AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I like this one.”
“Good to know. Not that I actually give a flying fuck,stronzo. TellpadreI’ll be in to see him shortly, and can you call the doc? The hole in my arm needs checking.”
Christiano nods.
“Oh, and get me a new fucking phone, please.”
“Sure thing,cugino.”
Chapter Eleven
Thalia
Salvatore’s apartment on the top floor of the building is even more luxurious than the main reception. It makes mine feel like a closet. A really nasty closet in a beat-up old trailer where junkies shoot up all day long.
His bed is larger than my living room. OK, so that’sa slightexaggeration, but it is genuinely the biggest bed I’ve ever seen. Definitely the most comfortable one. The covers are gray silk and the sheets a million gazillion thread count.
I flop down on the bed from my dreams and sigh. It’s like lying on a cloud. Have I died and gone to heaven? If so, I feel happy that my everlasting sleep will be this comfortable. Good to know nearly killing Mrs, Dryzmalski’s cat didn’t send me on a road straight to hell.
The furniture is manly and tasteful. Lots of dark wood. To my relief, there are no feminine touches in this apartment. The minute Salvatore left me alone, I checked the bathroom for tampons, cosmetics, and female hair products - and zilch. The huge walk-in closet contains nothing but acres of designer suits,shirts, and casual wear, all organized according to the exact shade of gray. I swear the guy has an OCD problem.
No woman has spent any quality time in his apartment. That makes me feel much better. I’m not usually a jealous person but the thought of some other female in his life makes me want to cut a bitch. I can’t explain it. To feel territorial about a guy I’ve known for literally two days is insane.
Am I hormonal?
Suffering from some kind of delusional disorder?
Did I sustain a serious head injury in the restaurant and this is all a coma dream?
Fuck, I hope not. How disappointing it would be to wake up in a shitty hospital bed and discover Salvatore was a figment of my overheated, libidinous imagination.
A loud rapping on the main door startles me. It can’t be Salvatore; he’d just walk in. It is his apartment, after all. I sigh dramatically and drag my weary carcass from the heavenly bed. It turns out having sex for hours is tiring. I’m ready for a nap.
“For you,” the scary dude tells me when I look down at the collection of garment bags he’s dumped outside the door.
“For me?” I repeat, confused. This must be a mistake. I definitely didn’t order any new clothes. And looking at the store names on the bags, I’d need to rob a bank to afford most of this stuff.
“Mr. Faugno had his personal shopper pick you some items.” He looks at my Disney tee with an expression that tells me he can’t understand why a grown-ass woman would wear a child’s t-shirt.
I scowl at him. “Listen, pal, Disney merch is super collectible! I’m a Frozen fan, OK?!”
Scary dude rolls his eyes and walks away while I drag the bags inside. Salvatore’s personal shopper - I hope she’s ugly as fuck or I’ll lose my shit - has chosen things I actually like. Thereare some super comfy pastel pink Lululemon yoga pants, a soft-as-fuck white hoodie that feels divine against my skin, some designer sneakers, some tees, skinny jeans, and a pair of leather boots I’d sell my first-born child to keep.
Then I open another bag and flush from head to toe. It contains some of the sexiest lingerie I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Little scraps of lace and silk slither out onto the bed. Everything is my exact size, even the bras, which is kind of surprising. Either he checked my smalls drawer or he’s an expert on women’s boobs. Still, I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.
I’m desperate to try all this new shit on, but first, I want to take a dip in the spa bath I spotted when I did the grand tour. One of the bags contains some bath products from my favorite store. It would be rude not to make use of them.
???
I spend an entertaining evening watching reality TV while scarfing down pizza. By the time Salvatore returns, I am half-asleep in the cloud bed wearing one of the tees his personal shopper picked out for me, along with a pair of silk sleep shorts. I’m vaguely aware of him sliding under the sheets and tucking me into his chest, then nothing.
When I wake up next, it’s early. There is some light peeking through the thick drapes across the bedroom window, but not enough to suggest the sun is high in the sky. Salvatore is dead to the world. His arm is wrapped in a fresh bandage and his skin is a healthier hue.
The temptation to reach out and stroke his stubbly cheek is strong. I have to physically restrain myself. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I losing my marbles? I never let menget close. Never. Watching Mom get her heart broken multiple times cured me of that shit.
With a horrible sense of foreboding, I realize it’s too late. The damage is done. The pathetic organ in my chest called a heart has already bonded with him. I’m so fucked.
A faint buzz from the bedside table drags my attention away from the man in the bed. It looks like Salvatore has a new phone. There’s no clock in the bedroom and I haven’t a clue what time it is, so I carefully slide out of bed to check his phone screen.
