“Very good,” Rosetta says. “Will that be enough for you?” Emilia nods, and then Rosetta asks, “What about dessert,caro?”
The fork halts midway to Emilia’s mouth. “Is that permissible?”
Rosetta cackles and grins. “Of course, unless you request something outrageous that will take the chef too long to prepare in a timely manner. What would you like?”
I lean forward, stupidly curious about what she might choose. Caruso may not be as wealthy as my brothers and me, but he is a far cry from being destitute, yet at the mention of a dessert, Emilia’s entire demeanor changed. It was subtle. However, I’m rapidly learning to interpret her body language as well as translate her nonverbal responses.
“Would it be too much to ask for cheesecake?” Emilia’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. I shift closer, but if I get any more so, I’ll hit my head on the screen.
Rosetta shakes her head, and Emilia’s face falls. “That won’t be hard at all.”
The elation that lights up my bride’s eyes catapults me into a memory from long ago, to a time when I stared into a similar gaze made up of brilliant emeralds that captivated me as no woman’s has until now. My breathing halts in my lungs when I conjure the image of the young girl’s face. I nicknamed herragazza solare, sunshine girl, because of the unadulterated joy that emanated from her. She was at the first gala I was forced to attend because if someone didn’t, it was considered an insult to the Wolf Pack, and that’s an invitation for retribution. It was the young girl’s presence that helped me make it through the night. Comparing the ages of her and Emilia, as well as their features, it’s entirely possible they are one and the same.
I immediately dismiss the thought.Ragazza solarehad a pure soul, kind heart, and audacious demeanor, and my bride carries none of these traits. She may have the same dark hair and green eyes, but that could be mere coincidence. I can’t believe I entertained the idea they are one and the same, which is an insult to the young girl who ordered me to marry her. Whenever I’ve replayed our interaction over the years, it’s never failed to wipe away some of the darkness that stains my soul.
If I were to meet her as a grown woman, I wouldn’t approach her, because the darkness in me is like ash and soot, dirtying and ruining everything it comes into contact with. But I would look at her, and my curiosity—concerning what had become of her—would be satisfied.
Rosetta walks across the room to exit, and her movement draws my gaze back to the screen and my mind to the present. Emilia clears her throat, and the housekeeper turns to face her.
“Thank you,” Emilia says. She smiles, and it dazzles me just as it did a few moments ago. “You’ve been kind, and I just…thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I continue watching my bride, who grabs the laptop as soon as the door shuts. She doesn’t hesitate to reoccupy the location by the window, curling her legs underneath her tiny frame. The light from the screen flickers over the fragile contours of her face, and her fingers are a blur. My curiosity rises to the forefront again, and I curse myself while I go to view what she’s looking at.
Pont des Arts, the love lock bridge.
That’s a place where couples go with the intention of placing a metal lock, sometimes with their names on it, on the bridge’s railing or grate. Emilia doesn’t have a boyfriend or fiancé, so there’s no reason for her to search this when there are so many other famous sites in Paris. So why is she?
Although Emilia obviously doesn’t have a fiancé, she did at one point. Rossi. Has she lied about her relationship with him? Is this a place they talked about going together in the future or perhaps for their honeymoon? Is she thinking about him right now, in my fucking house?
Every thought and question is like kindling for the fire building within me. I’m on my feet and climbing the grand staircase before I’ve thought about why I’m enraged. I don’t tolerate liars, but there’s more to this than simple deception. Knowing what I do about Rossi, I doubt he cares for her. However, he could try to steal her from me. Another idea is Emilia has feelings for him.
If she’s a slave to anyone emotionally, it’s going to be me.
I don’t knock but manage to keep from slamming the door when I barge in. Emilia gives a startled cry, and her eyes become perfectly round with shock. The element of surprise should never be underestimated, which is why I resent her for ambushing me several times with her quirks and profound words.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice deadly quiet. It’s a complete contrast to the loud pounding in my blood.
Emilia sets down the computer as though it’s a snake and wrings her hands. “Visiting harmless websites for entertainment.”
I shut the door behind me, and when the mechanism clicks, she winces. I assume an air of nonchalance and lean against the wall, crossing my arms. “What websites?”
She’s taking a test, one that will be graded by me and where there is only one right answer: the truth.
“Anything that has to do with common tourist attractions in Paris.”
She averts her gaze, and I narrow mine. “Look at me,” I say. After she obeys, I continue on. “Tell me why.”
“Rosetta told me you were leaving for France, and I’ve never been there, so I was curious.”
Emilia lowers her head as a blush sweeps over her cheeks, and then she brings her gaze back to me. Smart of her. My palms itch with the need to smack her ass until it matches her face in color, although she’s done nothing wrong. Seeing as she’s my property, there’s no reason I can’t punish her, but Rosetta’s words come back to haunt me.
My mother wouldn’t approve of me treating an innocent woman this way.
Emilia picks up the device and holds it out with the screen in my direction. “You can see for yourself. I have nothing to gain by lying.”
But does she have something to lose by telling the truth?
