Chapter 13 Sora
SORA
The smells of cypress and lemon rouse me gently from sleep as I nuzzle into the pillow next to my face, and my pulse starts to quicken.
I’m not even fully conscious before a surge of anticipation rushes through me, and as the cheerful song of a bird filters through the window, telling me it’s morning, I open my eyes.
The bed is empty beside me, the early-morning light streaming through the blinds and across the vacant sheets.
Leo must have gotten up already and chosen not to wake me.
It’s the first time I’ve been allowed to sleep in since I can remember.
Normally, I’m woken just after sunrise for a strict regimen of daily activity that will keep my mind and body fit for running a house and being a proper wife.
Being left to my own devices feels almost jarring—and intensely liberating.
With a sigh of contentment, I roll onto my back and groan as my aching muscles remind me of yesterday’s events. The steady throb between my thighs heats my skin as I think about last night’s activities that went well into the early hours of the morning.
Holy hell, Leo is good at sex.
If I had known that was what waited for me in my marriage bed, I might not have been so resistant to the idea—or nearly as terrified.
Today, I feel like a new person—a true woman for the first time—and a thrill of anticipation ripples through me when I think about what else might pleasantly surprise me about being Leo’s wife.
Stretching each of my sore limbs, I slowly make my way out of bed and find my way around the spacious en-suite bathroom that’s part of Leo’s apartments.
I never bothered taking my makeup off last night—which never happens.
And today, my eyeliner sits like heavy bags under my eyes.
My lips are puffy and tender after all the kissing, but I don’t mind.
It leaves me with the lingering sensation of his mouth pressed to mine, his tongue awakening a desire deep in my belly as it tangled with my tongue.
“Pull yourself together, Sora,” I coach, meeting my feverishly-bright eyes in the mirror.
“You’re acting like a giddy schoolgirl.” Not that I know what that’s really supposed to look like since I was homeschooled, but it’s something my mother would say to me anytime I got too enthusiastic about some romantic notion.
Padding to the shower, I turn it on and step inside when the water comes out immediately warm.
The heat feels good, washing away the last of my aching stiffness as it washes the sweat and makeup from my skin.
By the time we finished our third round last night, I was too tired to even think about rinsing off, but now it’s immensely satisfying.
When I’m finished washing, I step out and wrap a fresh towel around my hair, another around my body as I familiarize myself with the layout of his bathroom.
My family’s house staff already delivered all my belongings yesterday, which have been unpacked into the drawers, but I don’t feel like putting on makeup just to go down for breakfast.
My stomach growls, calling attention to how ravenous I am, and I decide I can deal with my hair later, after I’ve eaten.
Combing it into a simple braid over my shoulders while it’s still damp, I then head into the closet to look for an outfit.
My clothes have been delivered as well, and I pull out a lightweight summer wrap dress with delicate yellow flowers printed on a cream background.
Slipping my feet into a pair of black flats, I give myself a quick once-over to make sure I’m decently presentable.
Then I head for the doors leading out to the hall.
Making my way back toward the main house, where the formal dining room and great room are located, I realize I’m not entirely sure where to go for breakfast. In a house this large, it’s easy to get lost—a fact I discover rather quickly—and after wandering in the general direction I imagine I should go for a good fifteen minutes, I finally spot a housekeeper to ask.
“Excuse me, but can you point me in the direction of breakfast?” I ask, my cheeks warming with embarrassment.
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll take you myself,” she says, abruptly changing directions to show me the way.
“You really don’t need to,” I insist, though her respectful response immediately makes me feel more at home.
“It’s no problem,” she assures me, turning down a different hall. Then, pushing open a set of double doors, she steps aside, gesturing for me to enter.
The clatter of silverware against plates informs me that I’ve arrived, and I murmur a thanks before stepping into the breakfast room, suddenly anxious.
All five of the Chiaroscuro brothers are already present, Don Augusta at the head of the table, and not one of them looks up from their plate to acknowledge me as I enter.
Based on their various levels of completion, I would assume breakfast is more of a free-for-all, eat-whenever-you-arrive type of meal, and I settle into the open chair next to Leo as I silently observe the nuances of their interactions to see if I’ve misstepped in some way.
“Coffee, ma’am?” one of the servers asks as soon as I sit down.
“Oh, um, yes, please.”
He pours the dark liquid into the mug already waiting at my place, then asks, “What would you like us to prepare for you this morning?”
“Does the chef know how to make tamagoyaki?” I ask.
The server looks less than confident. “I’ll ask.”
“If not, then an egg white omelet would be perfect.”
With a nod, the man disappears, and I tune in to the conversation the Chiaroscuros are having around me as if I’m not even in the room.
“I don’t care if you think it’s beneath you.
I want you and Miko at the exchange today to ensure it goes smoothly.
This will pave the way for how business interactions might play out in the future, and seeing as it’s a new potential source of revenue, I want to know we’re doing everything possible to make it work,” Don Augusta states, his eyes cold as they lock onto Leo, who tenses beside me.
“Fine,” he says casually, taking another bite of fruit.
“I have the earning reports for last month,” another of Leo’s brothers states from his seat next to Miko.
“Bring them to my office after breakfast. I want to go over them before my meeting this afternoon.” Don Augusta casts a sharp look toward the twins at the end of the table, one of whom is in whispered conversation with the beautiful blonde beside him, and her soft giggle makes the don scowl.
“Raf, get your head out of the clouds,” he commands, and when that twin turns his eyes to the head of the table, the don points between him and his mirror image with a fork.
“You and Sandro need to clean up the mess in the Irish district. I’m tired of hearing from the Murrays.
Understood? I want it dealt with. Today. ”
“Yes, sir,” the twin who must be Sandro mutters, his face tense.
The Chiaroscuros seem to work more like an army or business than a family, I realize, and while the dynamic is not entirely unfamiliar—my family is very formal, my mother distant, my father cold and commanding like the don, my brother sometimes even cruel—here, I almost feel invisible.
“Good,” the don continues without so much as a glance in my direction.
“As for putting things into motion for your succession,” he says, turning his eyes back to Leo, “we’ll be hosting a dinner for the most prestigious members of the Family, flying in the capo dei capi himself from the home country to announce your intentions to take over as Don in the next few months.
Considering she did an adequate job with the wedding, I intend to put your wife in charge of planning, but you’re to ensure she sticks to the traditions required of such a significant event. ”
My blood runs cold as Don Augusta finally turns his gaze on me, and suddenly, I wish he would go back to pretending I don’t exist.
“If you think you’re up for the challenge, my dear.” Even the affectionate term sounds cold and unwelcoming when the don says it, and I suppress a shudder as I nod.
“Of course,” I agree, and a hint of surprise—maybe even disappointment—at my confidence flickers across the don’s face. But this is what I was raised for, and I’m ready to set aside our families’ issues and put my best foot forward.
After last night, I feel like, even if our parents can’t find a genuine desire to form a lasting peace, maybe Leo and I can—despite our rocky start. And I want to prove that I’m willing now that I’ve seen the potential.
“Fine, then,” he agrees, tossing down his cloth napkin and rising. “Gio, with me.”
The one who mentioned monthly earnings reports rises from his seat, and I’m shocked when he actually looks at me, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment before he, too, drops his napkin onto his unfinished plate and leaves without a word.
What kind of family dynamic is this?
My head is spinning as my tamagoyaki arrives, and I’m grateful that the chef knew how to make it because the small taste of home will help ground me in my very bizarre new home.
“I’m going down to the gym to finish my workout,” Miko says, rising authoritatively. “Sandro, you coming?”
The silent twin nods, following suit, and suddenly, Leo and I are alone with the second twin, Raf, and his wife. I think her name is Genevieve, but no one’s bothered to introduce us, and right now doesn’t feel like the time as Raf pulls her onto his lap and starts to kiss her.
The open display of affection catches me off guard, and heat races into my cheeks as I quickly avert my eyes, focusing on my perfectly rolled omelet.
Leo eats silently beside me, and a tingling sense of awareness makes me want to glance over at him.
But I get the strange feeling that he’s ignoring me.
Even when his father spoke about my planning his succession dinner, he didn’t look at me, and I’m trying to make sense of the shift.
By the time he’s finished eating, I’m only halfway done with my meal, but even as he stands, he doesn’t say a word—even to excuse himself. Determined to figure out what is going on, I rise, too, leaving behind my food so I can follow him out into the hall.
“Leo, wait up,” I insist, rushing to catch him as he stalks down the hall.
His steps slow, his head turning as he glances back at me, and he releases a long-suffering sigh that cuts deep as he crosses his arms to face me.
“What?” he asks, his voice clipped.
“I—” I honestly don’t know what to say now that we’re alone.
I genuinely didn’t expect this reaction after last night.
“I guess I just wanted to make sure everything is alright. You seem… upset with me.” Irritated is more like it, a suspicion I had at breakfast but am now feel confident about as he looks bored by our conversation already.
“Look, Sora. I don’t know what misconceptions you might have developed in your mind after last night, but it’s common enough for women when they lose their virginity to make it into something bigger than it needs to be.
So let’s just get one thing straight. We aren’t in love—we never will be.
You’re my wife because our families agreed on an alliance and we signed a contract.
I’ll fuck you because it’s your duty to give me an heir, but otherwise, you’re here to run my household so I can focus on business.
Understood? We don’t need to pretend to be friends.
In fact, I would prefer it if we don’t.”
Leo doesn’t even wait for a response as he turns and stalks away, leaving me frozen and speechless in the hallway. He couldn’t have shocked me more if he’d slapped me across the face.
It would seem the honeymoon phase is over, and as my cold new reality sets in, I can’t seem to stop the trembling that racks my body.
I should have known better than to trust a Chiaroscuro.