Valentina
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Did I really say that? Out loud? To him? God, what is happening to me?
I dry off quickly, not bothering with a robe. The bedroom is warm, the afternoon sun slanting through the curtains. I pull on a pair blue underwear, then look through all the clothes I was gifted to figure out what to wear.
In the end, I give up. Crawl back into bed. Pull the silk sheets up and stare at the ceiling, trying to convince myself I'm not just... waiting. That I have other things on my mind. Important things.
Like the fact that he said he loved me.
Twice.
During sex, sure, but he said it. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.
The door opens without a knock.
Salvatore fills the doorway, still in the black shirt from this morning, though he's rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. His dark hair is disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it, and there's something hungry in his expression that makes my breath catch.
"Take off your clothes."
His voice is rough, commanding, and the sound of it sends heat pooling low in my belly. He steps into the room, closing the door behind him, and I feel shy under his gaze.
"I want you, Valentina." He moves closer. "Don't say no."
I should play it cool. Make him work for it. Maintain some semblance of dignity.
Instead, I push the sheets down, letting them pool at my feet, revealing my almost completely bare body.
His sharp intake of breath is deeply satisfying.
"Why are you naked?" His voice drops an octave.
"I just got out of the shower." I stretch lazily, enjoying the way his eyes fill with want. "Are you coming or not?"
"Come here," I tell him, patting the space beside me.
He walks across the room and stands right in front of me.
I can see his massive bulge in his pants, and heat floods through me.
My fingers find the buttons of his shirt while his hands hover at his sides, letting me work.
I abandon the buttons, too slow, and go straight for his belt.
The leather slides free. I unzip his pants, and they fall to his feet.
I pause.
“Black socks again?” I look up at him, barely hiding my smile. “You already wear nothing but black suits. Do you have to commit to the theme all the way down to your socks?”
He blinks, thrown off balance. "What other color socks are there? White’s not ideal for my line of work."
"Well, I think they make them in every color of the rainbow."
"For kids," he says, slowing down the unbuttoning of his shirt to flash that devastating smile at me. The real, rare one that transforms his whole face.
I decide to shut him up before he can say anything else.
I sink to my knees and take him into my mouth, and the sound he makes is worth everything.
His hand fists in my hair, not pushing, just holding on. I work him slowly at first, learning what makes his breath catch, what makes his thighs tense, what makes him whisper my name like it's the only word he knows.
"Valentina," His voice is wrecked. "If you keep doing that, bella mia."
I pull back, looking up at him through my lashes. "Keep doing what?"
He hauls me up, crushing his mouth to mine, and then we're falling back onto the bed together. His shirt is still half-buttoned, his black socks still on, and I'm laughing against his lips.
"What's funny?" he demands between kisses.
"Seriously, even your socks have to be black?"
"I will burn every sock I own if you stop talking about them."
"Promise?"
He silences me the only way he knows how, with his mouth, his hands, his body covering mine. And then there's no more room for laughter, only the two of us moving together and our bodies melting into each other so easily that it feels natural.
Later, much later, we're tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder. The memory of the door closing while we slept in his room intrudes on the moment, and I can't let it go.
"Hey, when we were sleeping, I thought I saw someone close the door and walk out. Did you... was someone supposed to be here?"
He shrugs. "Probably a member of my staff."
"The staff have keys to your room? Overnight?"
"Very few people, but I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."
I should be sleepy. Satisfied. Content.
Instead, my mind is already racing.
"Salvatore?"
"Hmm?"
"You said something. Last time. During..." I trail off, suddenly shy.
His hand stills on my shoulder. "What did I say?"
"You know what you said."
I can feel his heartbeat beneath my cheek, steady but slightly faster than before.
"I meant it," he says finally. His voice is quiet. Certain. "Every word."
I don't know what to say to that. Don't know what it means for us, for this arrangement that's becoming something neither of us planned.
"The wedding planner wants to meet," he says, changing the subject with the grace of a man who's spent his life controlling conversations. "Elena Costa. She's the best in the city. Very discreet, very fast."
"I want my mother and sister there," I say quietly.” “At the wedding?” he asks. “Yes.”
His expression softens. "Of course."
"Really?" I push up onto my elbow. "Even after everything with my mother? With who she was?"
"Yes, they're your family. They should be at your wedding."
“Your wedding.” Not “our wedding.” I notice the distinction but don't comment.
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me, bella mia."
He pulls me back against his chest. "Invite whoever you want. All I care about is that when you walk down that aisle, you're walking toward me."
* * *
I asked Salvatore for freedom, and he wanted to know what that meant.
The conversation was quick.
I want a car. "After the wedding."
I want to return to work at the library. "After the wedding."
I want to meet with that sleazy book agent, which was meant to be a joke, but his response was, "Let's do it today. I can dispose of him once and for all."
Almost like a normal relationship.
Salvatore and I have been together every night this week. It feels freeing. What we have feels… real. The more time we spend together, the more power I have over him. He seems to have fallen for me truly.
Unfortunately, I've fallen for him too.
What was once a goal, a means to escape, is now something else entirely.
Now I'm finding ways to make this love last despite all the reasons it shouldn't.
The butterflies when I'm around him. The way he holds my gaze like he means it.
The way he takes my body, ruins me. I crave the pain that leads to the most satisfying release I've ever experienced.
The love Salvatore and I have feels unreal. But it is real. The way he makes me feel is real.
"Do you plan on sharing your book with us," Rosa asks, "or do we have to wait to read it from some fancy publisher's website?"
"Oh Lord, Rosa. I assure you there will be no fancy publisher for this piece. But yes, of course I'll share it once it makes more sense. Right now it's a series of random thoughts."
"Okay. So it's Friday. Do you and Mr. Vitale have any plans tonight? I know he's out of town."
"He said he'll be back before I fall asleep. Why?"
She shifts her weight. "If you plan to wait in his room, I can have dinner brought there."
"Okay… what's up, Rosa?"
"Nothing at all. I'll have dinner sent up. I do have to step out, but enjoy the rest of your day."
She leaves. That felt like a warning.
I spend most of the day in the garden, writing. The roses are in full bloom now, deep crimson against the stone walls. It's peaceful here. Quiet enough to think, to let the words flow without Salvatore's presence pulling my focus in a dozen different directions.
When the sun starts to dip lower, I head back to my room to shower and get dressed.
It's still early, so I skip the nightgown and pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt, the ones Salvatore frowned at when he found out I'd bought them.
It's not what he considered "appropriate clothes.
" I plan to buy him a sweatsuit for Christmas.
Maybe some colorful socks. That should be fun.
I grab my notebook and the book I'm currently reading from my room, then head down the hall toward Salvatore's room.
When I get there, the door is slightly ajar.
I push it open and walk in to find a young woman coming out of his bathroom.
Not just coming out. Adjusting her hair. Smoothing down her uniform.
When she sees me, she freezes.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
"Ms. Marino," she says, inclining her head slightly.
I catch a glimpse of red lace beneath her uniform, and she notices me noticing. Her fingers fumble with the button.
"Hi," I say, my voice oddly calm. "You're the young lady I met the first night I was here. How have you been? I haven't seen you since that night. I ummm… I actually forgot you worked here." I chuckle nervously like I'm the one who should explain myself.
Maybe because just weeks ago I was asking her how to escape, and now I'm willingly in Salvatore's room? She's proof of how insane my life has become.
"Oh." She smooths her hands down her skirt again, a nervous gesture. "Mr. Vitale has me on a special schedule, so I'm available whenever he needs me."
The words hang in the air between us.
Whenever he needs me.
"When he needs you for... what?" I ask slowly.
"Oh, just cleaning emergencies." She waves a hand dismissively. "Or maybe if he wants something to eat. Nothing major, ma'am."
"I see." I glance past her toward the bathroom. The door is still open. I can see the towels. They’re perfectly folded and untouched. "What kind of cleaning emergency were you handling just now?"
Her eyes flicker. "Just... checking supplies. Making sure everything is stocked."
"In the bathroom."
"Yes, ma'am."
Hmm.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"How long have you worked here?"
"Almost two years, ma'am."
Two years. Two years of this "special schedule."
"Is there—" Then I realize the question is out of line and stop myself. Why am I bothering this woman who's just doing her job?