She blinks at me. The firelight gleams in her dark curls.
“Um, thank you.” She ducks her head.
She’s uncomfortable with compliments. Something for me to work on.
“I guess I should tell you… I have no family. Well, besides the Rossis.”
She bites her lip and I stroke her knee, running a finger over the sliver of skin poking out of the blanket to encourage her to continue. “The couple who owns thePanetteria?” I ask.
“Yes. They look after me in their own way.”
“Continue.”
“My foster family said I could have a job. I was one of several children they took in. It was loud and crowded, and so I got outof the house as much as possible.” She hesitates and then says in a rush, as if she wants to get it out quickly, “My father died in an accident when I was little, my mom died of cancer when I turned fifteen.”
“I'm sorry,principessa.” I run a hand over her silky curls. “You've suffered.”
“Not that much.” She’s biting her lip again. I touch her bottom lip the way I did in the kitchen, admiring its smoothness and the way the brown fades to blush pink and back again. She has a little gap between her front teeth. It’s absolutely adorable.
“I've had a good life. The Rossis are very kind. They even wanted to take me in, let me live with them once. Only…”
“What is it, pet?”
She squirms in my lap. “Mrs. Rossi is not well, and it's a lot to take care of her. They thought it would be better if I stayed in foster care and stayed in school.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“I want Mrs. Rossi to get better.”
Hmm. This is something I might be able to help with. “Do you know her diagnosis?” I make a note to call the doctor later, to confer.
Now there’s a little line between her brows. I’d smooth it out like I did her bottom lip, but I don’t want to draw attention to her worry. Instead, I wait quietly. It’s ecstasy and agony, having her weight in my lap in this quiet, dark room. The firelight plays over her perfect features.
Finally, she says, “She has rheumatoid arthritis. It progressed really fast. When she turned forty-two, she could barely move. She told Mr. Rossi to divorce her but he wouldn't do it.” She blows out a breath. “Why am I telling you all of this?”
“Because I asked you. And you wanted to.”
She looks around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “You ripped off all my clothes.”
I come to my feet, hefting her in my arms. She’s all silky brown skin and hair and curves. The perfect armful. “Come.” I stride out of the library and up the stairs to my bedroom. I want her to be comfortable, and that means keeping ahead of her nervousness. It’s time to show her around her new home.
Leah
Royal carriesme up a grand staircase. I’m wearing a blanket and a bralette and nothing else. He ripped up the rest of what I was wearing. I’m going to have to deal with that at some point. Later.
I’m still a little floaty. Orgasm endorphins.
Royal climbs the stairs, and we pass a crystal and gold chandelier that’s big as a car. “Is it just you who lives here?”
“The staff are off for the day.” He carries me down a long hall decorated with gilt-framed paintings that look like they belong in an art museum. When we reach the end, he steps through double doors into a dark bedroom suite that’s five times the size of my tiny apartment. “Do you want to wash up? I can draw you a bath.” He sets me down but stays close, which is good because I’m unsteady on my feet.
“Or you can just let me go home. If I can charge my phone, I can call a ride.”
Royal’s eyes narrow. He heads to the window and twitches aside the thick, velvet curtain. The air beyond the glass is a wall of bluish white.
“We’re snowed in. My driver is off for the rest of the day, but we should get a plow soon.”
“Snowed in?”
