It’s definitely time to change the subject. “Speaking of which, where isyourlover?”
She gives a little shrug. “You know he doesn’t travel well, and besides, I didn’t want distractions. This is a business trip, after all.”
It’s only as I’m leaving that she says, too casually, “You’ll let me know the funeral arrangements for tomorrow, of course.”
I know my mother, and I know her obstinacy. She will be at that funeral, one way or another. “Of course, Mamma.”
“By the way,” she says, taking my arm to lead me back out, “do you know who did it? I’d like to send them some flowers.”
I drop my voice, eyeing the bodyguards, who are waiting quietly near the elevator doors. “Not yet.”
“I suppose it doesn’t really matter. Perhaps we can consider it a favor from God.”
“It does matter.” I stop her and look down into her face, so like my own, only not so battle-scarred. “It matters a great deal to me, Mamma. I intend to find the culprit and pay them back.”
“So dramatic, Sandro,” she murmurs, standing up on her toes to kiss me. “Well, well. Enjoy your vendetta. Be careful not to step on too many toes.”
I’m left wondering exactly what she meant by that remark as I join my guards in the elevator, and the doors close on her knowing smile.
CHAPTER17
TEDDY
I waited up so longfor Alessandro last night that I fell asleep curled uponthe bed instead ofinit. I’m woken by a soft knock at the door, and Wilson enters with a breakfast tray.
“Good morning, sir,” he says quietly. “Mr. Castellani asked me to bring this up for you. I hope you slept well.”
I’m still rubbing at my eyes and stretching when Wilson disappears, and is replaced by the much larger form of Alessandro Castellani in the doorway.
“Hi.” I say it with a smile, shyness coming over me again. I dreamed of his kisses all last night, half-waking now and then with a feverish need, hard and aching. But each time I woke, my dreams pulled me back under. “You had a late night?” I slide to the side of the bed, wondering if I should go to him. Hug him.
Kiss him?
He’s leaning against the doorframe, his gaze unreadable. At last, he says, “If I wanted information about a hotel booking, could you do it?”
That wasn’t what I was expecting from him. “Probably,” I say slowly. “But if you need credit cards, addresses—”
“No.”
“Then…yes.”
He lifts his chin toward the breakfast tray that Wilson left on the coffee table in the sitting area. “Eat. Shower. Make it fast. We have work to do.”
He retreats, closing the door behind him.
I head to the breakfast tray, which has three croissants, a separate plate of eggs and bacon, and very hot coffee in a French press. When I first smelled it, it made my stomach growl happily. But after Alessandro’s cool greeting and short demands, my gut is in knots, my throat tight.
He’d been into that kiss yesterday. He’d kissed me back with a matching passion, pulled me close so I could rub against him, encouraged me to kiss down his neck…
This morning, everything has changed, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something wrong? Did Inotdo something I should have?
I leave the food sitting there and head for the shower. On the way through the dressing room, I stop dead when I see that all the clothes Alessandro brought in for me are now hanging up, or folded neatly in the shelves.
Underwear and socks, too.
And on one shelf, all alone, my clothes from yesterday have been folded and stacked. I look through them and find that the jeans, hoodie and tee have all been laundered. I bury my nose in the hoodie, breathing in deeply.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I still think I can smell the cells.
