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An hour later, Antony returns, with only a large duffel and a suit travel bag. I have him shown to one of the larger guest rooms on the second floor, on the opposite side of the house from my own suite of rooms. As far from my own rooms as possible.
Fay, like the damn traitor that she is, is supremely excited to have him here. As soon as I introduce them, she immediately starts grilling him on what sorts of foods he likes. It’s then that I realize having Antony here means that we’ll probably be taking meals together. It would look too strange to the staff if we didn’t.Can’t have anyone gossiping about us,I think sardonically.
I’m finally realizing the reality of what I’ve just agreed to means that I’m going to be spending quite a bit more time with Antony D’Agostino going forward. And that I’m going to have to act a little more like an enamored fiancée around him, at least when other people are around.
The thought makes me nervous.
And more than a little antsy.
12
SERA
That night, I spend a ridiculous amount of time dressing for dinner, knowing that I’m going to be spending it across the table from Antony.
Do I go for casual? Hair up in a messy bun, oversized T-shirt and leggings? A look that says,I don’t care that you’re here, I’m not trying to impress you? I’ve never, ever showed up in the dining room like that. Mamma would lose her mind if I ever showed up like that for dinner with the family; she always expects us to be “presentable,” even if it’s just the four of us at the table. Or do I choose business attire, as though this is a professional dinner instead of a supposedly intimate meal with my husband-to-be?
I could put on the dress Mamma made me wear the night of the party. But even though I know it looks good on me, it’s tight and uncomfortable. The last thing I need is to be trying not to squirm while I’m sitting across the table from Antony’s undeniable hotness and penetrating gaze.Ugh. This decision shouldn’t be so damn hard. Why do I even care so much? It’s not like he’s my real fiancé. Antony D’Agostino is nothing to me.
He is hotness incarnate, though. And as much as I hate it, vanity is really affecting my decision here. Is it so wrong that I’d like him to think I’m attractive? I have my pride, after all.
In the end, after trying on practically everything in my wardrobe, I choose a light, comfortable sundress in a sage green that accentuates the color of my eyes. Muttering to myself for caring too stupidly much about my appearance, I apply some light eyeliner and mascara, dot a little blush on my cheeks, and put some gloss on my lips. I brush out my hair until it shines, and decide to wear it long, cascading around my shoulders. I choose low-heeled shoes that elongate my legs while still seeming casual enough.
When I’m ready, I give myself a final glance in the mirror. Good enough. Turning to go, I realize that probably no one has told Antony that dinner is being served in just a few minutes. I’d better go to his room and let him know.
My heels echo in the hallway as I make my way from my wing of the mansion across to the guest suite where Antony is staying. If I hadn’t remembered which quarters he’d been put in, I’d be able to tell right away from the swells of music coming from behind one of the doors. I don’t know what I would have expected him to be listening to, but as I approach, I realize it’s…classical? A tenor voice, rich and deep, singing something heartfelt, accompanied by soaring strings. Whatever it is sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.
Curious now, I step up to the door and knock hesitantly. There’s no response. I imagine he might not hear me over the music, so I knock again, harder this time. A few moments later, the knob turns and the door opens. Antony appears in the doorway.
Naked. Except for a towel.
Holy Mary, mother of God.
As impressive as Antony is clothed, he’s whole orders of magnitude more shockingly good-looking (almost) naked. His chest is broad and muscled, pecs so hard and well-defined that except for the olive of his skin, they could be made of marble. A treasure trail of dark hair leads down his chiseled abdomen, disappearing into the top of his towel — which sits just low enough on his hips that I catch a glimpse of his Adonis belt.Oh, my lord.I feel a little faint as my brain reels, imagining what he’s hiding under the terry cloth fabric. I’ve never had such an immediate response to the body of a man. It’s actually a little alarming.
Antony leans one arm against the door frame, biceps flexing and gives me a once-over. “Well, this is a surprise,” he murmurs. His voice, low and smoky, sends electricity down my body, straight to the heat that’s gathering between my thighs. I feel as though he can read every dirty, filthy thought that is starting to formulate in my addled brain. I suddenly feel more exposed than he is, and I’m fully clothed.
I have to get out of here.Now.
I suck in a breath, willing myself to act calm. “Sorry to disturb… um…” I stammer in a squeaky soprano that seems to come from someone else’s throat. “Di-inner is at seven. Um. Down in the, um, dining room. I’ll see you down there. At, um, seven.”
Averting my eyes, I spin on my heels, fleeing down the corridor as he calls after me. “Wait, Sera! Come in! I’ll be ready in just a minute. You can wait in the living room while I change!”
But I’m committed now to my escape. If I turn around now, I’ll look even more ridiculous than I already do. With a strangled noise in my throat I raise a hand and wave it behind me as I continue hustling down the hallway toward the main staircase. All the way downstairs, I mutter insults at myself. “Stupid,embarrassing little girl,” I hiss under my breath. “God, Sera. You’d think you’d never seen a man’s naked chest before!”
Which, admittedly I haven’t seen too many. But still…gah!
Five mortifyingly long minutes later, I’m seated at the formal dining table, a glass of red wine half-emptied before me, when Antony strides in. He looks frankly amazing, in dark jeans and a light gray V-neck sweater that stretches tight over his chest and upper arms. This is the first time I’ve seen him dressed so casually. His dark hair is still a little damp from his shower, which somehow only makes him more handsome — and immediately puts in my mind an image of him standing under streaming water as it courses down his back and chest. He leans in under the spray, which caresses him like a lover, sliding over his stomach, down to…
Gah!
I grab my glass and slam the rest of my wine in one gulp.
Antony slides casually into the chair next to me, which happens to be at the head of the table. He either doesn’t seem to notice how nervous I am, or else he’s too nice to call attention to it. “Well, this is a nice, intimate dinner,” he murmurs. He takes the bottle of wine from its holder and refills my glass, then pours himself one. “What’s on the menu?”
“Blood orange salad and pasta alla Norma. Fay specialties. They’re favorites of the family, she’s been making them for us forever. Oh, and homemade lemon gelato. It’s so good. She’s an amazing cook, you’ll love her food.” I realize I’m babbling, and snap my mouth shut to stop myself from going on.
Antony blinks at me, looking amused, but says nothing. Instead, he takes a sip of his wine. “This is delicious.”
