“Of course you’re not intruding in your own house, signora,” she replies, unruffled.
Your own house.
The phrase lands strangely in my chest.
She gestures towards the stove. “Your husband asked that I prepare your favourites.”
I blink. “My… favourites?”
“Yes. The aubergine you like from the little place in Queens. The lemon chicken. And your mother’s rice recipe.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. “I… That’s…” I falter. “That’s not necessary.”
She smiles, slanting me a far too knowing and experienced look. “Nothing is necessary. But everything can be thoughtful.”
I purse my lips to stem the retort that wants to challenge thoughtful versus scheming when it comes to Giovanni. But I move closer despite myself.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask quickly, because standing around feels intrusive but I’d rather be here than anywhere else in the house. Especially where Giovanni is.
Her head tilts, amused. “You can sit. And eat an aperitivo if you wish?”
I grimace. “I don’t sit well.”
“Neither does your husband,” she replies dryly. “Something you both have in common, I suspect.”
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
A little more at ease, I slide onto the nearest island stool. Moments later, she slides a small plate towards me with a piece of warm bread and something spiced and fragrant atop it.
“Just a little something,” she says gently. “Eat.”
I take it, force myself to take a little civilised bite and not inhale the whole thing at once. And oh God, it’s scrumptious. I finish it in under a minute and she’s there with another one, a glint of amusement in her eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t realise how hungry I was,” I say, reaching for it.
I’m mid-bite when a presence shifts the air behind me. I swallow the food in my mouth and force myself not to look at my imposing intruder.
“You shouldn’t be walking around barefoot in a marble kitchen,” Giovanni says calmly. “It’s cold and your feet are still sore.”
Fighting irritation and a compulsion I can’t seem to wrestle into submission, I turn. To find him holding a small black first-aid kit.
I’m still staring when he prowls towards me and crouches in front of me without ceremony.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, the food forgotten.
One eyebrow arches. “What does it look like?” He sets the kit on the floor and reaches for my ankle. “And you have a spanking coming your way, by the way.”
My breath stutters and I dart a look at Caterina, who very deliberately pretends not to hear a word.
“You wouldn’t dare!” I hiss, glancing back at the infuriating man before me.
“Haven’t we extensively covered the extent of my daring, sweet wife?” Giovanni murmurs. “Now are you going to give me your foot, or do I have to wrestle you down?”
Heat rushes to my face, but it’s the blaze tunnelling low in my pelvis, heading towards the space between my legs, that has me muttering a heated, “No!”
Seeing he’s intent on… whatever this is, I spring up and take two steps away.
He rises and catches me with infuriating ease and swings me straight into his arms like I’m feather-light.
