Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ANNA
No puedo admitirlo ni siquiera ante mí misma, y mucho menos decírselo a ellos. He vuelto a encerrarme en mí misma. Es más seguro así. Encontraré una salida.
I can't admit it to myself, let alone tell them. I am back inside my shell. It's safer this way. I’ll find a way out of this.
I had thought to play with fate and lost.
Idiota.
Unease settled on my spine. A storm was brewing from the doorway, and as each vertebra crackled underneath the tension, I knew I was going to bear the brunt of his wrath.
My hand curled around the pin. The pressure flattened the dough to the thickness of paper.
Fear crawled into my rib cage. Steeling myself, I turned around and showed him my front and regretted it instantly.
He’d gone unnoticed by Magda and Isidora.
Probably because he shared characteristics with the marble running across the kitchen counter.
Solid. Cold. His pattern unique, unlike any man I’d met before him.
But his veins of ice had collected an undercurrent of irritation.
So strong that it zipped to me like electricity.
He was going to end all hope. I knew it in my gut.
‘No,’ I mouthed. One word that couldn’t be misunderstood no matter which language I spoke.
He gave me an unimpressed stare and then turned his head to the side. I followed it to the round clock that ticked like a time bomb.
?Joder! It was like he had an internal clock on him. It was forty-eight hours to the dot.
I should have known better. I’d thought ignoring it would make it go away while I figured out a way to get out of this.
That somehow, he might have forgotten that he’d forced a marriage onto me.
I had avoided Magda and Isidora for two days with the petty spark of that hope in my chest. I’d thought we could go back to how we were and no one would have to know.
Or that I’d find a way out. I was wrong.
He doused that tiny flicker of hope with his indifferent words.
“My wife won’t be working here anymore.”
The words hit the room like a brick through glass.
Everything stopped. Magda stopped stirring. Isidora stopped cutting. She must have cut herself because she sucked her index finger into her mouth before spinning toward me. Desolation crawled in my heart. I wanted to throw the rolling pin at his head and be done with him.
My gaze caught on Magda’s. I couldn’t fathom what was in it.
I avoided Isidora’s because I knew what I would find.
Disappointment. Betrayal. The silence hummed like an angry beast in the room.
After a beat, Magda spoke. Her voice was filled with uncertainty in the unbearable tension.
“Mi dispiace, signore. I think I misheard.”
‘Please,’ I begged him.
His lip curled. So slight that it was almost unnoticeable. But I’d fixated on his gaze and caught the triumphant flash. “Anna is going to be my wife.”
The tension cracked. Magda was oddly quiet, but Isidora gasped.
A hand flew to her mouth. Guilt soured my stomach.
I felt the heat of my body flushing red.
The back of my throat burned with shame.
Even though I stared straight at him, it was hard not to catch the shocked reaction in my peripheral vision.
As if it were even necessary, he added, “She’ll have other things to do than cook and clean. ”
His gaze on me was full of amusement. Then it dropped to my side, where my fist clenched on the pin.
When he pulled it up to meet my eyes again, his were filled with a challenge.
I took a step toward him. Curled my fist tighter around my weapon.
Another two steps. It was heavy in my hands.
Then I stopped. I was a fool. Something cracked inside me. The pin fell to the floor with a thud.
“Leave us.” His tone was a cold command.
Magda bustled out immediately. Isidora hesitated. I didn’t deserve her friendship. Her glance switched between me and him. Stay. She didn’t get to make the choice. Magda rushed to her and pulled her out of the room.
I turned to follow them, but he casually blocked the doorway. “Not you, Anna.”
Equal amounts of frustration and anger rose in my throat. Animosity filled the room. I went in the opposite direction. Backtracked and put myself between the counter and him. I forced words out of my dry throat. “Why would you do that?”
“I warned you.”
My chest filled with a hollow ache. “I can’t.”
“You were never the maid, Anna. You were always meant to be my wife.”
“Never!” My tone bit. If it were poison, he would be dead.
He stilled. Not that he was moving before. But it was as if he’d stopped breathing. We stared at each other for what seemed like hours in that strange mood, but it was probably only a few minutes.
“I’m not the type of man you can test, Anna,” he said quietly.
I knew he meant my family, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Twenty-eight days.”
Something twisted in his gaze. His jaw flexed as if he were barely in control. “Thirty days.” He took a threatening step into the room. “It only starts when you’re carrying my name.”
“No puedo más.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this anymore.”
He cocked his head. His voice dropped. “You don’t want to know why?”
I took a step back from the counter. I needed to protect myself from this man and his games. “I can live without knowing.”
His lips turned flat.
“Let me go,” I pleaded. “Let my family go.”
“Can’t,” he said, as if he physically couldn’t do it.
“?Por qué?”
“Why?” He looked up at the ceiling and let out a cold, mirthless laugh. “Fucking why?” The volume of his tone climbed. “Because you’re in this now. Whether you like it or not. You don’t get to back out.” His gaze was fire when it dropped back to me.
“This is ridiculous. We aren’t meant to be together. Even for a month. Not even for a d—”
I didn’t see it coming. One minute his hands were in his pocket; the next he’d banged his fist on the wall.
I stumbled back a step.
Anger split across his face. “For one fucking month, you’re mine.”
My breath caught in my chest when I saw the wall. He looked at it as much in confusion as I did. A spiderweb of plaster that showed too much of him.
I took a slow step back again. “I—”
He swallowed the distance between us in one blink.
I half sobbed, trying to get away. But he caught me with no effort, grabbed me by my waist, lifted me off my feet, and dropped me on the counter.
He was breathing so hard that it confused me.
It certainly wasn’t from exertion. I opened my mouth to kill him with an angry flood of words and he used that to smash his lips against mine.
The intensity of it shocked me. It was too sudden, too fucking much.
Heat that melted me like butter. A deep sound of need pulled from his throat.
My hands curled up on the nape of his neck, found his hair and the softness of it.
A moan climbed up my throat. I shook my head, trying to dislodge it or reaching out for more.
It infuriated him and he bit my lip in retaliation.
When I yelped, he soothed the sting with his tongue before sucking my entire bottom lip in.
Another moan slipped out. A deep need glided through me.
His hand tangled in my hair, fisting and soothing it at the same time.
His palm dropped to my thigh. The edge of my dress teased his skin.
He took the invitation, reached for the fabric, and rolled it up inch by inch.
His heat radiated between my legs. As if by witchcraft, my hand reached for his belt.
I tugged. He hissed. Then he froze. Entirely.
Pulled back and off me. With breaths coming out as gasps, I stared at him in confusion.
His eyes were fixated on my thigh. His thumb was an inch away from my moles.
He rolled his tongue along his lips. Agitation burned with the lick.
Then he curled his fist. Dragged his knuckles to my knee.
Exhaled and inhaled. Three times. When he looked up, pain radiated from within his eyes.
Then, as if he didn’t want me to witness it, he pulled his gaze to a blind spot behind me.
My heart fought to find a rhythm while he fought something I didn’t understand.
My hand dropped to his chest. His heartbeat clamored, chasing after something.
Suddenly, I knew it. He was counting. I wondered what was shaking his control so badly.
His gaze dropped to my moles again. His fist uncurled.
Palm spread wide. The tremor in his hand spread through my skin as he gripped my thigh and rolled it to the side.
He muttered something in Italian. It sounded something like eleven years.
But I doubted it immediately. Then, suddenly, with a groan of despair, he ducked his head.
His warm breath hit my moles before he sucked it in entirely.
?Dios mío!
I fell back onto the counter, my head hitting the marble with a thud.
The pain didn’t reach my senses. The pleasure radiating from his mouth was too overwhelming.
My core burned. Tingled. Pulsed. As he paid attention to my moles like it was my clit.
Sucking. Biting. Leaving indent marks probably.
Then tracing it as if he were counting the little dots with his lips.
The heat of his tongue, his whispered words, his gentle and rough touch.
All of them burned on my skin. It was too much and too little.
I wiggled, trying to shift his attention.
The pressure was too intense. My core clenched.
Drenched in heat and liquid. I wanted a release.
Needed one. Might just die under his attention without one.
He clamped his other hand on my hip. Stilling me.
I moaned. Tried to grind my hip against him.
A groan of despair escaped him. I found his head, gripped his hair, and yanked.
He didn’t budge. ?Dios mío! I tried again and he took pity on me.
With his mouth still on my moles, he snapped my soaked panties to the side.
Then he zoomed in on my swollen clit, sucked it into his mouth, and gave it a light bite.
I exploded. No build-up. Nothing. Just came so hard I lost sense of reality. Of living. I lost the rhythm of my breathing. With my eyes squeezed shut, I tried in vain to regain control.
He did nothing to help. Only traced the outline of my clit.
It throbbed under the weight of his attention.
Gearing up to explode again. My hips jerked beneath him.
Hands clawed at my dress. Eyes popped open.
Some kind of late dignity crashed over me.
What the hell am I doing? Ice chilled my nerves, and I wrenched myself off him.
Pulled myself further along the counter.
My breath heaved. Hands shook as I pushed my dress down and squeezed my legs together.
A disgruntled moan left him as he lifted his head and straightened.
The heated intensity in his gaze burned me from the crown of my head to my toes.
I was a sight. He’d put me on the counter where we’d sprinkled flour, ready to roll the dough.
My black dress had a tie-dye pattern. Skin burned red.
Hair a mess. It probably looked like he’d fucked the living shit out of me.
He brushed a thumb over his mouth and licked his lips. Mine burned. Despite it all, I ached to reach out and touch his lips with the taste of me. His mouth tilted as if he were all too aware of my need.
“Ask me.” His voice was rough. Grated on my skin like sandpaper on velvet. “Ask me why I did it.”
I shook my head. If I tested my voice, it would crack.
He drew a rough breath. His fingers came to my hair. Captured one spiral and curled it around his finger. His look was one of fascination. “I hope you liked it.”
Was he asking me if…
“Your gift.”
What gift?
He released the curl and gripped my neck. Ran his thumb to my pulse beat. “Consider it your engagement gift.” Then he backed off and walked away.
I stared out of the window. I saw nothing.
“Oh, Anna.” Reluctantly, I turned my head to look. He’d stopped at the door. His shoulders were slumped almost in defeat. “Don’t make me do it.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t find my voice to ask him what he meant.
Then he said something. An address. I was so numb that it took me a few seconds before the realization dropped like a brick.
My heart lurched. He left me gobsmacked on the counter and walked out.
I stared at the empty doorway for agonized moments.
Then I couldn’t move fast enough. Scampering off the counter, I groped for my phone.
Dropped to the floor and hit the button.
“Hola, Anna, I tho—”
“?Estás bien?”
The line went quiet. “?Estás bien, estás bien?” I screamed.
“What’s going on. Yes. Yes. I’m okay.”
“?Estás herida?”
“Anna, what’s going on? I’m not hurt. Are you okay?”
My pressure point snapped. A sob mingled with my words. “?Estás bien, por favor?”
On the other end, she started crying as well. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I promise.”
I nodded. She was okay. Curling into myself, I clenched my body tightly.
“What’s going on, Anna. Please speak to me.”
I shook my head. She couldn’t see me. ?Dios mío! But she was okay. “Bad dream.” I lied. “Just a bad dream.”
She sounded doubtful. “Are you sure? You sound—”
“Yes.” I slumped against the counter. “Just a bad dream.”
I wanted to beg her to move. Take Mamá and run. But it wouldn’t matter. He’d find them. Because that address. That was Mara’s. He’d taken away my last shred of hope with it.