Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Mommy’s here, darling,” I coo, reaching for the baby, but when I pull back the soft, white blanket, the crib is empty.
A piercing scream fills my ears. I slam my palms over them to block out the noise, but the horrifying sound that’s sharper than glass comes from inside me.
“My baby,” I yell.
I scream and scream until my voice goes hoarse and it feels as if my lungs are tearing inside my chest.
I jackknife into a sitting position. Cold sweat runs down my back while tremors rack my body.
Bewildered, I look around.
I’m in bed. I check my phone. It’s two in the morning. The place next to me is empty.
Looking at the window, I blink. The curtains are drawn. It’s warm in the room.
I had a nightmare.
The events of the evening slowly come back. We got engaged. The reason for the horrible dream and the dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach is what Rachele told me in the bathroom.
I was so emotionally and physically wrought out when we got home that I got into bed and crashed. The last thing I remember is Saverio pulling the covers over me.
“Saverio?”
Concern gnaws at me. I get up and go to the dressing room where I pull one of his oversized hoodies on over my pajamas, and then I pad barefoot down the stairs.
The house is dark.
In the light that shines from the patio, I make out the figures of the guards who are doing night patrol. A red button blinks on the alarm panel. I disarm the alarm and take my keys from the bowl on the entrance table to unlock the door. The guard jumps at attention when I open it.
“Ms. Brennan,” he says with surprise. “Is everything all right?”
“Where’s Saverio?”
“Out on business.”
Business. That can only mean one thing. Nerves draw my stomach tight. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Can I call him?”
He hesitates. “It’s probably not a good idea.”
The answer speaks volumes. “Thanks.” I hook my hair behind my ear. “Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?”
“We have everything we need, but thank you for the offer,” he says with a polite smile.
I nod and close the door before locking it and setting the alarm again.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I stand there, not sure what to do or where to go. My heart thumps in my ribcage, each beat hurting physically.
On impulse, I go to the kitchen and make a cup of herbal tea. I carry it back to the lounge and pace in front of the dark windows until the untouched infusion is cold and the time on the alarm screen shows it’s three in the morning.
Where the hell is he?
I pace some more, and when I can no longer stand the tension, I wander aimlessly through the house. It’s the worst kind of worry not knowing where Saverio is and if he’s in danger. I imagine a million awful scenarios until I feel so sick that I have to sit down.
Instead of staying in the cold, empty lounge, I walk to his study, flick on the light, and pause in the door. The furniture is dark and heavy like everywhere else in the house, but his signature scent lingers in the space. The smell is the most intoxicating cocktail of spicy cologne and masculine strength. From the way my feet move forward with a magnetic pull while my body begs to be wrapped up and drowned in that smell, I swear there’s pheromones in the air.
I’ve only been inside here briefly when I explored the house, but a need to be comforted by Saverio’s presence, even though it’s just a ghost of his scent, lures me deeper into the room. I’ve never seen an actual study before. Not even Livy, who’s wealthy in her own right, has a study. Of course, I’ve seen pictures and movies. Saverio’s study is very similar in design and layout to the ones in magazines. Shelves full of books line the walls. A big desk stands at the far end under a painting of another stranger’s ancestor in a Russian costume that dates from the sixteenth century. A ruby-red rug covers most of the hardwood floor. Oxblood sofas frame a coffee table in front of the fireplace. The leather seat of the swivel chair behind the desk is cracked and worn. It looks old.
Going over, I lower myself in the seat and close my eyes as I inhale the perfume of wax, leather, and Saverio. I smooth my palms over the padded armrests, imagining Saverio’s skin.
Where are you, Saverio?
I’m going out of my mind with worry.
His men would’ve called if something bad happened.
Right?
I swivel the chair from left to right and open my eyes to inspect the contents of the desk. A sliver of guilt for invading his private space pierces my conscience, but I ignore the uncomfortable feeling. I need to feel close to him. Unlike in the magazine pictures I’ve seen, no photo frames with portraits of family or friends stand on Saverio’s desk. Files are neatly piled in one plastic tray while documents are stacked in another. A pen is lined up next to a writing pad.