Page 320 of Reign

Luciano said I needed to eat breakfast before I went swimming again, so I’m on his lap, one arm draped around his shoulders while he selects a blueberry from the bowl in front of us.

The coconut water has turned slushy at the bottom of the bowl. Blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries fill the bowl, with cherries scattered across the top because Luciano knows exactly how I like them now.

He holds the blueberry to my mouth.

I lean forward and take it from his fingers, then kiss him before I finish chewing.

Because I can.

Because he’s mine, and I’m sitting on his lap in our kitchen with the sun on my skin and nowhere else I’m supposed to be.

His hand slides higher along my thigh. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to.”

“A compelling reason.”

I kiss him again.

This time, he keeps me there, his fingers curling around the back of my neck while his mouth moves slowly over mine.

I’m disgustingly happy.

It should be embarrassing. I can’t bring myself to care.

Angelo hasn’t called me once. I haven’t seen his name appear on Luciano’s phone either. If he’s tried, Luciano hasn’t allowed it to become my problem.

The guards are always around, but they never disturb us. One crosses the terrace while another stands near the edge of the property, close enough when Luciano needs them and far enough away that I can almost forget they’re there.

Almost.

Everyone gives him space.

People lower their voices when he passes. They move before he asks. Even the guards seem to know how close they’re permitted to stand without anyone explaining it.

I can understand how power becomes intoxicating.

The entire house rearranges itself around Luciano, and I’m sitting in the center of it on his lap, being fed cherries from his fingers.

It makes me feel important too.

Maybe that’s terrible.

I take the cherry he offers me and decide I don’t care about that either.

A door shuts somewhere beyond the kitchen.

Luciano glances toward the hallway, a blueberry held between his fingers.

A woman’s voice carries through the house.

“¿Dónde estás, mijo?”

He pauses with the berry halfway to my mouth.

I look at him. “Is that—”

“Yes.”