But something in me knew he did not. The provenance of these clothes might be questionable, but I knew—the way I knew the shape of my own body and the taste of his kiss—that I was the only woman he’d ever thought to dress.
There was nothing like a mirror in this gracefully minimal room, so I smoothed my hands over my hair and had the same moment of trepidation I always did when I beheld a closed door. I held my breath as I turned the knob. And let it out again when the door opened with a faint squeak, as if to remind me that this was not a grotesque new build like my father’s fortress.
That this was a house steeped in its own grandeur.
I made my way through the hushed, beautiful place, expecting to turn some corner or go down the stair and find the actual living area—filled with cozy keepsakes or even a comfortable sofa or a rug—but I never did.
It was a beautiful house, rambling and magnificent. It was airy and architecturally stunning, with views of the distant sea from every window, and the city that sprawled between it and me. But it was only thebonesof the place. As if the people who lived here once had moved out a long, long time ago, leaving only the odd antique cupboard and incidental, artistic chair behind.
Walking through these empty rooms didn’t make me muse on minimalism and modern art in the form of everyday objects and spaces, it made me want to cry, as if the house itselfachedfor its own storied past.
Finally, I found my way to the ground floor and toward more windows that overlooked the garden in the back of the house. I went toward it, opening up one of the grand doors and finding my way out onto a bisected stair that led down toward the untended, overgrown garden that still showed signs of intense planning sometime long in the past.
It was only when I was halfway down that I realized that Jovi was there.
He was sitting so still, in the shade of the largest tree, that I hadn’t seen him. My gaze had slid right over him like he was a statue.
But once I saw him, it was as if that current of heat snapped back into place between us once more. I was electrified. And I could see that he was, too.
Another thing I knew like the blood in my veins, the breath in my lungs.
I realized once I hit the paving stones that my feet were bare, but I didn’t mind. I crossed the small courtyard that was more acrobatic weeds than elegant stone, then moved my way through the overgrown grass to Jovi’s chair.
Once there, I obeyed the whisper of something like intuition deep inside me, and went to my knees before him.
And it was like something between us…erupted.
The look on his face was not cold. It was not at all remote. The intensity I saw there was almost overwhelming, but I didn’t look away.
And the strangest part of it was, I did not feel the least bit submissive. I felt powerful. I feltwhole.
More than that, when Jovi looked at me, I felt entirely seen.
“You are a beautiful terror,” he told me, his voice a low sort of scrape that made my skin seem to tingle in its wake. “What am I to do with you, Rux?”
His hand was on my cheek, and I leaned into it, letting out a sigh as he traced the plumpness of my lower lip and the curve it made.
“Whatever you like,” I said, and I meant it. But I also liked the way it made his eyes go dark and hot. “I thought I made that clear.”
I watched him swallow and it wasn’t lost on me that the fact he was showing me his reactions was monumental. He was showing meeverything. He had melted away all the ice and peeled back the stone and what I was seeing washim.
I accepted that as the gift that I knew it was.
Because even if I’d managed to convince myself that a man as widely and rightly feared as Giovanbattista D’Amato had a vast circle of friends and endless intimates to choose from, seeing this house of his was like seeing the deep, unhealed wound inside him.
A beautiful house of empty rooms instead of a home.
He pulled me forward and I lifted my chin as I knelt up taller. Then he took his time examining me. As if looking for signs that something had happened to me, somewhere between Prague and here.
“How long did we travel?” I asked. I did not ask about the details. I thought maybe the bit of fog was a blessing.
“The travel itself was not long. There were certain protocols necessary to leave Czechia without causing comment. But this was easily enough achieved.”
I considered asking him how he’d transported me here. But since I suspected it was in a manner that wouldn’t require a passport even if he’d had mine in hand, I chose not to.
Having an imagination was not always helpful, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to put mine to work on this. Not when what mattered was the fact that I was here, now. That I was out of Prague. That my father had no idea where I was and no control over what I might do next.
When Jovi was done with his extremely thorough examination, he lifted me from the ground and settled me on his lap, my back to his chest. And once again, I had the strangest sensation that I was whole. That this was home. Thathewas.
