26. Juliette
Juliette
W hen I woke, warmth and a clean, fresh scent surrounded me. Light poured through the windows. I blinked my eyes, the soft white landscape greeting me. Then slowly, events of the last few days came rushing in and I remembered where I was. Who I was!
Juliette DiLustro.
My pulse quickened, registering a heavy arm around my waist and a hard, warm chest pressed against my back.
I took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled.
“You’re awake.” Dante’s warm breath brushed against the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
“What happened with the two of us sticking to our sides of the bed?” I asked, not turning around.
I didn’t want to risk coming face-to-face with him and tempting fate.
The thought of his body suffocating mine had my pulse racing and blood rushing.
“You said the middle was Switzerland. A neutral zone.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “I didn’t grope you or anything. I’m just holding my wife.”
I rolled my eyes but he didn’t see it. Not that he’d care. He’d seen me roll my eyes at him plenty of times.
“Guess you were right,” I muttered. “Blizzard came. We’re buried in snow.”
A light shiver rolled down my spine. I wasn’t overly fond of the cold. His hold tightened, but it didn’t suffocate.
“This is far from being buried,” he rasped behind me. “We can go for a ride, if you want?”
This time I did risk looking over my shoulder and my breath caught in my throat. Dante’s ruffled dark locks and the sleepy look on his face made him seem less arrogant. Less formidable.
My heart rate picked up. I didn’t like how my pulse kept speeding up around him. It was as if it were influenced by his closeness. I’d rather be aloof and resist his charms, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own.
It wouldn’t be such a bad revelation, if only my brain could process those fears that cowered in the corners of my mind and always came forward at the worst time.
“Are you serious?” I asked him, my tone slightly breathless. “Or are you trying to get me killed?”
He let out an amused breath. “My dear wildling wife, that’s the last thing on this earth I want to do.”
“Can you stop calling me that?” I spat out, slightly agitated. “Have you seen the damn movie? It’s a horror flick. Nothing cute about it at all.”
He chuckled. “Let’s get dressed and I’ll show you the house.”
Pulling out of his arms, he reluctantly let me go and I rushed into the bathroom, then closed the door behind me. I hurried through my shower, then headed into the walk-in closet through the door that connected the bathroom directly to it.
Dante must have heard me because he called out, “You all done with the bathroom?”
“Yes.” There was little that escaped that man. “You know if we had separate rooms, we wouldn’t have to worry about sharing a bathroom.”
Ignoring my comment, I heard him shuffle out of bed, and shortly after, the shower restarted.
In awe, I stared at one side of the walk-in closet, my side.
It was fully stocked with designer clothes.
Anything and everything a woman desired was here—jewelry, dresses, bathing suits, ski suits, shoes.
But no signs of any old-fashioned pajamas.
Did he have that stuff ready for me the entire time?
Creepy! And convenient, my heart justified him.
Whatever. My eyes roamed over all the clothing. Well, he had everything except combat boots and weapons.
My eyes flicked to Dante’s side and I caught sight of the section where he had stored his weapons. I could see them through the glass. Glocks, sniper rifles, knives. I wondered if he kept them all locked up.
My steps silent against the plush rug, I rushed to his side of the walk-in closet and reached for the door. It refused to open. So I tried again to no avail. It was then that I noticed it. A digital thumbprint. That was his lock.
Oh well. I needed to find some place to store my weapons securely. Or convince Dante to have my thumbprint added to the file so I could open the weapons drawer.
For now, I simply returned to my side of the closet and picked out clothes to wear. Something appropriate for this cold. I started with a matching bra and panties in soft pink. Once I put them on, I prowled through a selection of jeans and then a thick, yellow pullover followed.
I spotted a shelf with women’s shoes and made my way there, noting they were all new. I reached for a pair of Uggs, when the door from the bathroom opened.
His eyes traveled over me, a dark triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Do they fit right?” he asked.
I nodded and something sparkled in his eyes. Satisfaction maybe? Emotions that I couldn’t pinpoint. He could be hard to read sometimes.
“I bought them for you,” he stated matter-of-factly as he headed to his own side of the closet and started pulling out his own outfit. Jeans. A light gray sweater. Combat boots.
Then his words registered. “When did you buy them?” I asked carefully.
His shoulders tensed for a fraction of a second before they relaxed. “The morning after our first wedding.”
I eyed him suspiciously. That was just three days ago. There was no way all this shit arrived in two days. “Really?”
Fully dressed, he turned around and extended his hand. “Let’s give you the tour and then let’s go grab something to eat.”
The first room he took me to was a library. A massive two stories high with shelves that reached to the top and were fully stocked. There was a ladder on small wheels that leaned against each row to allow a person to reach for the books at the very top.
“Wow,” I murmured, my eyes traveling over the room. I wasn’t even the reading type. My literature started and ended with romances. Some sweeter than the others, but mostly filthy. Of course, I’d never admit that to Dante.
I walked through the nearest aisle of books, my eyes gliding over the fancy spines. History. Science. Warfare. Classics. Not surprising, no romance.
“You look disappointed?” Dante remarked. I turned away from the books and caught Dante watching me with a small frown. “If there is a particular author you like, we can get it. Just say the word.”
I flushed. There was no fucking way I’d tell him to get me dirty romance novels.
“Maybe some romance novels?” he suggested and my cheeks burned. Dante was annoying as fuck.
I cleared my throat, keeping my composure. “I read mostly on my Kindle. But thank you. The library’s impressive.” Then I walked to him. “Okay, next room.”
So the tour continued. Pool room and cigar lounge. I crinkled my nose. I hated the smell of cigars. Then we moved on to a few more guest rooms. All without beds or mattresses.
“So what happened to the beds and mattresses?” I asked curiously.
Dante shrugged. “Bedbugs.”
My head whipped around to look at him. “I hope yours didn’t have bedbugs,” I hissed, suddenly feeling every inch of me crawling. I scratched my neck, then my back. Shit, my whole body suddenly itched.
“It was a false alarm,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Stop scratching yourself.”
I glared at him. “You’re an ass.”
He laughed all the way down the stairs. Dante’s mansion was bigger than I thought. It had several wings, although most were unused.
We made our way through the game room when I realized something. “So you live here by yourself?” I questioned, frowning. “No guards. Nothing? Just a cook or a maid?”
He flicked me a curious look. “From what I understand, you grew up without guards.”
He was right. Dad and Aunt Aisling tried to give us a semblance of normalcy growing up. So much normalcy that we were blindsided when having to deal with Davina’s ex. We really attempted our best at criminal activities but somehow none of them went well.
“Yes, I did,” I agreed. “I don’t need guards. I was just surprised.”
He gave me a pensive look. “I don’t usually need them. I can defend myself. When Priest and I lived together, it was the same way. But that might need to change. You’re not capable of defending yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes on him. “How presumptuous.”
His one eyebrow rose and he watched me curiously. “Are you saying you can defend yourself?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Okay,” he went along with me. “Later today or tomorrow, we can test your defense skills. If you prove to me that you can, then we’ll keep our place free of guards.”
It took all I had not to snicker. Dante was in for a big surprise.
* * *
Chicago was cold.
And somewhat dreary. To my surprise, the city remained open, not missing a beat, with the blizzard that swept through last night. When I expressed my shock at stores being open, people just laughed. It wasn’t a blizzard until cars were unable to drive on the streets.
We ended up having lunch at one of the local pizzerias. Curious glances were thrown our way the moment we arrived.
It was clear by the way the manager rushed to us that Dante was known. He greeted us personally, shaking Dante’s hand and then bowed his head slightly to me.
“The married couple,” he said, taking my extended hand and kissing the back of it. The gesture was so old-fashioned that for a moment I stared at him, floored. “Your wife is stunning, Mr. DiLustro.”
“She is,” Dante drawled, his dark shimmering eyes locking on me.
As we were led to the table, the looks turned to gawking. I glanced down a few times to ensure I didn’t have a hole in my pants or an open zipper.
Dante took my hand into his, pulling me closer. “Are you okay?”
My cheeks felt hot. It only ever happened around this man.
I didn’t know whether it was his hand or his concern.
I met his eyes, letting them pull me in.
It was the oddest thing. My mind wanted me to fight him, but my body was the exact opposite.
It encouraged me to let myself go. The conflict was driving me nuts.
“Why is everyone staring?” I asked as we were seated down.
It was the manager who answered. “Mr. DiLustro keeps peace in our city,” he announced. “Naturally, his wife would attract interest.”
Dante shrugged. “We all do our part,” he said, discounting it. “They’re just being nosy.”
The manager chuckled. “Mr. DiLustro refuses to take credit, but before he took over, we had Russians attacking us. Corsican mafia. The Irish. Our city was a battlefield.”
I stiffened at the callout of the Irish. My eyes flashed with annoyance. “Well, if something happens to me, you can count on the Irish to come back,” I snapped slightly annoyed.
The manager’s eyes flashed with surprise and his gaze darted to Dante with uncertainty. My husband lowered the menu, a hard look on his face and I straightened my shoulders, ready for battle.
But as always, Dante managed to surprise me.
“My wife has the Irish backing and I would support them if anything were to happen to her.” The waiter brought us a bottle of sparkling water, but Dante didn’t bother stopping.
It would seem he wanted everyone to know whose wrath they’d earn if anything happened to me.
“Anyone touches my wife, they can be certain that the Irish will be the least of their concerns.”
The manager cleared his throat, then excused himself. The waiter was right behind him. And all the while I stared at my husband dumbfounded.
Why did it feel like there was more to Dante than met the eye?