"I can be very convincing when I want to be," I say softly. "Don't worry about my performance, Damiano. I know exactly how to play a woman in love."
His eyes darken as they travel over my face. "Do you now?"
"It's easy enough." I shrug one shoulder. "Lingering touches, adoring glances, hanging on your every word." I let my fingertips brush against his shoulder. "Trust me, no one will question our relationship."
"Good." He captures my wrist, his grip firm but not painful. "Because there will be people watching us very carefully. People who would love nothing more than to find weakness in our alliance."
I pull my wrist from his grip, my patience wearing thin. "I understood it already the first time you said so, Damiano. I'm not stupid."
The condescension in his tone grates on my nerves. For weeks, he's been treating me like some naive child who can't grasp basic concepts.
"I know what's at stake here," I continue, stepping back from his desk. "I understand the importance of appearances better than most people."
I look at Damiano, measuring his mood. He's guarded but not hostile this morning. Maybe I can use this opportunity.
"Actually," I say, shifting my tone to something lighter, "since I'm here, I was wondering if I could check out your library collection."
Damiano raises an eyebrow. "My library?"
"Yes." I gesture to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining one wall of his office. "Lucrezia mentioned you have quite the collection."
His expression turns skeptical. "Suddenly interested in my reading preferences?"
I shrug, trying to appear casual. "Is that so strange? We're living in the same house. Might as well know something about each other beyond our mutual dislike."
"Mutual dislike?" His lips quirk upward. "Is that what you feel toward me?"
I ignore his question and move toward the bookshelves, running my fingers along the leather-bound spines. "These are beautiful editions. First-print Hemingway? I'm impressed."
Damiano watches me carefully as I browse, but doesn't stop me. "You know your books."
"My father loved literature." The words slip out before I can catch them. "He still does, but he doesn't have much time to spend on books anymore." I quickly move to another shelf, hoping he doesn't notice my momentary vulnerability.
The bug sits like a tiny weight in my pocket. I need to place it somewhere it won't be found during their monthly security sweeps—Lucrezia had mentioned them so casually when I asked about the family's security procedures, not realizing how valuable that information was to me.
I pull out a thick volume on Italian history, pretending to examine it while sliding the bug into the binding where the cover meets the spine. With practiced movements, I tuck it deep enough that it won't be visible but will still pick up conversations.
"Find something interesting?" Damiano asks, suddenly close behind me. I didn't hear him move.
I turn, book in hand, forcing myself not to look guilty. "This one looks fascinating. Do you mind if I borrow it?"
"That particular volume rarely leaves this room," he says, taking it from my hands. "Family records intertwined with history. Not exactly bedtime reading."
"Oh." I recover quickly. "Any recommendations then? Something that might help me understand this family better?"
Damiano studies me for a long moment before replacing the book on the shelf—bug still intact. Relief floods through me.
He selects another volume and hands it to me. "Try this instead. Machiavelli. Seems appropriate for your... interests."
I take the book, wondering if he's toying with me. "Thank you. I'll let you get back to work."
As I turn to leave, the weight of what I've accomplished sits heavy in my chest. The bug is planted. Now I just need to wait and listen.
I watch Zoe leave, her back rigid with defiance, chin lifted in that way that makes me want to grab her and?—
The door closes behind her. I head back in the desk. I lean back in my chair and exhale slowly, tension coiled through my body.
This woman will be the death of me.
