Love?
I’ve spent my entire life scoffing at the idea of being tied down to one person forever. I also discredited my father’s claim that he knew my mother was “it” after seeing her only once. I called his notion that he “knew” foolish. A game, and a sign of weakness.
Now I understand because that’s what my obsession with Valentina is leading toward. That’s what she is to me. She’s my weakness. My biggest challenge. But if I’m willing to put in the hard years, she could also be my everything.
What I feel for her isn’t solely an obsession fueled by lust.
It’s the foundation of a love story that will rival my parents’.
Love is a risk. It means Valentina could walk away, and I’d have to let her even if it kills me. Loving her isn’t about owning her. It’s about ensuring her happiness is prioritized before anyone else’s—even my own. She must come first.
Although the thought should terrify me, no amount of caution tapers my smirk.
Valentina Raimondi is mine.
And I’ll kill anyone who tries to convince her otherwise.
24
VALENTINA
Reluctant to surface from a dream I don’t want to leave, I wake slowly. The sheets are soft against my skin. They feel like silk spun from clouds and scream wealth. However, my limbs are heavy and sluggish. A week of indulgent comforts has softened me. My muscles ache. Not acutely, but in that dull, throbbing way that makes you crave more.
More movement.
More exhaustion.
More him.
I toss the covers off and stretch my arms overhead until my ribs groan. My stretch is slow and deliberate, and in seconds, it coaxes life back into tired limbs and brings a smile to my face.
For the past seven mornings, I’ve done the same routine. Though this is the first time I’ve woken up without Giovanni’s piercing gaze watching me as I sleep.
His possessiveness would concern me if it didn’t come with a heap of benefits. The past week has been wonderful. Giovanni and I spend every waking moment together, even the hours I’m at my mother’s bedside, and Mom messages every morning to assure meshe’s well-rested. She also calls every evening at 6 to uphold her pledge, even if we’ve only just left her hospital room.
Her new medical team is skilled in the downfalls of her cancer, and although it’s still early days for her new treatment program, her prognosis is already showing signs of improvement. Her upbeat mood likely stems from Aunt Maria giving her all the gossip on how the one percent live rather than a Posturepedic mattress, but any progress is welcome.
Aunt Maria thought the market stallholders had the hot takes on the locals. They havenothingon the doorman at Carlisle’s most expensive building.
With my muscles loose enough to play another game of naked Twister, I sink deep into the mattress and sigh. I can’t believe it’s been only seven days. It feels like weeks. Months, even. It’s hard to remember a time when Giovanni wasn’t a part of my life. It’s as if he’s always been a part of the mess, which is both strange and scary.
I have no desire to question it, though. Everything is finally falling into place, and I was taught not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Those worries can wait until we can be in each other’s presence longer than ten minutes without mauling each other.
Fingers crossed that’s many moons away.
Smiling, I squint through the soft morning light filtering through the sheer curtains to collect my phone from the bedside table. I’ve only just scanned a good-morning text from my mother when I sense a presence. It prickles my skin with awareness, though it’s not the excited goose bumps I get when I sense Giovanni’s presence a second before I see him. It fills me with dread.
When I snap my gaze to the corner of the room, the air is sucked from my lungs. Valeria is standing next to a dresser, trailing her manicured nails across the trinkets arranged there. They’re not random pieces. They are the items Giovanni collected for me when he met with the construction crew supervisor rebuilding and remodeling my mother’s building.
He didn’t want them to get ruined. That’s how thoughtful he is and how far he’ll go to make sure I’m comfortable in his domain.
Initially, I opposed his plan to have the building remodeled. My thoughts only changed when he explained the local council would fund the rebuild. Apparently, the building citations they’ve issued over the past several years were illegal, thus not only giving the residents plenty of grounds to sue, but they were also entitled to a seven-figure refund.
All the residents agreed that the money go into saving one of Carlisle’s oldest buildings.
She’ll be a grand majesty once she’s finished, and it is all thanks to the Caruso family.
The reminder keeps me calm when my guest rummages through my things uninvited.
