His gaze zeros in on me before he bluntly says, “Get up and wear something comfortable.”
“Good morning to you too. Do you only speak in orders?”
He ignores me and turns to leave without even a response, but stops and turns his head to look at me again. “And I don’t mean those short dresses.”
I know I shouldn’t, not after what happened yesterday, but I can’t help pushing him. “So just panties and a bra?”
Nicolo tenses, his hands balling into fists at his side. “Sweats and a goddamn shirt.”
“I don’t have sweats. I don’t wear sweats.”
He turns his full body to look at me, eyes narrowing, as if he can’t believe what I’ve said. “Leggings?”
I almost laugh at how annoyed he looks. Nicolo usually has no expression on his face, unless you count the existential look of boredom as an expression.
“I have leggings.”
He nods.
“Get changed and meet me at the bottom of the stairs. Don’t take too long. Patience for brats is not one of my virtues.” That’s the last thing he says before he shuts the door behind him.
I push off the bed and take my time doing every single little detail in my routine. I’m certainly not rushing just because a man told me to. Pulling up my hair into a slick ponytail, I pull my bedroom door open and head downstairs.
Slow and steady wins the race, as they say. I don’t know if that’s, true but I’m willing to play the long game. I have nothing better to do. And if he thinks taking my phone is going to get me to stop messing with him, he’s dumber than I thought.
When I finally make it to the end of the stairs, Nicolo is standing there on his phone, rapidly speaking in Italian. And I swear when his gaze lands on me, I see his eye twitch in irritation.
He wraps up the call and slips his phone in his pocket. “Did you take forty-five minutes to get ready because that’s how long it takes you or because you wanted to piss me off?”
I’m thrown off for a minute by his question. He’s not the type to ask these kinds of things.
“Just to piss you off.” I give him a sickly-sweet smile, which he narrows his eyes at before shaking his head.
“Follow me,” he grumbles as he walks ahead of me.
“Where are we going?” I ask as I trail after him.
“You’ll see.” His tone is short, clipped, the kind that warns me not to push.
Naturally, I contemplate pushing anyway.
We move through the halls until he stops at a set of heavy double doors and pushes them open. The smell of leather and steel hits me instantly. My eyes widen as I take in the space: an entire gym tucked inside the Castello. Black mats cover the floor, a wall of mirrors reflects racks of weights, punching bags hang in neat rows, and at the far end sits a glass case lined with weapons.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” I step inside slowly, glancing around like I’ve just stumbled into a villain’s lair. “Of course the robotic caveman has his own torture chamber.”
His gaze cuts to me, sharp enough to make my stomach flip. “This isn’t a torture chamber. It’s a training room.”
I give him a sugary smile. “Semantics.”
He ignores me, walking across the mat until he’s standing in the center. His hands slide into his pockets, his stance casual, but the weight in his gaze is anything but.
“Last night proved something.”
I fold my arms. “That you’re secretly human under all the steel and stone?”
His jaw tightens. “That you’re a liability.”
Ouch. Straight to the jugular.
