Chapter 14
KATYA
I blink open my eyes.
And instantly, I wonder where the hell I am.
It’s a beautiful room. A huge room. The walls are white and dotted with impeccable artwork.
The furniture is sleek and modern. The window coverings are custom, faint strands of light seeping in around the edges of the windows to paint the hardwood in an ethereal glow.
The bed I’m in isn’t mine. It’s massive.
A king-size. The sheets are sumptuous, and the mattress is the kind of special comfortable that makes me want to stay here forever, under the soft cocoon of the blankets and…
Shit.
Everything comes back to me in a rush. Yesterday, I became Mrs. Lorenzo Andriani. I’m married to the Mafia. Literally. And the room I’m in is one of at least half a dozen bedrooms in Don Andriani’s guesthouse.
Dear God.
What happened last night? What did I do?
I jerk my head around wildly, but I’m alone.
There’s no hint of my new husband. Not his clothes, not him.
Not even a cuff link or a watch on the nightstand.
My gorgeous, ridiculously pricey Manolo Blahniks are scattered on the floor, though.
And my beautiful wedding dress is pooled in a heap of white silk like it’s a piece of litter rather than a gown worth enough to pay my rent for the next few months.
With a sinking feeling, I grab the covers and pull them up to inspect what’s underneath.
I’m naked.
Completely bare assed. Not wearing a stitch.
Did I sleep with Scorpion last night? The last thing I remember is him coming up to me at the reception and telling me we should head to the guesthouse.
Think, Katya. Think.
I have a fuzzy recollection of a golf cart ride. I vaguely remember him carrying me up here. Was I stumbling? I think I had too much wine. Then I took a shower and…
Nothing.
The rest of the night is a blank canvas.
I would know if I slept with him, wouldn’t I? I’d feel something.
I roll onto the cool spot next to me and bury my face in the pillow. It smells like laundry, not him.
He didn’t stay here.
An indistinct memory of him spanking me returns in that moment, followed by the unwelcome reminder that I liked it. That it made my body react in ways never before imagined, let alone experienced.
My stomach plummets.
Maybe I did have sex with him.
Anything is possible at this point.
My mouth is dry and my head is aching. My phone is on the nightstand, so I grab it and haul it in front of my face.
My bleary eyes tell me it’s just after ten o’clock.
I never sleep in this late, but yesterday was endless.
It was after three a.m. before I left the reception, and then God knows what happened when I got back here to the guesthouse with Scorpion, and I blacked out.
A text pops up from Lorenzo.
For a split second, I wonder who that is, that’s how foreign it all still feels. But then recognition hits me.
Since when is his number programmed into my phone?
I tap on the text, opening it.
Lorenzo: Good morning, wife. I have breakfast waiting whenever you’re ready.
Wife?
And also, did he make breakfast?
As if on cue, another text pops up.
Lorenzo: Priest’s chef made you one of your disgusting green smoothies.
Ah, so it wasn’t him, then. My thumbs hover over the screen, ready to tap out a response. But then I decide against it. For all he knows, I’m still sleeping. And besides, I’m not ready to face him yet.
Or ever.
I turn off my phone screen and toss it onto the bed, groaning as I slap a hand over my face.
Did I have sex with him? I would remember that, wouldn’t I?
I throw back the covers and head to the en suite bathroom.
Thank heavens for small mercies. I have zero ability to remember the bathroom from last night, so once I’m inside and flip on the light, I’m struck by the monstrosity and grandeur of it all.
This guest room bathroom is half the size of my apartment.
The floor and walls are marble. The shower is big enough to fit half a dozen people comfortably.
Not to mention the wall jets, overhead spray, and the sauna function.
Plus, all my toiletries are already neatly waiting for me inside. I don’t know if it was drunk me, Scorpion, or Priest’s incredible staff who was responsible, but as I turn on the hot water and step under the spray, I’m grateful to whomever it was.
I stay in the shower longer than necessary, until the whole room is filled with steam and the mirrors are fogged up.
I never want to leave. This shower is fucking amazing.
It’s a far cry from the pathetic offering in Scorpion’s cabin, and it definitely outshines the narrow square masquerading as a shower in my apartment.
Finally, I finish and turn off the water, heading out of the shower to dry myself off.
Since the mirrors are steamed up, I settle for brushing my teeth—naturally, my toothbrush and paste are already set up awaiting me—and then head back into the bedroom to dress.
My overnight bag is here on a chair, but the clothing inside is gone, only my lingerie remaining.
A brief moment of worry hits me until I realize that a staff this excellent probably hung up my clothing in the closet.
My suspicions are confirmed. The simple black dress I brought is hanging in the walk-in.
And the walk-in is the size of my bedroom back in the city.
I dress quickly. My hair is wavy and a little unruly.
As I try to smooth it down into some semblance of order, I catch sight of the glistening diamonds on my left hand.
They’re huge, of course. Even if this wedding is a sham, every part of it has been cleverly designed to look real. Everything from the reception and gown to the rings on my finger. I’m just amazed Misha didn’t include a clause in that marriage contract stipulating the carat weight of the diamond.
But I don’t want to think about my brother now.
I have another monster to face, and he’s waiting for me downstairs in the kitchen.
I fasten a pair of earrings, slap on some foundation, blush, and lip gloss, and then I grab my phone before I reluctantly emerge from my haven.
I follow the hall to a grand staircase, and from there, I track the scent of eggs and bacon all the way to the kitchen.
When I step inside, Lorenzo is at the fancy espresso maker. I notice that it’s just like the one he had in the cabin.
“Good morning,” he says over his shoulder as he finishes making his cup and then turns to me. “Did you sleep well?”
I’m somehow unprepared for the sight of him, all casual in a white T-shirt and ragged denim that clings to his long legs in all the right places.
Or his biceps, which are also covered in an array of tattoos.
God, he looks good. Well-rested, so classically handsome it almost hurts, oozing danger and menace.
“I slept like the dead,” I answer cautiously. “Yesterday was exhausting.”
It’s better than blurting out the question burning me up inside. What happened between us last night? It’s too loaded, thanks to those memories of him spanking me. Even now, my pussy flutters to think of it. I’m horrified anew at my response.
“Your smoothie.” He points to a tall glass filled with green liquid like it’s crime scene evidence. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in bacon and eggs? A bagel?”
The thought of consuming anything makes my stomach churn. I’m not even sure I can handle my go-to smoothie. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Coffee?” he asks.
“Sure.”
I could probably use it.
He goes about fixing me a cup the way I like it, an awkward silence falling between us. It’s kind of homey. I like watching his back, his tattooed hands when I get a flash of them as he brews me a cup.
When he’s finished, he hands it to me. I take it, our fingers brushing.
“Thank you,” I force out.
He raises his cup to me like this is a toast. “You’re welcome. Are you sure you don’t want bacon and eggs? I’ve got the bacon in the oven, and I like my eggs over easy, so I haven’t started them yet.”
“You cook?” Propping my hip against the island, I take a sip of the coffee. It’s heavenly.
“I did manage to feed you at the cabin, didn’t I?”
True, but I assumed that was necessity. “You kept me alive. I thought most of what you fed me came from your aunt.”
His Zia Maria is a lovely woman. I met her briefly in the whirlwind of new faces yesterday. She swept me into a hug and told me I was just what her Lorenzo needed. I didn’t agree with her, but I was too polite to argue.
“My Zia taught me everything I know when it comes to cooking.” He grins.
And the dimples are back.
I look away from him, bringing the mug back to my lips. “The two of you are close, then?”
“She’s like a mother to us all. Better than the one we had.”
There’s more to the story there, but asking feels too personal. I know Antonella skipped out on Lorenzo and his brothers and raised her twin daughters—Lorenzo’s half sisters—in secret, only showing back up in the brothers’ lives a few weeks ago. But that’s all.
My gaze slides back to find him drinking his coffee, looking contemplative, his jaw hard.
“You’re fortunate you have someone like her in your life,” I say, thinking about how Svetlana is that person for me.
She’s the only one I’ve ever been able to count on and trust, who has had my best interests at heart. And that’s why I leaped into this marriage. I have to protect her from Misha at all costs.
“I am,” he agrees, then turns to the oven and opens the door, checking on his bacon. The scent of it hits me like a wall. And although I rarely allow myself more than a bite of the stuff, I have to admit that I wouldn’t mind tucking into some right about now. Maybe grease is what I need.
As if I blurted my inner monologue out loud, Lorenzo shoots me a look over his shoulder. “Having second thoughts about your green slime, cara mia?”
“It’s not slime.” To prove my point, I pick it up and take a long sip. “And it’s delicious. You can keep your heart attack to yourself.”