“Anything below fifty is young in my book, dear.” She waves the trowel in my direction. “It’s about time you let your hair down. You can have some fun now. Your boy’s away at school.”
A smile curves my lips. “I don’t need a man to have fun, Sandra.”
“We can all bake a cake on our own, but it’s more fun when there’s two of you.” Her eyebrow lifts, and she bendsback down to continue with her gardening, humming to herself.
I shake my head with a smile, feeling a little lighter as I stroll back to the house. I lock the door behind me, ignoring the rose on the side, and wander into the kitchen.
He’s cleaned my plate. Can the man be any more perfect? If only he wasn’t an untrustworthy backstabbing arsehole.
“I’ll beat yours in about fifteen,” Helena says, my only friend and the only person I trust with my son.
“Great. Did the boys have a good time last night?” I’ve already heard from Angelos as he texted me last night while staying over at a friend’s. His mum, Helena, collected them from school Friday and now she’s dropping him off. It helps that the school isn’t too far away. Being one of England’s most prestigious boarding schools with top security helps ease my anxiety.
“The boys enjoyed the party. Now I need a lie down in a dark room. I’ve left the other half at home cleaning up.”
“Don’t blame you. Do you have time for a coffee?” I wipe the surface of my worktop, making sure everything is spotless.
“Yeah. The longer I’m away, the less clean-up I have to do.”
I smile into the handset. “All right. I’ll put the kettle on. See you soon.”
I cancel the call and jump at the sound of a chainsaw coming from my front garden. My heart kicks against my ribs as I spin on my heel, peering out of the window. The noise is deafening, an invasion of my peaceful Sunday morning.
My jaw drops, anger rising like flames licking at my racing heart as I stare at Dan on my front lawn, shirtless,holding a very large hedge trimmer. Of course it’s him. Who else would have the audacity to invade my privacy?
I barely register my feet moving before I’m yanking open the front door and stomping onto the grass, the cool blades tickling my bare toes.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shout, folding my arms over my baggy t-shirt. Strands of hair blow in front of my face with the light breeze and I shove them away with a huff.
Dan’s muscles vibrate as he wields the hedge trimmer, his ink glistening like black diamonds with a sheen of sweat under the sun’s rays. He turns the trimmer off and lowers it to his side, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk as his eyes roam over me from my old band t-shirt to my leggings. “Morning to you too, fiore mio.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your flower.”
His eyes narrow. “Sorry I forgot, la mia spina velenosa.”
“You can call me a poisonous thorn if you like, but I’m not yours.”
The sun beats down on my face, and I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the blinding glare, but the view before me is just as imposing.
I once traced the wings of the angel on his chest, kissed the feathers that were for his mother. It’s been years, but if I close my eyes, I can still feel the tickle of his chest hair against my nose, the warmth of his body against mine, the weight of all my troubles lifted in his arms.
In my moment of weakness, he’s stepped closer, his fingers grazing my cheek as he swipes the blonde hairs from my face.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, the words like a vow, dark and unwavering.
A shiver races down my spine.
“My beautiful rose, whose thorns pierced my heart. Your poison runs through my veins, clouding my thoughts, consuming me—mind, body, and soul.” His calloused fingersmove from my cheek to my neck as he curls them around my throat.
I suck in a breath, my pulse hammering beneath his grip. Not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to make my breath hitch and my stomach tighten with something dangerously close to anticipation.
“Don’t you see, Rosetta?” His breath ghosts over my cheek, his voice almost reverent. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Just because you evaded me all these years doesn’t mean you weren’t in my head.”
He’s been thinking of me all this time? The revelation knocks the air from my lungs faster than his hand on my throat, and I hate how my body betrays me. Heat coils around my belly, my legs threaten to give out, barely holding my weight. With the little strength I have left, I lift my hand and slap him across the face.
He smirks, but lets go of my throat before I pass out.
“Are you trying to strangle me?” I demand, my fingers brushing my throat, my skin still burning where he touched me.
