Was her effect on me instantaneous and inexplicable? Yes.
Am I rapidly falling into obsession? Quite certain I am.
And am I wholly and royally fucked? Most. Definitely.
Chapter 4
Gina
AfterIfoundtheleast lavish bedroom in the house, I washed my face, covered my red cheek with make-up, and brushed my teeth. After I took my hair out of the ponytail and tried to tame it, it was just frizzy, so I quickly twisted it into an elegant knot.
Now, I’m standing in front of the mirror, smoothing the black velvet of my dress. Before I left Italy, I had donated most of the over-the-top fancy ones I was forced to wear at school, but I brought a few I knew my parents wouldn’t turn their noses up at.
The Dior dress is off the shoulder, with a cinched waist and a structured bodice, and it fits my short, hourglass figure nicely. I slip on my heels and stare at the bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the pale-yellow silk comforter. The comforter itself is impractical because I’ll stain and snag it in no time, but at least it’s a bed.
Sighing, ignoring my exhaustion, I prepare myself to go face the wolves…I mean, my parents and their company.
Opening the door, I startle when I see Davide. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes skate over me, and he smiles. “You look nice. Very pretty.”
“I didn’t look nice and pretty before?” I snap, sick of how everyone in this world values haute couture clothes, perfectly styled hair, and on-point make-up, as if that makes the person.
His smile falls, and I hate my churlish tone and reaction. Although I’m uncomfortable with this version of Davide, where he seems overly friendly and familiar with me, I’m not a bitch.
“Of course you did, G.” He notices when I bristle at him giving me a nickname. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to check in to make sure you’re okay before you headed downstairs.”
“Oh, a real knight in shining armor, are you?” I plant my hands on my hips, which is very unladylike, but I don’t care. Santa Elisabetta can shove their ‘be pretty and seen but not heard’ bullshit up their finely groomed asses. “I didn’t see you doing anything when my father hit me.”
Tears threaten to press forth, but I refuse them. My father had never laid a hand on me before, but I wasn’t going to lie down and let it happen again.
Davide balks. “I’m sorry. I was so shocked, and I didn’t react quickly enough. I should’ve done more. I should’ve protected you.”
I tense, feeling something uncomfortable rake over my skin at the thought of him being my protector.
Now, Tommaso… That’s an entirely different story. He can protect me all he wants with that tall, muscular body underneath his perfectly fitted suit.
Shock ripples through me at the inappropriate thought.
Going to an all-girls school, my interactions with the opposite sex have been extremely limited. Purity was hammered into us. Not that there was any worry about keeping myself for my future husband, though, because I had no sexual urges. I’ve often wondered if I have problems with my libido because I’ve never had any lust-filled or even mildly inappropriate thoughts about a man before.
Plus, not only is Tommaso at least ten years older than me, but he’s the Don of this territory. He wouldn’t be interested in me. He’s likely set to marry someone exactly like the mafia princesses at my school. Perfect and poised, their make-up on-point, and who only speak when spoken to. One of the girls who graduated with honors and a diamond tiara—I’msonot joking—for being the model students to grace the school’s refined halls. Someone like Rosa Altera.
My stomach twists at the thought of that smug, snobbish bitch landing a prize like Tommaso.
Shaking away all those useless feelings and thoughts, I step out into the hall and shut the bedroom door. Davide falls into step with me as we walk toward the stairs, and I stifle a yawn with the back of my hand.
“Why did you really come home early?” he asks.
I snort—definitely unladylike. “I told you; it was stupid to send a plane for one person.”
He shakes his head, eyeing me out of the corner of his eye as we start down the stairs. “Watch your words and tone in there.”
“Oh, let me guess. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Smile serenely. Keep my hands folded in my lap and my ankles crossed. Wipe my lips daintily with a linen napkin but don’t wipe my lipstick off?” I taunt, using all the useless things my etiquette teachers tried to drill into me.
