1
Francesca
“Italy?”I practically squeaked.My brain wasn't computing what Stefan had just said.He didn't say he was taking me home to—Italy.
Right?
That would be—
“Where else would home be, Francesca?”He chuckled and held out a forkful of spaghetti to me.
I frowned at him, even though hearing his laughter did something—something really, really, really great—to my lower belly.“Are you kidding me?”I asked, my voice at such a high pitch I was in danger of bursting our eardrums.“How was I supposed to know you meant Italy?”My hand came up and knocked into Stefan's, nearly sending his fork flying through the air.
He very aptly moved it away and then right back to my lips.“Eat.It's getting cold.”His voice held an edge to it now.One that I couldn't quite decipher.
“I'm not hungry anymore.”I slid back into my seat and crossed my arms.“I can't believe you're taking me to Italy,” I sighed and shook my head.What was I going to do?And how was I going to do it?
This was not exactly part of the plan.I mean, could Stefan and I even get a divorce in Italy?And once we did—how the heck was I supposed to get back to Chicago?Or wherever I was going to hide out from Raul.
Stefan lowered his eyes at me.“A lot of people would love the opportunity to go to Italy.”His eyes scanned my face, making me feel like I was more exposed than I'd ever been to him.“Do you not like Italy?”He set the fork on the plate and grasped my chin between his thumb and index finger.“Is there somewhere else you'd like to go?”
The heat of his gaze burned through me.“Months ago, I promised you a warm beach.Italy has many beaches.But if you’d rather go to Hawaii or the Caribbean, we can go there after Italy.”There was more than a hint of disappointment in his tone.And that hurt my heart.I didn't want to disappoint Stefan.And right now, he seemed downright hurt.
I took a deep breath and looked away for a moment.Italy was Stefan's home.Which I knew.He'd told me that months ago.And I hadn't been surprised.Stefan looked every bit the handsome Italian man.And he was proud of where he came from.So, it made sense that my being all pouty about going there would tick him off.I'd inadvertently offended him.And that was a crappy thing to do.
My eyes found his.“Of course I want to go to Italy, Stefan.”I rolled my eyes and huffed.“But I obviously thought you meant your 'home' in the city.”I uncrossed my arms and made the quotation mark sign with my fingers.“And I've never flown before.”I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head at him.“And you just told me my first flight is going to be a billion hours long.So, no, Stefan.I'm not excited about this.”
The serious look on Stefan's face melted off and was replaced with a devilish smirk.“Not quite that long.But don't worry, Chesca.”He leaned forward and kissed my lips gently.“I have plans that will keep you busy every minute.”He kissed me again, briefly.
“Plans?”I asked mindlessly against his lips.His warm, cedary musk scent surrounding me, turning my brain to mush, like he always did.
He chuckled and gently bit my bottom lip, licking across it with his hot tongue.When he let go, he said, “Yes, plans.”
My mind swirling, I asked, “What plans?”It came out more like a whisper.
He grinned.“First,” he kissed me again, “I'm going to feed you.Then I'm going to get you out of your wedding dress and finally make love to you.”His lips touched mine with more meaning this time.
“Then I'll let you sleep for a while before I wake you up and fuck you.Hard.”His hand slipped across my chin and dug into my hair—holding my head.“Just like I've been dreaming of doing for months.”His fingertips held me so tightly it almost hurt.But I didn't care.Not one bit.
No.
I loved it.
“And then I'll feed you again and decide what to do after that.”He let me go and swiftly picked up the full fork.
I blinked and tried to remember how to breathe.“Don't I get a say in anything?”I held on to the arm of the couch.
Stefan laughed.And while I loved it when he did that—I still couldn't help but be a little annoyed.
“No, Francesca,” Stefan said in no uncertain terms.“You have absolutely no say.At all.”
I knew I should protest.
I knew I should tell him I wanted to do something else.
But that was the problem—Stefan's plans sounded—amazing.
Perfect.
