He looks handsome as sin in that white button-down, the color a stark contrast against his tan skin. The amber in his eyes burns brighter when the sun hits them.
Desire unfurls inside me as we look at each other.
"You look lovely,piccola," he says, taking a deep breath.
"It's the dress," I say, glancing down at the way it tucks and flares in all the right places. “The fit is perfect.”
“It’s you,” he says, not taking his eyes off me.
I blush so violently that I’m afraid to look at myself in the mirror.
“Please thank whoever went shopping for me,” I say. “All of the clothes are very cute.”
“I got them from a local boutique earlier today,” he says. “We can visit it again later if you like.”
“It was you?” I ask.
He shrugs like it's not the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me.
"It's the least I could do after I basically abducted you from the amphitheater," he says.
"Right," I say.
And that's the dark truth.
There's an airy, fizzy feeling in my chest, but I can't let myself get carried away by it. At the end of the day, he's still a man who purchased me at a human auction.
"Let's go," he says, gesturing for me to follow.
I walk behind him as he leads me through the inside of the house. It's nothing like the ostentatious home I grew up in. This house is warm and welcoming. It feels like a home, even if the only people inside are the two of us.
We exit through the main double doors and step into the afternoon light.
There's a light breeze in the air, but it's a hot day. I don't remember the last time I had this much sunshine on my skin. I don't remember the last time I felt so alive.
"Do you live here alone?" I ask, glancing back at the house.
"For the most part, yes," he says. "Enzo stays over from time to time."
"What about the staff?" I ask.
"What staff?"
"Cleaners, cooks, gardeners?"Guards.
"I already told you," he says. "I don't like having other people in my personal home."
I assumed that a man like him would have people catering to his every need. But if what he's saying is true, he looks after his home himself.
"Do you have sunscreen on?" he asks. "Your skin is nearly translucent. I don't want you to get a sunburn."
"I applied some.”
"Good. The Mediterranean sun is no joke, especially at this time of the year."
He walks toward a nearby tree, underneath which a cherry red Vespa is parked. My steps slow as we approach it.
There's a single helmet hanging from the scooter's handle. He hands it to me.
