Massimo
Istare at her, wondering what she’s thinking. I know she liked the sex as much as I did. She was nuzzling me, but then turned her head away and sighed. Probably as the reality of our hopeless situation came crashing down on her.
I haven’t felt this way in years. It’s like I’m finally seeing clearly, after having lived with a dark film in front of my eyes for the past eight years.
I should have never let her go back then. No matter what her father tried to do to me. That’s clear to me. It’s like these past eight years have been wasted, when I could have been spending them with her.
There’s no going back from what we’ve just done, I know that. I wonder if I’ll have to leave the island and move far away from Sicily, maybe to the Italian mainland. Because I don’t think I can kill her father, not now. It’ll hurt her too much. Nor her brothers. Shit, what am I going to do?
I reach out to caress her face. She’s so beautiful. It’s no wonder her father keeps her so well guarded and under wraps. You want to protect a treasure like this. I feel very lucky that I was able to meet her in school, before I dropped out.
“You know, until now, I never really looked at you as a person. You were going to be my toy. And my payday. Nothing more. But now…” I shake my head. “I thought I was going to break you, fully and utterly, but I couldn’t do it. I suppose it helps that you’re so headstrong.”
“No,” she says. “Not really. I have a stubborn streak, but I don’t really think I’m strong.”
“You’re stronger than you know,” I tell her.
Her stomach growls, and she grins. “Hmm. I seem to have worked up an appetite. I blame you for that.”
“Blame away,” I tell her. I swivel toward the nightstand and grab the plate of arancini. Then I place it between us on the comforter.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it’s bad to eat in bed?” she asks.
“Nope,” I tell her. “Never knew her.”
“Oh,” she says. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I feel bad,” she continues. “I forgot you were an orphan.”
I can’t help but grin. I don’t want her to feel bad. “I’ll cut you some slack, it’s been eight years after all.”
“I suppose it has.” She leans up on one elbow and begins popping the arancini balls, one after the other. “These are seriously good.”
“My own secret recipe.” I lift my body and lean on one elbow, mimicking her. “I’ll bring you some proper food in a bit, when I get back to the kitchen.”
I stare at her breasts, enjoying the way they jiggle as she eats. “Tell me about this recipe.”
“Ah, it’s not important,” I tell her. “I’d rather talk about more important things.”
She nods slowly, between mouthfuls. “So would I, I admit. Like what’s going to happen now?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“You’re going to auction me off?” she presses.
I don’t answer that. I want to tell her that she’s mine, that I can’t bear the thought of anyone else touching her, but I can’t. I truly don’t know what I’m going to do.
When she finishes the plate she leans forward and touches the long scars on my sides. “How did you get these?”
I flinch from her touch as if struck, and quickly tell her: “Car accident.”
She pulls her hand away. “Sorry, didn’t know it hurts.”
“Physically?” he says. “It doesn’t.”
She gives me a curious look. “Oh.” Thankfully she doesn’t press the matter. Instead she asks: “When is the bidding?”
