Page 37 of Stolen Bride
A knock shakes me out of my thoughts. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Valentino?”
“Come in, Adriano.”
He opens the door and peeks in. “Mr. Valentino would like to have an early dinner since he needs to be at the club in two hours. Please be ready in an hour.”
“Okay. Thank you.” He closes the door, and I look for the sexy dress I plan to wear and hang it up. If he doesn’t intend on staying home with me, it’s pointless to wear. Grabbing acute dress, I slide it from the closet and wash up in the shower, leaving my hair pinned up since I don’t have time to dry it.
When I finish preparing for my evening with my husband, I’m a ball of nerves. This could totally go sideways. Damiano and I haven’t said or done much together since we’ve married but fight or have sex.
Since I’m ready early, I leave my room, only to run directly into my husband’s broad chest. “Whoa,” Damiano says, catching me before I fall back.
“Sorry, I thought we’d meet downstairs.”
“We are. I wanted to clean up. Stella, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He releases me and says, “I’ll be ready shortly. Do you want to wait in our room, or downstairs?”
“I’ll be in the library.”
“Very well, Stella.” He kisses my cheek and passes by to go into the bedroom.
Benz is on the steps waiting for me. “Mrs. Valentino,” he mutters an obligatory greeting.
“Benz. I’ll be in the library. You don’t need to escort me there.”
“I do.”
“Okay—if you enjoy being a glorified babysitter.” I huff my way down the marble staircase. The mansion is truly gorgeous. If my life had been different, if Damiano had feelings for me, I could absolutely fall in love with this magnificent home. Instead, it feels like a luxurious cage.
When I open the library doors, I get an icky feeling that Benz is going to follow me inside. It’s so weird that I didn’t geta strange vibe when Adriano, the giant tank, brought the clothes into the bedroom, but the lean Benz follows me anywhere and I want to jump out of my skin. Would it be wrong to mention it to Damiano? Probably. He’s a mobster—“the” mobster. He’s likely either to tell me I’m paranoid or take his man out back and put a bullet in his head because I’m being irrational.
“You don’t need to be in the room with me. I’m perfectly safe inside the library unless I manage a paper cut, and I’m pretty sure Damiano already told you that you weren’t allowed to touch me.” He scoffs and closes the door on his way out. “Prick.”
I pace the library, looking for something of interest, but my nerves are frayed. Picking up a nicely bound edition of Mary Shelley’sFrankenstein, I sit down on a high winged-back chair and rest my feet on the matching ottoman. With a sigh, I begin the classic and fall in love with the first few chapters before my eyes grow heavy.
****
I don’t know what time it is when I startle awake, but Damiano enters our bedroom. “I didn’t mean to wake you, sleeping beauty.”
“Well, it’s hard to eat dinner in my sleep.”
“I’m afraid it’s well past dinner, but we can go down to the kitchen and I’ll fix you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” I gasp. “How did I get in here? Did one of your men carry me?”
“Not unless they wanted to lose their hands.” That brings an internal burst of joy to my chest. “I went to check on you for dinner, but you were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you, so I carried you to bed and then I went to the club early.”
And there goes all happiness, joy dashed. “Oh. No, I don’t need breakfast. I’d rather just go back to bed.”
“Good. I’m tired.” He slides under the covers and pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly as if somehow there’s nothing wrong with what happened tonight. As much as I want to cry, I won’t. You can’t make someone love you.
“Goodnight, or morning, Damiano.”
“Goodnight, my wife,” he sighs sleepily.