"Bianca."
I don't turn around. "What?"
"Where exactly are you going?"
"To my room."
"That's not your room."
Now I do turn. He's standing at the base of the stairs, hands in his pockets, looking at me with that unreadable expression he wears when he's about to issue a command disguised as a suggestion.
"Yes, it is," I say carefully. "The guest room. The one I've been sleeping in for the past week."
"The guest room I specifically told you not to use."
"The guest room I'm using anyway because I'm not sleeping in your bed like some kind of—" I cut myself off before I say something I'll regret.
"Like some kind of what?" He takes a step up. "Say it."
"Like I'm waiting for you." The words come out sharper than I intended. "Like I'm just another conquest you get to check off your list whenever you feel like it."
"That's what you think? That I put you in my room so I could have easy access?"
"Didn't you?"
He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "If I wanted you in my bed, Bianca, you'd already be there. The room assignment wasn't an invitation. It was practicality."
"Practicality."
"Appearances. If my staff thinks we're not sharing a room, they'll talk. And if they talk, word gets out. And if word gets out, myfather hears about it before the party, and the whole charade falls apart."
I hadn't thought of that.
"Then tell your staff we're taking it slow. That I'm—traditional or something. They'll believe it."
"They'll believe you're sleeping in a guest room while playing my girlfriend?" He climbs another step. "That's not how this works."
"Then maybe you should've thought of that before you bought someone who wasn't interested in sleeping with you."
"I didn't buy you for that." He's closer now, but still keeps distance between us. "If I wanted sex, I'd go to a club and find myself more than one willing woman to spend the night with. I need someone who can stand next to me at a party, someone smart enough to handle my family. Someone who?—"
"Someone who'll wear skimpy pajamas and sleep in your bed and pretend to be the perfect little girlfriend?" I cross my arms. "That's exactly what you thought you bought, Dante. Don't pretend it's anything else."
His jaw tightens. "What's your obsession with the pajamas?"
"They're see-through!"
"So?"
"So I'm not wearing them!" I can hear my voice rising but can't seem to stop it. "You threw away my clothes and replaced them with lingerie that belongs in a—a?—"
"A what?."
"A brothel." The word comes out like a slap. "You want me to dress like a prostitute, and I won't do it."
Silence.
His eyes narrow slightly, studying my face like he's looking for something specific.
