Page 15 of Isle of Seduction
“I thought you wanted this to be purely business, guerrieritta?” he purrs.
I have no snarky comeback, and I hate him for it. I try to appear nonchalant, but we both know I lost this round.
“Of course. Though, please get yourself one, as well. You need to show that your playboy days are behind you, fully commit to the costume. What else? Any function I should be aware of? I just spent 200,000 pounds, but I’m happy to spend more to look presentable. You know, as your wife.”
He swipes his hand on his jaw, the sound of his skin against his stumble enough to trigger my ASMR response, little tingles scratching the back of my brain delightfully. I’m sure he’s doing it to hide his cocky smile. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself. How sad. He must not go out a lot if I’m the source of his entertainment.
“We have a fundraiser in two weeks. That will really kickstart my campaign. After that, it’s more fundraisers, press conferences, debates and the like.”
“Sounds boring, but I’ll be there every step of the way. Let’s get you elected, Mr. Capaldi.”
I hold out my hand to shake on it, but he takes it and brings his supple lips to my fingers, letting them rest there while holding my gaze.
The air changes between us, heavy and charged. My breath catches in my throat, and I wet my suddenly dry lips with the tip of my tongue. I cough to dispel the intensity of the moment and force my pace to slow as I leave the room to go hide away.
SIX
IT’S NOT STALKING IF SHE LIKES IT
Giulia Moretti—no—Giulia Capaldi looks exquisite while she sleeps.
I’m not sure if it’s because she shuts her venomous mouth then. That can’t be it because I live for that shit. Riling her up is the most alive I’ve felt in… ever.
For someone who’s rumoured to seduce anyone she comes in contact with, she’s quick to anger. My lips tip up, thinking of the light pink hues on her skin when she gets mad.
She’s a gorgeous woman, there’s no doubt about it. But there is something singular about the way her dark green eyes brighten when she’s ready to fight for something. It’s not her obvious beauty that cemented my decision to marry her, it’s her fierce loyalty to her family and what seems to be an iron will. All qualities I’d covet in a partner.
For the second night in a row, I’m in her bedroom while she sleeps.
She didn’t lock the door when she took a bath yesterday, then again when she went to sleep. And again tonight. I’d love to give her space, but something tethers me to her uncontrollably. I told her I wasn’t a gentleman.
The first night, I didn’t expect her to be asleep. I was concerned how she fared. She kept telling her cousin Alana that she was okay and kept fussing over her, but the blue circles under her eyes were unmissable. I saw the deep concern etched on her freckled face and the dull shine of her green eyes. Maybe it’s why I want to set them on fire no matter the cost. Seeing her half-alive pulled something inside me I thought long buried, along with my father.
When I saw her body sprawled on the bed, I stayed rooted in place until my breathing synced up with the smooth rise and fall of her chest. Without thought, I settled into the club seat and dragged open the curtain to let the light of the moon shine on her delicate face, the red of her hair creating a halo around her head like a goddess.
Like entranced by a spell, I start with the same ritual tonight and look around me. The room already fits her style more than it did yesterday when there was nothing of hers inside. Now, my back presses comfortably against a yellow throw pillow. The doors of the built-in closet are open to reveal rows after rows of clothes and only three pairs of shoes. For the first time since I moved here, this house looks… lived-in. I’m not sure what to make of it.
I bring my eyes back on my new wife’s face and they stay there for the next few hours.
I rarely sleep and when I do, I wish I didn’t. The sofa in my office usually moonlights as a bed, mine merely a decoration in my room. I was in my bed, asleep and well, when my parent’s house burnt down a few streets over where I lived at the time, and everything changed. That was ten years ago. I haven’t had a good night's sleep since then.
Now, I prefer to be ready to jump on my bike and go where I’m needed.
Watching Giulia sleep is as close as I can get to rest, and the experience is strange. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.
This state of peace and silence is strange, but not unpleasant. I watch as her chest rises and falls evenly and a very faint snoring sound comes from her parted lips. It’s too fucking adorable. She barely moves in her sleep, untroubled by insomnia or nightmares.
It’s irrational, but I vow to make sure she stays that way.
I must have dozed off when the first rays of light hit the bedroom and I’m reminded that she probably wouldn’t like to find me here. She will come to expect it, but that takes time.
My little wife is a fighter, but within only three days of knowing her and having her in my home, I live for it.
The peaceful woman and the fighter.
The boisterous laughter and scorching hot scowl.
The first one never happens because of me and the second is always directed at me. A situation I need to remedy fucking soon.