and he releases a small huff of laughter. “I know you, Bianca. And when you lie, the right side of your mouth jerks slightly.”
Does it? I reach up and touch my fingers to my lips. His grin widens.
My heart lurches, but not in fright. When he smiles like that, even though it is only momentary, my body responds to his nearness the way it always has. With a flash of need as inappropriate as it is unwanted.
I turn and stare out the window, trying to recreate distance between us. I raise my brows when I realize where we are. The limousine slows as it pulls up to the gates of Rio’s Boston estate.
“Oh! I didn’t think you’d ever come back here, after Francine…”
I swallow down the rest of my sentence. Francine was complicit in holding me captive, but she did it because Rio wanted her to, and she loved her nephew—her whole family—with all her heart. How can I blame her for that? I even grew to like her, in the end. She didn’t deserve to die. Tears threaten, and I blink them away.
“I’m sorry about your aunt, Rio. I’m not sure I ever really told you, but she and I… I liked her. And I am sorry for your loss.”
He grunts. “I haven’t been back until now. And thank you. Francine was loyal to our family to her last breath.”
There is a pause, and then he adds, “My aunt’s memory will live on in all of us.”
His last words puff against the back of my neck. I jerk and turn to face him. So close. His arm stretches behind my head along the back of the seat. If I tilt my head back, even a couple of inches, I could rest against his shoulder or upper arm.
The temptation to do so is almost overwhelming, especially when his fresh scent wafts up around me. The aftershave I always loved, subtle and sexy, teases at my nostrils and infuses my limbs with a sudden lethargy.
I look up into his face and read what he obviously wants me to see in this moment. Desire. Raw, naked desire, overlaid with a simmering anger.
I can’t help myself. I reach up and cup his strong jawline. “Do you hate me, Rio, for what I did?”
He leans into my caress, for the merest second, before his eyes narrow and the moment of connection is gone. He shifts back slightly along the seat, and I drop my hand into my lap.
“I do not hate you. I hate what you did to me. And in my position, I cannot let that act go unpunished. You know that, do you not? Surely, you knew the consequences of defying me.”
