Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
VIOLA
The drive home feels noticeably different.
The city lights slide across the windshield like golden ribbons, and the silence between us is softer.
But it crackles like electricity. I find myself stealing glances at him when I think he won’t notice.
His hands rest easy on the wheel. He’s immensely interesting.
That’s the word that keeps circling in my head now—interesting.
The way he listens when I speak, the way he insisted on me choosing where I wanted to eat tonight.
More important than that he told me his story without flinching, without hiding.
No one has ever done that before. Not Salvatore.
Not anyone. It unsettles me and pulls me closer at the same time, like I’m standing on the edge of something I both want and fear.
Soon the sleek glass tower of his high rise comes into view like a dark blade.
The moment the underground garage swallows us, my nerves come rushing back.
And I remember, tonight we have to consummate this marriage.
The thought is exciting and terrifying all at once.
My pulse thuds in my ears, loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.
For one second, I toy with the idea of feigning tiredness.
Faking a small yawn and murmuring that the long day has finally caught up to me, then slip away to bed before he can say anything.
But I know that would be childish of me.
He’s been patient all evening, more patient than I ever expected from a man like him, and something tells me he’d see straight through the lie.
Those eyes of his miss nothing.
We step into the private elevator, and the doors slide shut with a soft, almost intimate chime as it seals us in together. The mirrored walls throw our reflections back at us—wow! Who are these people? My eyes are wild and his are shadowed. I keep my voice steady.
“Which way to the bathroom? I need a shower.”
“Head up the stairs. There are five en-suite bedrooms. Pick whichever one you want. They’re all yours.”
What? I can pick my own bedroom?
The doors open into the penthouse, cool air wraps around me immediately—crisp and scented with the flowers from the foyer. I head upstairs, my heels quiet on the polished oak steps. The first bedroom is one of those all-white designs. It’s quite clinical, almost sterile. Too cold. Not for me.
The second bedroom is done up in shades of black and gray. It is impressive, sleek, modern, and clearly the master bedroom. The ghost of Ricci’s scent lingers in the air. I glance at the massive bed, the open skylight in the ceiling, and shiver slightly. Closing the door quickly, I keep going.
I open the door to the third and find my dream bedroom.
It’s perfect.
Roses, the color of twilight, in a subtle damask print, cover the walls.
It is rich and soothing. The king-size dark wood bed with its crisp white linen contrasts beautifully with the wall.
It feels as if I’ve stepped into a calm forest with a bed in it.
I love it instantly. I close the door and kick off my heels.
The cool wood floor feels soothing against my bare feet.
The en-suite bathroom is just as beautiful.
Thick white towels are stacked neatly on open shelves.
There is a glass-enclosed rain shower with multiple heads, and a deep soaking tub set against a pink marble surround.
The blinds are drawn, so I cross the room and pull them open.
New York spreads out before me—breathtaking and completely different from anything I’ve known. Millions of windows twinkle with light, the skyline is alive and restless. The view steals my breath. It’s beautiful. Wild. Free in a way the old estate even with those endless fields I loved never was.
I run myself a bath, steam rises in lazy curls, filling the room with warmth.
The water pours hot and fast, scented faintly with something clean and floral—jasmine and bergamot—from the built-in dispensers.
I watch the water swirl, and steam, the surface shimmering under the soft recessed lights.
Then I slip out of my dress, step in, and lay back with a sigh.
The wonderful heat envelops me instantly, sinks deep into my muscles, and loosens the knots I’ve carried all day.
I rest my head against the curved edge, eyes half-closed.
The water laps gently against my collarbone, and city lights outside the window glow through the mist—soft, dreamlike.
I let my arms float, fingers trailing through the water, feeling the tension bleed out of me one slow breath at a time.
This is my new life now.
It went from one thing to another at the speed of light, but so far, it seems…
almost magical. In ways I didn’t expect.
I never expected him to be patient. Or attentive.
I was prepared to leave after the first year.
Take the money and disappear for good. Maybe move to Mexico or Europe.
But now? Who knows? Maybe I’ll stay longer.
The thought feels safer than it should, because this tenderness and attention could turn out to be temporary.
What’s that saying? Familiarity breeds contempt.
But I will deal with that when it comes.
For now… I’ll just enjoy my new life without Salvatore.
My eyes grow heavier. The warm water is soothing and rhythmic. The city lights blur softly through the steam-covered windows. Exhaustion pulls at me—deep and overwhelming. All the stress since Salvatore died. I should get out of this bath…
But before I can fight it, my lashes flutter down, and I drift off, the bath still steaming around me, my body finally letting go.