Curious, I tiptoe over there and peek inside. There’s an envelope with my name on it peeking out from one of the bags. I open it, reading the simple message several times to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
I had my personal shopper pick out a few things for you. - R
He bought me clothes? How did he know my size? Shame bubbles up from the pit of my stomach as I think about him telling his personal shopper to get the biggest sizes available.How embarrassing!
Yet, when I pull out the first piece of clothing, I can’t help but smile. It’s a plum-colored silk blouse that feels as smooth as butter. The next item is a pair of form-fitting charcoal slacks. As I open bag after bag of clothes, I realize Renzo purchased an entire wardrobe for me, including a winter coat, boots, heels, bras, panties, and everything in between. This had to have cost him thousands of dollars. Why would he do this? He knows I have money in my bank account after last night, with more coming my way.
I look over the outfits and smile to myself. Even though I grew up with wealthy parents, I never had extravagant things like this. Instead, my mom and dad spent their money on taking a private jet to Paris or Dubai while leaving me in the care of our housekeeper or one of the other staff.
I decide to enjoy whatever kindness Renzo shows me for now. I wouldn’t want to be rude and ignore his gift, after all.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in the softest, best-fitting clothes I’ve ever worn. Looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I smile in approval. I chose a soft white sweater dress that hangs slightly off one shoulder and hits just above my knees. There’s a pair of knee-high boots that would be perfect with it, but I decide to stick with just socks for now. Whatever today holds, I feel confident enough in my new clothes to handle it.
Taking a deep breath, I step out into the hallway and poke my head into Renzo’s room. As expected, it’s empty. I continue my journey, half snooping and half searching for Renzo.
I don’t think Renzo, or anyone, for that matter, is in the house. I’m sure he has security systems and guards stationed around the perimeter. Even my dad has private security. But I get the sense I’m alone in this huge house. It feels cold and empty, despite the elegant furniture and lavish decor.
When I walk by a massive living room with a fireplace, leather furniture, and an expensive-looking area rug, I can’t help but think a giant Christmas tree would be perfect right in front of the large bay window.
A brilliant idea pops into my head as I stare at the mostly empty room and bare mantle above the fireplace. Renzo said he’s never decorated for Christmas. I guess that makes sense. I don’t know much about him other than his profession, but something tells me even if he weren’t in the mafia, he’s not the kind of person who would take time for such trivial things as holidays. At least, trivial according to Renzo.
Since he’s not here and I seem to have a lot of time on my hands, I decide he needs to make up for lost time.
First, I head back down the hall to what looked like an office I saw earlier. I find some white printer paper, scissors, and a few other things that might come in handy. Next, I raid the kitchenfor popcorn, which I’m surprised to find in the pantry. I also spot a large bag of dried cranberries.Perfect.
Finally, I slip outside for a second and make a dash toward the pine trees lining one side of the back yard. I find a few fallen branches that will make for a nice wreath, smiling to myself at my resourcefulness.
Gathering my supplies, I head back to the living room and spread everything out on the floor. I spend the next few hours cutting snowflakes from the printer paper, stringing popcorn and cranberries together to make an old-fashioned garland, and wrangling the pine tree branches into a circular shape to form a wreath.
I’m nearly finished with my magnum opus when I hear footsteps behind me.
“What the hell is all of this?” Renzo’s voice booms. His deep tenor echoes around the room, sinking into my skin and making me shiver.
I’m frozen in place on the couch as he strides forward, pausing in front of the fireplace. It’s electric, so it didn’t take long for me to find the switch and turn it on, creating the perfect cozy Christmas vibe.
Renzo’s fingers trail over the wreath I hung above the mantle, then glide down to the popcorn and cranberry garland before finally landing on one of the dozens of snowflakes plastered around the room. He doesn’t say anything; he merely stares at the items as if they’re from a different planet. With his back facing me, I can’t read his facial features. Is he happy? Annoyed? Oh, God, is he angry that I went through his office and kitchen? That would make sense. I kind of took over the place while he was away.
“I thought you could use something cheery and homemade,” I start.
He hums, but I’m not sure if it’s an approving sound or if he’s winding up to yell at me. With my father, it would certainly be the latter. When he doesn’t say anything else, my mind scrambles to come up with more reasons for his annoyance. Maybe he just checked his bank account and realized how much money his personal shopper spent on me.
“I will pay you back for the clothes,” I blurt out.
“No,” he grunts as he continues walking around the room and observing the festive decorations. “They’re a gift.”
“A Christmas present? See? I knew you liked Christmas!”
Renzo shakes his head, though he still hasn’t turned around. While he has a nice, solid back that I’m sure is rippling with muscle, I’d very much like to see his eyes. I have no idea how to read the confusing man, especially from this angle. Does he want to kick me out? Is he regretting everything he did last night? Oh, God, did he tell my father about the auction?!
“I didn’t mean to overstep,” I hedge. “I can take everything down.”
“No,” he repeats harshly, spinning around to face me. A fierce look emanates from his nearly obsidian eyes as they wander down my face and body.
I sigh exasperatedly and deflate into the couch cushions. “I don’t understand you,” I mutter, breaking his gaze. It’s too intense, and it’s making me feel some kind of way. “First, you rescued me from the auction. Then, you slammed your bedroom door in my face. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in your arms after my nightmare, which makes me think you care.” Renzo’s mouth opens and closes, though he doesn’t say anything. “But oh, no. You left me this morning, which hurt more than it should. And then I found the clothes you bought for me, which is further proof that you at least don’t hate me. When I try doing something nice for you, all I get is a confusing growl. Do you even want me here?”
I end my rant and bite my bottom lip to keep from rambling. I still can’t look at him, but I sense him moving closer to me. When his bergamot and leather scent surrounds me, I can’t help but turn my head toward him.
Renzo leans down and rests his hands on the back of the couch, one on either side of my head. He’s caging me in, his heavy breath tickling across my nose and cheeks. His gaze darts between my eyes and my lips, his nostrils flaring as he gathers his thoughts.
