Despite how cold I am, I’m in no hurry to put the sweatpants and sweater back on. I’ve been wearing them for a couple of days now, without underwear and without deodorant. I know Curse hasn’t gotten any other new clothing for me yet, but surely there’s something in this house that I can wear?
Trembling and keeping the giant towel around myself, I go into the adjoining bedroom and head for the walk-in closet. The closet is gigantic, but in Curse’s possession, it’s nearly empty. There are a few shelves and hangers with black clothing on them, and a drawer of black socks and underwear. But that’s about it.
What did I expect? That some warm, woman’s robe was going to be hanging in here waiting for me? If Curse has a girlfriend or anything like that, she certainly doesn’t live here. And wouldn’t that just be so colossally fucked-up? To wear something that belonged to the woman he was seeing?
To the woman he was fucking?
A toxic blend of humiliation and jealousy heats my body enough that I finally stop trembling. It’s a ridiculous feeling, and probably entirely baseless. All I’ve ever heard about Curse Titone over the years is how many men he’s killed. Not how many women he’s bedded.
Now that I know that Magdelena is only his employee, I feel fairly certain that he probably doesn’t have a woman in his life. At least not somebody serious.
Maybe he doesn’t even like women.
Maybe he doesn’t like anyone at all.
But he was hard when he was with you.
I swallow and focus on the task at hand – trying to find something to wear. But I can’t. I couldn’t even make myself grab a small snack from his fridge when he offered. How the hell do I think I can comfortably steal one of his T-shirts to wear as a nightie? Do I think he isn’t going to notice?
“Aurora?”
“I’m in here,” I say at once, feeling strangely caught-out even though I never took any of his clothing. Curse appears a moment later.
“I was just looking for something clean to wear,” I say lamely.
He reaches past me, grabbing something from a shelf and holding it out to me.
“Just wear this for now,” he says. “You’ll have more stuff by tomorrow.”
“Oh. OK.” I rearrange the towel so that I can keep it in place with only one hand. “Are you sure?”
But he’s already walking out of the closet, apparently finished with this conversation already.
“Great,” I mutter. “Thanks.”
I poke my head out of the closet to see if he’s in the bedroom, but he’s left, closing the door that leads to the bathroom. Ducking back into the closet, I let the damp towel fall and pull on the shirt he’s given me. It is a T-shirt, and just like I thought, it fits me like a short nightie, the hem falling midway down my thighs. The fabric is thin and exceptionally soft. I can see the hard points of my nipples through it when I look down at myself.
It feels so nice. It smells nice, too.
When I exit the closet, Curse is opening the bathroom door. He steps through the doorway, catches sight of me, and then freezes in place. His eyes don’t freeze, though. They drag themselves from my face to my chest to my legs. His gaze, so often flat and empty, goes dark and thick with something I can’t quite name. His jaw tightens, the muscle like stone.
Maybe he hates seeing me in his clothing as much as he hated me touching his face earlier today.
“I’ll have my own things tomorrow,” I remind him quickly. My whole being stings with rejection.
I have to get better at this. I have to get better at not feeling all sensitive and sad every time Curse doesn’t act the way I want him to.
It’s just like he told me when he was eighteen. He’s not little Accursio Giordano anymore. He couldn’t pretend to be him now. Not even for me.
I have to stop expecting it from him. Or else this will never, ever stop hurting.
The only problem is…
I don’t know how.
Even after all this time, even after everything that’s happened, even with him standing right in front of me…
I still miss him.
