CHAPTER TEN #2
Then I take a moment, inhaling a deep breath to calm myself. I have to rise above this. She’s looking for a reaction and I’m not going to rise to the bait. I stir the egg into the sugar. “Listen Sofia., you don’t have to like me. But I’m not the enemy here.”
She pauses in the middle of whisking to glare at me.
Renata of course barrels right through the tension.
“Oh enough of that. The two of you shouldn’t be fighting. You should stick together. You’re both the same age, aren’t you? I’m sure you have lots in common. Sofia tell Cassie about that weird band you like. The one with the loud obnoxious music.”
“EDM isn’t weird, Renata. It’s fun,” she says rolling her eyes, but not without a smile.
“I completely agree. It’s the best kind of music to dance to at the club,” I say, glad to find some common ground.
“I’ve never done that. Clubbing,” Sofia says wistfully. “I’ve always wondered what it’d be like.”
“Never?” I ask surprised. “That’s blasphemy. Everyone deserves at least one club experience before the age of 21.”
“Well here I am at the ripe age of 23 and I haven’t had the pleasure. Perks of being a mafia princess,” she says sardonically.
My heart aches for her a little and then I realize that this is probably my future as well. Locked away forever. And the pain intensifies.
I think Sofia can tell what I’m thinking because she offers me a soft smile. Her warmest one directed at me so far.
“Don’t worry, Cassie. You’ll get used to it,” she tells me.
I refuse that though. There’s no world where I’ll accept being locked away like that.
Renata clears her throat, trying to dispel the sadness that suddenly clings to her kitchen. And it works, a little. Sofia and I end the conversation moving on to less depressing topics. For the next half hour, we work in a rhythm. Measuring, rolling, cutting, baking.
I catch Sofia smiling once the cookies come out perfectly golden, and when I compliment her piping work, she doesn’t snap back.
By the time we’re done, the kitchen is filled with warmth and it smells heavenly.
“You know you’re not so bad, Cassie,” Sofia says as we stare down to our hard work.
“I could have told you that the first time we met,” I point out with a smile.
“Sorry I was such a bitch. I just don’t like that you’re the reason my brothers are fighting,” she tells me.
My jaw drops, “How can I be the reason? I’ve never even met your other brother.”
“Damien burned some bridges in order to have you. Especially with Dante and I don’t like that. I don’t like how much hold you have over him,” Sofia says, her blue eyes piercing like her brothers. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of doubt. For now. Don’t make me regret it.”
And with those words, she leaves the kitchen with a plate full of warm cookies. Renata and I share a look once she’s gone.
“I think the two of you are going to be close friends,” Renata says after a minute.
I can’t tell if she’s joking or not but it does make me laugh.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
I leave the kitchen soon after, heading back up the spiral staircase. To my quiet room and the emptiness. Once I reach the door to my room however, my eyes flick to the right. To Damien’s room. He’s still away on business. He said he’d be back today but maybe that’ll be later.
Curiosity burns within me. I want to know what his room looks like. He’s my husband to be. Might as well figure out how he lives. Plus, the best insight to a person is their bedroom. I glance around the empty hall before pivoting quietly, making my way down the corridor.
My heart races as my fingers curl around the handle and I push it open. And then I immediately freeze, a squeak escaping my mouth.
Damien stands at the foot of the bed, shirtless, his tattooed back to me. His broad shoulders are pulled taut as he reaches for a shirt draped over a nearby chair. But at the sound of my entrance, he whirls around immediately on alert.
My eyes drop down to his torso. All hard lines and shadows, muscle and menace carved into flesh. His skin gleams in the low light, and for a moment, all I can do is stare.
Then he turns. Our eyes lock. And I forget how to breathe.
He’s built like something out of a nightmare and a dream.
Tall and lethal, but undeniably beautiful in that brutal kind of way.
His chest is inked in tattoos and faint scars but it’s the bullet wound on his upper left arm that grabs my attention.
Or at least I think it’s a bullet wound.
The scar is jagged and raw looking. Somehow, it adds to his dangerous appeal.
I stare for way longer than is appropriate. The hard lines of his stomach. The tension coiled in his stance. I wonder how it would feel to be beneath him. To be the recipient of all that tightly wound energy and strength. I wonder how hard he would fuck me. If it would hurt.
“Now who’s entering rooms without permission?”
His voice is low but not angry. He actually looks amused. I jolt like I’ve been caught stealing something. Swallowing roughly. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are bright red at the moment. Damien continues to stare at me like he can tell what I’ve been thinking.
God I hope not.
That was a temporary brief moment of insanity.
“I-” my voice cracks. I clear my throat. “I didn’t know you were back yet.”
He raises an eyebrow, “I arrived an hour ago. I went to find you and was informed you were baking with Renata and Sofia. Now, mind telling me what you’re doing in here?”
"I need a reason to entire my husband's room?" I ask out of pure pettiness.
"No." He says, his eyes locking on mine, and my entire body melts beneath his gaze.
I take a deep breath, struggling to steady myself “I was curious. About your room,” I say, forcing my chin up. “I didn’t think you’d be in here. Half-naked.”
“You seemed to be enjoying the show,” he murmurs, his smirk forming like a devil drawing breath. He steps forward slowly.
“I wasn’t,” I retort even as my cheeks flush.
I back up without meaning to. He stops just short of me, close enough or his body heat to brush against my skin. Close enough that I catch the scent of him.
He watches me like he’s trying to read something in my eyes. We’re entirely too close to each other right now. His gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second and the air thickens. My breath catches and then he leans in.
His fingers graze my wrist, featherlight, like he’s giving me the chance to pull away, but I don’t, I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just look up at him, eyes wide, heart thundering.
His mouth hover just over mine. Close enough that I feel the warmth of it. The temptation of it. But he doesn’t kiss me.
Instead, he lifts a hand and brushes a strand of hair away from my cheek, his knuckles grazing my skin.
“Next time, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Knock.”
Right.
I blink and reality slams back in. I take a stumbling step backward, nearly dropping the plate of cookies. I don’t look at him as I turn and all but flee from the room, my skin flushed and my heartbeat betraying me with the worst part.
The worst part is I wanted him to kiss me.
Something is definitely wrong with me.