Page 228 of Reign

He just touches me like I’m something he’s responsible for.

And I stay there, bent over the bench, trembling and dripping and trying to remember how to breathe, while the man who just ruined me starts putting me back together again.

***

This is so domestic.

I’m curled into Luciano’s side on his couch, wearing his shirt after he kissed me, showered with me, and treated every humiliating thing I admitted wanting like something perfectly reasonable to give me.

I told the man what I wanted, and he gave it to me.

That is turning out to be far more dangerous than him refusing.

Now my legs are tucked beneath me and my cheek resting against his chest. My favorite fashion design show is on the television, and I couldn’t name a single thing that has happened in the last fifteen minutes.

Luciano’s heartbeat is under my ear, steady and slow and unfairly calm.

How is he always so calm?

I shift, and his hand moves over my thigh without thought. Like this is normal. Like I belong here.

My face burns.

His shirt smells like him. Clean cotton, warm skin, and that dark, smoky cologne that makes my brain useless.

I press my cheek closer before I can stop myself.

Bad idea.

Terrible idea.

Somewhere between the shower and his thumb moving lazily over my thigh, a horrible thought has started circling.

I could fall for him.

Absolutely not.

This is training. He has a list with actual names on it. He’s helping me figure out what I want before Angelo chooses for me.

The kiss was aftercare. The shower was aftercare. His shirt is not a declaration of intent. His arm around me is not a future.

Luciano isn’t mine.

His lips press against my temple.

My heart does something embarrassing.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

His voice is low enough to sink straight into my skin.

“Nothing.”

“Elena.”

I close my eyes.

I hate when he says my name like that. Like he already knows I’m lying and is only giving me time to embarrass myself honestly.