Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Isabella
The warm shower isn’t enough to drown out my thoughts. I keep cranking the knob hotter, hoping the scalding water can stop the ache in my chest, but no amount of steam seems to wash away the events of last night.
And no, for once, it’s not Dominic’s fault. Of all the people to run into at the party, it had to be my father.
Even now, my head throbs from just thinking about it. Why after all this time? Why did it take losing one daughter to finally remember the other one existed?
I close my eyes, trying to wipe out the hopeless look in his eyes as he begged me to give him another chance. He claimed Dominic had barred him from coming anywhere close to me, that he was forced to beg for a passed even asked if I wanted more gifts.
I desperately want to believe him. I care about him. I shouldn’t, but I do. He’s my father after all. And the stupid little girl in me still craves his affection and approval. It’s very humiliating, and I hate that I still care.
How am I supposed to build a sanctuary for women when I myself am still hung on a father that never cared?
The bracelet he gifted me eyes me as I dress. I’ve picked it up a hundred times, only to feel a prickle on my skin whenever I try to wear it. But this morning is different. I slip it over my wrist, ignoring the voice in my head that whispers, he doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.
I step out of my room and bump into a man carrying a wooden box. It drops, its contents scattering across the floor.
Books. Dozens of them.
“I’m so sorry,” I say quickly, squatting down to assist him in gathering them.
“My fault, ma’am,” he replies, ducking his head.
I hand him a book, but my eyes go to the men in line, each carrying a box like his, as they pass us. What’s happening? I end up following them down the hall, in the direction of the eastern wing.
When I step inside the room they enter, my jaw drops like I’ve just walked into a dream.
The once-empty room has been transformed. The smell of new paper and wood fills the air as boxes containing stacks of leather-bound books and paperbacks are opened and arranged on floor-to-ceiling shelves on the walls.
“A library…” The words come out, thin and disbelieving. I press a hand to my chest. “Someone pinch me.” My feet drag me further into the room. I squeal, unable to contain the giddiness bubbling inside me when I spot one of my favorites. A classic.
Pride and Prejudice.
I pull it out, with the intention of re-reading it for the fifth time. My hand flies up to my mouth to hide the gasp that almost escapes when I realize that it’s a first edition.
My throat tightens. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe Dominic did this for me. My excitement propels me straight to his office. The door swings open beside me as I lift my hand to knock. Dominic steps out, phone close to his ear.
“Pull the shipment from Naples in two days.” His eyes find me instantly. “I’ll call you back,” he says into the phone before hanging up.
Slowly, he cocks a brow at me, his expression hardening. He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.
“Thank you.”
His lip presses into a thin line, the space between us growing eerily silent. I don’t know what I expect him to say, but maybe not to eye me like I’ve grown two heads.
“F-for the library,” I quickly add and suddenly feel awkward, flustered even.
“If that’s what it takes for my wife not to talk to other men, then so be it,” he replies flatly.
Words tangle in my throat as I stare wide-eyed at him. He’s possessive and overbearing, yet my stupid heart swells anyway. At this point, I know I’m as red as a tomato, and there’s no hiding behind my hair.
So what do I say now? Do I even say anything or just walk away?
“Books aren’t just entertainment for me. They’re a getaway…a breath of fresh air when reality feels like a cage,” I find myself saying before I can stop it.
Jeez, Bella, get a grip!
My eyes flick to his, hesitant. He doesn’t say anything; instead, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants, presses his lips into a thin, deadpan line, and side steps me, striding out of my presence.
That sets off something in my chest. I whirl around.
“You know, you don’t need to add being standoffish to your already long list of bad attitudes.” The words leave my lips in a breath and I watch his strides slow, then stop. Oops?
He turns, face still deadpan. “That you hide between ink and paper when you should face reality is unsolicited information.”
His words are like needles, and I wince as they prick my chest. The nerve of this bastard.
“You know what, forget it,” I scoff, adjusting my glasses. “It’s my fault for thinking you could be civil enough to hold a proper conversation.”
Heat pricks my skin as his eyes sweep my figure. I don’t miss the glint of amusement that shines in his eyes.
“Civil?” The wicked smirk that follows his next words sends a dangerous shiver down my spine. “Careful, little wife, you’re blurring the line between fantasy and reality.”
Folding his arms, he leans against the wall, casually throwing me a wicked smirk. Something about the action sends heat through my core, and I hate him for that. Hell, I hate myself for that.
“Don’t flatter yourself. Men like you don’t exist in fantasies.” I manage to roll my eyes even though my pulse betrays me.
“Oh, dolcezza, the only fantasy that matters here is one where you’re on your knees begging me to ruin you in ways you know only I can.”
A soft gasp escapes my lips, but I can tell he heard it, because his eyes narrow darkly…hungrily. And I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t make me quiver.
I almost choke on my fury. “Gosh, I-I actually thought you could be decent for a second.”
His smirk deepens.
“Decent doesn’t get you wet, Princess.” I hold my breath as he unfurls his arms, standing straight and pinning me with a predatory stare. “Power does. And I’ll make reality so brutal you’ll beg me to be the villain in every book you ever open.”
My legs almost give way.