Violet
We return to the bedroom, where Marcello produces several bags bearing the logos of expensive designers. "I took the liberty of ordering you some clothes to wear until you can go shopping."
Curious, I step closer. Felix is already rubbing against the bags, ready to investigate. I take the first and remove the pretty frilly paper stuffed on top, discarding it to the floor, where Felix pounces on it. Inside is a periwinkle-colored dress—not a color I would have ever picked for myself.
"Put it on," Marcello demands.
All I have on is his t-shirt. I quickly pull it over my head, pretending not to see how Marcello's pupils dilate or to hear the small hiss of appreciation that escapes him.
I keep my head down, so he won't see the smile curving my lips before I pull the dress over my head.
There is a mirror by the dresser, but the way he tilts his head in appreciation and purses his lips already tells me that this dress looks beautiful on me.
And… this dress… God, where do I even start?
It's nothing like the oversized sweaters and scrubs I'm used to.
It hugs my body like it was made for me—form-fitting in the kind of way that should feel like too much, but somehow doesn't. It's soft, smooth, almost airy, and the color—this dreamy shade of periwinkle—makes my skin glow.
The belt cinches just right, highlighting my waist. The neckline dips low, not scandalously, but enough to make me glance twice in the mirror like—wait, is that really me? I've never felt this… elegant. Or sexy. Or seen.
It's not the kind of dress I would've ever picked for myself. But now? I never want to take it off.
"You look stunning, tesoro." Marcello rasps.
"It's beautiful," I say, turning in the mirror. Is that really me?
"You're beautiful," he contradicts, pulling me into his arms.
"This is too much." I can't even imagine what this kind of dress might cost.
"You better get used to it. Nothing is too much for you, Violet. You will be my wife, you deserve this."
A small snort escapes me, "I don't know about deserve…"
He places the knuckle of his thumb underneath my chin and pushes my head up so our eyes meet. "You do. You deserve everything, do you hear me?"
He's being serious.
Did you really think you could walk next to him on the street in your black leggings and an oversized sweater? Bitchy me asks. Have you seen him? Really seen him? His suits?
"Do you like it?" He wants to know.
"I love it."
"Good. It suits you."
My eyes return to my reflection. The periwinkle brings out the blonde in my hair, and I look like a movie star. I smile.
"Thank you."
"There will be a lot more," he promises.
"I only need you." I grab his hard biceps to make my point.
"I know," his smile is slow and weakens my knees, before his kiss nearly knocks me off my feet, and I have to cling to his arms in earnest.
He roughly pulls back. He closes his eyes, trying hard to regain his composure. "The things you do to me…" he presses out.
I'm still clinging to his arms. "Ditto."
His eyes open, and his smile disappears. "We need to talk. These clothes should tide you over for a few days. Make a list of anything else you'll need, and I'll send Alejandro to fetch it for you."
"My underwear?" It was meant to be a tease, but his face darkens to such a degree I worry he might kill the poor man if he happened to step in here. He takes a deep inhale and regains his composure. "I'll take you shopping later, okay?"
He looks so pained that a small giggle escapes me. "I'm sorry to be such a hardship on you."
"Never," he leans his forehead against mine.
"There should be some underwear in one of these bags," he says, pointing my attention back to the bags, one of which Felix has made into a little nest. I hope it's not the one with the underwear.
It's not. I get lucky and find several sets in another bag.
I choose a white, lacy bra and a pair of panties, reminding me of the set I wore on our first night.
Only this one probably has another zero or two added to the total sales price. "Can I take a quick shower?"
He nods. "I'll join you."
My belly flutters at the thought. "Do you think we'll get any talking done that way?"
Resigned, he shakes his head. "Probably not. Go on then. I'll use one of the guest rooms' showers."
"I can—"
He shakes his head, "This is your place now."
My place?
My eyes move down to the ring he put on my finger last night. Fiancée runs through my mind, increasing the fluttering—more than it ever had when I thought of Scott as my fiancé. I grab the bag of underwear, leave Felix to his adventures, and move to the bathroom.
I take a lightning-fast shower, not even taking the time to dry my hair before I dress.
I put on the underwear, which fits like a glove.
I hope it was Marcello who picked these out, although I have no idea when he would have done so.
This is but a fleeting thought, though. We need to talk; his words run on repeat in my head, pushing anything else out.
I pull the dress back over my head when a loud scream from the kitchen makes me rush out without a second thought.
There, my mouth drops open. Zia Rosa is standing on top of one of the dining room chairs, swinging her feared kitchen towel, holding her skirts up, and screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Porca miseria!"
In the open doorway stand four burly men, guns drawn. Marcello's bodyguards are all ready for action.
"Maledizione," Zia Rosa yells, flapping her towel, pointing it below the table, where Felix—unperturbed—is stalking a scared-to-death mouse.
One of the guards aims his gun, and I dive forward, "No!"
"Che diavolo!" Marcello yells, throwing himself on top of me.
"Dio mio," Zia Rosa chants, "dio mio."
Slowly, Marcello rolls himself off me, pulling me to my feet and looking furious as hell. "Don't you ever do that again!"
"Do what?" I'm not sure what he's mad at me for. I wasn't the one who brought the damn mice into the house.
"Throw yourself in front of a gun," he clarifies.
"He was pointing it at Felix," I state. Isn't it normal that one would throw themselves in front of their beloved pet when someone aims a gun at it?
"Merda," Marcello curses, running his hand through his hair and putting the gun into his waistband.
"Everyone, this is Felix. Violet's cat. It is not to be harmed in any way and… " he sighs loudly, "it is to be protected."
"Yes, boss." Marco nods, pressing his lips tightly together, trying hard not to laugh.
"What about the mouse?" Zia Rosa demands.
"I had no idea you could curse like that, Zia Rosa." Kurt, another guard, looks at her with new respect.
Marcello throws me another death glare and walks over to help Zia Rosa off the chair. "Felix will take care of them."
"Them?" Zia Rosa screeches.
"Alejandro will have someone over later today to…" he glares at me, "humanely dispose of whichever mice Felix doesn't catch."
"Well, he better hurry, because I'm not staying here until that… rodent problem is taken care of." Zia Rosa huffs. She waddles to the door where her purse is and grabs it, waiving her towel at the four bodyguards. "Which one of you boys is taking me home?"
"Fuck," Marcello runs his hand through his hair again while the bodyguards file out, to their credit, not saying a word.
Once we are alone, Marcello looks heavenward, before letting out another curse and massaging the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache.
"I'm sorry," I say, but my voice cracks, and he looks up sharply, shaking his head at me.
"Really," I try harder, but lose the battle. My mind runs through what just happened: Zia Rosa on the chair swinging her towel, and Felix under the table. I start to giggle louder.
"Violet," Marcello warns.
I bite my lips, but it doesn't help.
He curses.
And when I dare look up, the edges of his lips are trembling as he tries hard to hold in a chuckle, too.
"This cat…" he starts, glaring at Felix, whose victim has once again escaped.
Felix sits down unperturbed and begins licking—very ungentlemanly, with one of his hind legs in the air—his balls.
Marcello's expression turns incredulous.
I sidle up to him, "Jealous?"
His head whips around to me. "Jealous?" He chuckles and pulls me against his chest. "No, but I'd like to think I've earned more of your attention than a cat licking his balls."
I snuggle into him, "You got it."
"Alright," he pulls me toward the kitchen area, "let's see what we have to eat, and then we need to talk."
He finds a stack of pancakes and bacon, but before he can grab them, I take the empty plates from his hands. "Let me."
I put the plates into the microwave while he takes a seat on one of the chairs by the counter, watching me look through the many doors and drawers to locate glasses, cups, silverware, syrup, and whatever else we might need.
"You look good in my kitchen," he says, leaning back in his chair.
My face turns a shade redder; I like his compliments. I put everything on the counter as I find the items, and in perfect timing, the microwave dings.
Unthinking, I open it and pull the first plate out. "Ouch!" I pull back, waving my hand to cool the fingers I just burned on the too-hot plate.
Marcello is instantly at my side, worried. He takes my hand and forces me to hold still. "Let me see."
"It's not bad. I'm just being a baby," I confess. The skin on my wrist where he's holding me burns more than the fingers. He scrutinizes them before he pulls me toward the sink, turning the cold water on.
"It's really not that bad," I protest while he holds my fingers under the lukewarm spray of the water.
Then he wraps them tenderly with a wet paper towel and directs me to one of the chairs. "Sit."
Using a dish towel, he takes the plate from the microwave, sending a pointed glance at me. I raise my hands in surrender. "What can I say, you distracted me."
"Right," he puts one plate in front of me, "remind me not to let you hold a knife when I'm around."
"Haha," I retort dryly and begin nibbling on a piece of bacon. "Still, thank you. It's been a while since someone doctored me."
"You want to play doctor with me, Nurse Violet?" He leans forward, his gray eyes smoldering at me, and I nearly choke on the piece of bacon.