Finally acknowledging the room, I covered my mouth with my hands.
There must have been dozens of floral arrangements scattered around the room, and the main flower of each were lilies, my favorite flowers. The grande room was three times bigger than mine at home.
There was a sitting area across from the four-poster bed, and beside it was bookshelves. I loved to read, so I went to check out the books, expecting to find nothing that would interest me. Most rich people only had books to make them appear sophisticated and learned.
I read for pleasure, preferably romance.
My fingers glided across the leather spines, and I inhaled the scent of the very old books. Of course, I’d been right. Nothing… Wait.
My fingers stopped moving whenPride and Prejudiceby Jane Austen jumped out at me.
“You’ve got to be joking. This couldn’t be real.” Carefully I removed the book, which looked really,reallyold.
My hands shook as I held the beautiful dark green book, covered in gold peacock feathers. I held my breath as I opened it and saw 1894, First Edition ‘The Peacock Edition.’
My teary eyes went back to the bookshelf, and I found many of my favorites. And not just any old edition, but first editions of every book.Romeno and Juliet. Wuthering Heights. Little Women. The Great Gatsby. A Christmas Carol. Jane Eyre.
I stubbled back and sat down, feeling weak in the knees. There were many other books, but on the shelf right at my eye level were my favorites.
Had someone told them about my love of reading? Not that I’d dare handle those precious beauties. Oh, no. They were to be admired and cherished.
I swallowed my emotions and put the beautiful book back on the shelf. The more I looked around the room, the more it appeared to have been decorated specifically for me.
My favorite colors were everywhere. Warm orange and pink, the colors in a sunset, were in the floral linens, the drapes, and in the paintings hanging on the walls.
On my bedside table was a photo of my white mare, Madonna. The two things I loved most in the world, my horse and books, were in this room.
I should have been nicer to Alessio.
Stupid, foolish girl.
Maybe Alessio and his family weren’t so bad. Maybe I could learn to love Alessio Remotti after all. Maybe marrying the Italian prince could be the best thing to ever happen to me.
With that final thought, I knew what I needed to do. Give Alessio a chance, and show him that I could be a good, obedient wife.
2
Alessio
I paced in my room like a caged animal, trying to imagine the worst murders I’d committed so my erection would go away. I’d left my father’s study abruptly to avoid embarrassing myself. The last thing I’d expected upon meeting my future wife was my dick turning to iron.
My mind had been made up months ago. I would marry the Amano’s daughter to bring peace to my family and keep my mistress on the side. I’d give my parents two grandsons as they wished and be free to have as many women as I desired.
“You arrogant son of a bitch. Why did you touch her?” I scolded myself and stormed into my bathroom, unzipped my pants and released my angry cock.
Wrapping my hand around it firmly, I proceeded to relieve myself. I hadn’t ached so much in a long time. Not being a patient man, I had to take care of my own needs because it would take Cara a half an hour to get here and that was much too long.
Plus, I couldn’t risk my future wife and father-in-law seeing my lover.
I tried to imagine Cara’s large breasts squeezing my dick, but it didn’t work. In fact, thinking of her made my cock soften. Cazzo! What was happening to me?
Cara Clemente was the commoner I had been enjoying for years, while waiting for Giovanna to come of age to marry.
I’d kept things casual and unemotional with Cara. We fucked and we fucked a lot, just having a good time. She had curves for miles and a mouth I couldn’t get enough of. All along I’d planned to keep her as my mistress because I’d seen pictures of Giovanna and felt nothing for her.
But now, the more I thought of Cara, the softer I got. This couldn’t be happening to me!
Had that Amano woman with the smart mouth cast a spell on me? Was she a witch in sheep’s clothing with the smallest breasts I’d ever had in my hands? My mouth watered, wishing I could taste them.
