Her brows lift, and she gives me a curt nod. “Yes, signore.”
I’m fuming, and so is she, given her formally addressing me. I don’t need to hear her say she’s disappointed in me—it’s written all over her face—but I can’t believe she’s defending Emilia to me, knowing who she is and where she comes from. It’s unfathomable.
“Where is she now, Rosetta?”
“In the room you assigned her.”
Her tone is saturated with disapproval, but I shove that aside. “Anything else I need to know?”
“No, signore.”
I wave a hand in dismissal, and Rosetta turns to leave. Although, she makes a point to give me a dirty look, relaying all her unsaid thoughts right before she exits the room. I massage my temples to relieve the pounding there. Bringing Emilia here was supposed to give me satisfaction brought about by her suffering. Yet I have none.
After reopening my laptop and closing out the various documents and internet browser windows, I bring up the camera feed from Emilia’s room. I scan the space, and when I don’t immediately locate her, my anger flares at the thought of her being gone. But then I find her, curled up underneath the small enclosure in front of the window, her image small due to her compacted position. In order to see her more clearly, I zoom in on her, and the pixels bring her features into focus.
My cock grows hard at the look of pure rapture on her face.
She doesn’t make a sound, which perplexes me. The possibility of her being asleep is plausible except for the smile gracing her full lips. I concentrate on that expression, and another current of lust shoots through me. However, it’s followed by the realization I’ve never seen her smile before. Ever.
I think back to the photos I had people take of her, and not one captured the image before me.
For a long while I simply stare at my screen, both confounded and entranced. Her not showing joy in my presence isn’t a mystery because I know I’ve given her nothing to be happy about. And I assume the same of Caruso. Not that I enjoy being put into the same category as him, even for benign reasons such as this. After watching Rosetta all these years, I’ve learned women are emotionally resilient. Surely this can’t be the only time Emilia has been like this? Which leads me to the next logical thought: What brought this about?
My fingers fly over my keyboard until I have the answer. Every click of the mouse, stroke of the keys, and website visited sits in front of me in a collection of data. I sift through it, knowing there’s nothing threatening within. If there were, I would’ve been alerted. Originally, I hadn’t planned on giving her the laptop, but after learning nothing important about Caruso’s business dealings, I devised a plan. Giving Emilia that computer will accomplish several things. It will show me if she tries to contact her father, which could prove their relationship isn’t as distant as I was led to believe. She might even go as far as to report things back to him. The correspondence would be intercepted and shut down before it was delivered, but she wouldn’t know unless I told her. Secondly, anything she researches could give me a clue to something I may have missed. And lastly, her activity will give me a direct view into her mind.
And what I discover is mundane.
It’s France, specifically Paris, and everything tourists generally do when visiting that location. Rosetta must’ve told her of my upcoming trip, but why would that prompt Emilia to extensively research this? Does she know something aboutLe Milieu, the crime syndicate in France? If so, then there’s nothing on my screen to indicate that. Does she think to go with me, as if it is a vacation? I doubt that. She doesn’t want to be around me, let alone do frivolous things such as the events listed before me.
Having found nothing nefarious, or significant, I close it all out and bring her up on my screen again. Emilia’s wistful expression is still present. I study it extensively until I end up with more questions than answers percolating in my mind.
Eventually, I shove back from the desk with a grunt of frustration and slam the laptop closed. Leaning back in my chair, I steeple my fingers and rest my chin on them, slipping deep into thought. Rafael taunted me about watching over my bride while I was gone, and this prompted me to foolishly announce I’d be taking her with me to France. Except, it wasn’t only Rafael’s jibe that persuaded me to act rashly.
It was the extreme interest and attraction that flared in both my brothers’ eyes when she appeared.
Tristano’s disappeared quickly out of respect for me and her. He’s always been the honorable one, the gentleman. But Rafael’s gaze ignited with lust, and this provoked me severely. He couldn’t hide it, and I’m not sure he wanted to. Goading me, along with everyone else, is a favorite pastime of his. And he found the perfect weakness to exploit and send me into an irrational jealousy.
I’ve avoided fucking Emilia, because I wanted the fear of that threat looming over her at all times. I wanted her to constantly fret over the prospect of me taking her body, under my terms and on my timeline, but all that changed the second I touched her cunt and found it drenched with arousal.
That fucked me up like nothing I’ve experienced.
Since then I’ve kept from fucking Emilia, because I don’t trust myself. I enjoyed watching fear brighten her green eyes and hearing her sharp intake of breath at the feel of my fingers on her skin. I delighted in the expression that crossed her face when she attempted to hold back her orgasm. And her full lips hungrily sucking my cock? I about fucking died from pleasure. Those things, plus a good number of others, lead me to believe I’ll lose myself in her body.
Ultimately forgetting her identity and mine.
With a string of curses, I open the laptop and retrieve the camera feed of her room again. She doesn’t have that faraway look anymore, but the smile is still present. It’s less than before, yet her attractiveness hasn’t waned. If anything, seeing her this way has made it grow.
There’s a knock on Emilia’s door, and a simple keystroke reveals Rosetta just outside. She enters Emilia’s room with a tray in hand, her voice easily carrying to the speakers and therefore to me.
“My old bones scream seeing you in that position.” She sets down her burden on the vanity and massages her lower back with both hands. “Have you been sitting there all evening?”
Emilia’s face takes on a sheepish expression, her eyes downcast when she shrugs.
“You need to eat,” Rosetta says. She wags a finger in the younger woman’s direction. “If you don’t, I’ll take the computer away.”
“I’ll eat.”
Rosetta crosses her arms, and although her back is facing me, I know what type of look she’s giving Emilia. The corners of my mouth twitch at the speed at which my bride closes the laptop and hops down from her perched location. She gracefully lowers herself onto the vanity chair and takes a bite, her gaze never leaving the housekeeper.
