“It happens every night,” I reply without looking in his direction.
“You look?—”
When he doesn't finish his sentence, I flick my gaze back to him.Bad mistake. He's now standing fully upright, his shoulders broader than any shoulders ought to be, all masculine edges and sinew, his eyes trained on me with an intensity that makes my belly somersault.
“What?” I ask, my heart beating against my ribs.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and it's like the air has been sucked from the room.
I clench my hands into fists at my sides, willing the ever-growing feelings I have for this man away.
“You’re just being nice.”
His eyes trail over me, and my body tingles wherever he looks. They land on the insignia on my nightdress. “Princess by night?” he asks, his lips quirking.
“Just a silly gift from my nona.” I raise my finger as though to scold him. “Don’t get any ideas.”
“Ideas?” he asks with a laugh. “No ideas here.”
If the look of fire in his eyes is anything to go by, I don’t believe him for a minute.
“Good,” I say as I pull back the covers and slip between the sheets, noticing the pillow wall he constructed. It’s flimsy, but it will have to do.
“I’ll use the bathroom,” he says, and as he leaves the room, I pull the blankets up to my ears.
I lie in bed, willing myself to fall asleep before he returns. Of course I don’t. I’m so tightly wound I’m in fear of bursting out of the covers like a jack-in-the-box, only I’ll be wearing a nightdress with a once innocent insignia that now reads as a personal invitation to Max.
Eventually, he returns to the room. As he slips into the bed beside me, I can’t help but catch his scent in the air, a shockingly attractive blend of musk and masculinity.
I switch off the bedside light, and immediately we’re thrown into darkness but for the dim streetlights, lending the linen curtains a muted glow. I turn my back to him and bunch up my pillow. I take a few deep breaths, trying to force myself to relax. “Good night,” I say.
“Good night,” he replies.
I lie still, waiting to hear his breath deepen, knowing sleep will elude me until it does.
Eventually, he asks in a whisper, “Are you still awake?”
“Yes,” I reply, turning onto my back. “You?”
“Oh, sound asleep.”
I smile into the darkness, the sound of the rain reverberating around the room.
“Is this the sleep talking you told me about?”
“Who knows? I’m asleep,” he replies. “Can I ask you a question?”
"Sure."
"Fabiana starts with an F, right?"
"There's no silent P, like in pterodactyl, if that's what you're asking."
"So why do you always wear a necklace with a V?"
My hand instinctively goes to the pendant at my throat, the pendant I never remove.
"It was my nona's," I reply automatically, which is the truth. It was Nona's. "V for Violetta."
