Tuscany, though… here, I breathe more freely. There’s a relaxed sort of measure to life here, more like an ambling stroll than the American trot and sprint. Known for its stunning panorama of landscapes, rich history, and the arts, most consider Tuscany the home of the Italian Renaissance. One of my favorite things to do, especially in the warmer months of April before the sweltering heat of summer, is to stroll the city streets and shop.
It’s very easy to spend money in Tuscany. I’ll enjoy spending Tavi’s.
With my luck, he probably won’t even care.
I pause in my musings when I hear footsteps outside my door. For a moment, my return home helped me forget my grief, but now I remember who I am and why I’m here.
I’m under the watchful eye of my enemy. I can’t let myself forget that.
There’s a preliminary knock at the door only as a matter of formality, for a moment later, it swings open. My future husband fills the whole doorway, the light behind him casting him in a dark silhouette. I turn away. I don’t want to see his beautiful face right now. Not when the memory of Piero still burns in my mind like the fading brilliance of a sunset.
“Buongiorno, Elise,” Tavi says as he enters my room.
I respond while looking out at the countryside. “Buongiorno.” My voice is a little husky from sleep. We arrived late last night or early this morning, and it will take a few days for me to adjust to the time difference, if we’re even here that long. He didn’t tell me why we were coming. I didn’t ask, because I don’t much care.
“Look at me when you speak to me, please,” he says in a deceptively calm voice. The effects of the punishment he administered still linger, and my skin tingles at the memory of his hand on my throat when he threatened me. I’m under no delusion about who he is or what he’s capable of.
Piero lies dead because of men just like him.
Still, I obey. I’ll pick my battles.
I turn back to him and stare at him, unblinking. “I said good morning.”
He stands only paces away from me, fully clothed in dress pants and a sophisticated button-down shirt, but the collar’s unbuttoned and he wears no tie. I’m still wearing a T-shirt I wore to bed last night. We packed hastily, so I have very little with me, but it doesn’t matter. I can get whatever I want here.
“You hungry?”
I shrug. I’m not a big breakfast eater. “Not really, but I’d like some coffee, please.”
“Of course. I’ll have it sent right up.”
He looks over my shoulder at the countryside. “If you behave yourself, I’ll unlock the window.”
“Very nice of you,” I mutter. “And maybe if I’m really good you’ll let me dress myself, too.”
I don’t expect the smack of his hand to my ass, harsh and punitive, or his mirthless chuckle. I didn’t mean to snap back, but it’s in my nature.
“Watch it, lovely.”
I bite my tongue to keep from giving him another scathing response. I don’t flinch from the hard smack, but glance back at him. His gaze dares me to disobey or talk back again. Here, deep in the countryside, no one would hear me if I called for help, and I’m confident he’s got a team of guards and staff ready to assist him.
It doesn’t matter anyway.
Nothing matters.
I turn to face him and hold his gaze when I talk to him. I don’t know if he’ll demand it every time, but I can stroke his ego once in a while.
“Can you tell me why we came here?”
He looks past me, out at the landscape, as something catches his eye. I glance out the window where he looks, as a hawk dive-bombs from the pretty blue sky straight to the earth below. I gasp when it grabs something—a small rodent?—in its vicious beak before soaring back upward. Tavi, however, doesn’t move.
“Amazing creatures, aren’t they?”
“Hawks?” They make my skin crawl.
“They can use all their senses at once, you know. They’re ruthless and flexible, and miss nothing with those eyes of theirs.”
“Charming,” I say, unimpressed, and not the least surprised a man like him admires such a predator.
Not missing a beat, he continues. “To answer your question, we’re here because I need to identify a body.”
Is there no end to the violence? Just when I think I’m used to it…
“Oh?”
With a nod, he doesn’t offer any more information.
“Was someone killed then?”
He shakes his head, still staring out past me at the rolling landscape. “Not sure. A cousin of mine died in a car crash. A friend of the family tipped us off.” He frowns. “No family nearby to identify the body, and things are looking pretty dicey.”
He’s come to identify a rotting corpse.
Accounting, the most boring job I can think of, is starting to look pretty damn good.
“Don’t you have other people to do that sort of thing for you?”
For some reason, the question’s enough to bring his gaze back to mine. He looks at me curiously, his mouth, as usual, curved downward in a frown.
I wish he wasn’t so handsome when he’s angry.
“We do. But Romeo sent me, so here I am.”
That’s curious. “Why do you think he sent you?”
He looks away again and goes back to sit on the bed. Resigned?
“Because Romeo’s the Boss, and I do what he tells me to.”
“Ah, so I’m too female to know what the Big Men know?” I nod and keep my voice nonchalant, because I’m being cheeky as fuck and know how he is.
The floorboards creak when he takes a step toward me, his large body simultaneously blocking sunlight and heating my skin. I shiver when his warm, rough palms skim up my naked arms before his fingers wrap around me, shackling me in place.
“I won’t have a wife who doesn’t know her place, Elise.”
I swallow hard, fighting anger and arousal. Anger at his high-handedness, arousal at his dominance.
Anger at my lust.
“How medieval of you. Fitting, here in this ancient city, isn’t it?”
His mouth comes to my ear and he nibbles the lobe, sending a shockwave down my spine, before he whispers, “I think you liked being spanked by me. Didn’t you?”
I shake my head.
“You little liar,” he breathes. “You want me to take you over my knee. You want to feel my hand on your ass.” Heat rises to my cheeks, and my skin feels all prickly and hot. “You want me to make it hurt.” My heart skips a beat. “Don’t lie to me, lovely. You like it rough.”
I do. Gentleness sometimes feels like an insult, like a whisper of passion when I want to hear a scream. Whether I like it or not, the edge of violence makes me feel alive.
“Of course I don’t,” I lie through my teeth. I’m so wet it’s mortifying.
“No?”
I shake my head. I won’t give in to him, I won’t. He’s my enemy. And I don’t care if I’ll be married to him, the only way to save any semblance of dignity is to steel myself against him, to fight him even as a part of me whispers, please.
He holds me to his chest, as hard and unyielding as a wall, a visceral reminder of his strength and fortitude. He’s everything I shouldn’t want, but I can’t help craving his inflexibility and strength. If I meant something to him… if I truly, honestly meant something to him, I’d be… safe.