I keep my finger where it is, stroking the back of his hand as I lean in. His eyes move down, tracing the brand in my skin.
“I have realized,” I breathe, “that I would prefer to be a more…activeparticipant in my own life.”
Truth. Little kernels of truth, scattered in to add credence to my words. “If there is another option than that…haze, perhaps I want to explore it.”
My finger shifts, sliding up beneath the cuffs of his white shirt, and he stiffens. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” Slowly, I withdraw my hand. He follows the movement as my throat flexes, and I glance away from him. “I…,”
My finger brushes against the laces of my dress, my eyes staying down. Submissive. Obedient, as a flush spreads across my skin, heating it. “But perhaps not.”
Cold fingers beneath my chin, lifting it. “Tell me what you mean.”
Victory. It lingers in his eyes, so close he can almost taste it. I let my lips part, my breathing deepen, and he glances down at my mouth.
“I would prefer to show you,” I murmur. Hesitant, edged with a hint of fear that makes his eyes flare. “It may help to… prove my intentions.”
Intentions that I make clear, as my hand slips beneath the table, and grazes his knee.
I withdraw it, keeping my eyes down as he scans me. “We’ll see.”
I keep my gaze averted from Stefan as we eat. All of my attention is reserved for Salvatore – brief, quick glances before looking away. I take the salmon tartare he gives me with a small smile as I wrap my lips around the tines of the fork and drag them back.
And he doesn’t take his eyes from me.
Delight at this new, unexpected twist in his game lingers in his stare as he leans forward, gesturing. “You have a little something here.”
I tilt my face up, my eyes sliding closed. Waiting.
His tongue brushes my skin, and I twist, my lips pressing against his before I rip them away. I don’t have to feign the shaking in my fingers, don’t even try to hide them as he stays where he is, his breath ghosting across my face before moving away.
When the main course is almost finished, I dare one, brief look in his direction as Cecile tries in vain to engage a visibly disinterested Salvatore in conversation.
Stefan hasn’t touched his food, the knife and fork still neatly laid on either side of his full plate. And he’s looking at me as if – as if he doesn’trecogniseme. This new version of me, who flushes when Salvatore takes my hand in his, his thumb rubbing over the ring that marks me as his.
Stefan’s brow creases in a silent question, but I’m already turning away.
My husband sits back in his seat, a glass of wine dangling precariously from his fingers. Considering. “Well then, Caterina.”
I place my hands in my lap. Keep my eyes down.
“I think I would like to see what you have tooffer.” He takes a sip. “Right here.”
My stiffening back is not feigned, as I glance around. Two guards linger at the back of the room. Cecile is staring at her plate, Stefan’s hands clenched on the table. “I would prefer not to have an audience.”
“I would.” Silky words. “And since my opinion is the only one thatshouldmatter to you, I assume it will not be a problem.”
I stare at my hands. “The guards, they… they talk about me. Try to touch me, sometimes.”
My breath locks inside my chest.
His voice raises at that, icy with rage as he addresses the men. “Remain outside the door.”
He smiles at me. “There. There will be consequences.”
“Thank you.”
My voice is a hoarse whisper. He pushes his chair back. Motions, with a smirk. “I confess that I’m quite interested in this offer of yours, Caterina. Perhaps you can teach Cecile a trick or two. She’s become rather boring. Time for a replacement, perhaps.”
