Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
After last night, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about him. I’m obsessed by thoughts of what he did to me by the poolside and I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. Even now, as he forcefully holds me to his side, the contact of his arm on my skin burns. And between my legs, my clit is so hot and swollen it feels like a wound. A wound that is throbbing for him.
Beyond the open door is a large, lush garden strung up with thousands of party lights. It is full of people, both familiar and unfamiliar. There is a full band playing on a stage in front of a dance platform. Facing it are two very long dining tables with cream chairs wearing blue bows. Waiters dressed in black and white work the crowd and a whole horde of colorfully dressed children probably hyped up on too much sugar, are running wild on the lawn. I glance up to see Valentino’s gaze roaming the guests, and my heart falls.
“What?” I ask. “Looking for Vica?”
His eyes widen in an uncharacteristic moment of surprise, and I grab the moment to escape his hold and walk through the door on my own. The party stops, and everyone turns to watch me. Seconds later, Valentino is beside me.
Serena steps out from the celebratory crowd and raises a flute of pink champagne. “Don Barone and La Signore Barone!”
Drinks are pushed into our hands. I smile awkwardly while everyone claps and cheers. After that congratulatory moment, the crowd returns to their respective conversations. Without another glance at Valentino, I head towards Serena and Isabella. When they see me approach, their smiles widen.
“Trouble in paradise?” Serena asks, nodding at Valentino.
“Are we that obvious?” I ask tightly.
The women laugh. “No, we’re just professional gossips.”
I laugh at that, but my laughter fades quickly. “I’m so sorry about the incident with Matteo. Do you know what happened?”
The two women shrug before Serena speaks. “Your first lesson is to learn never to ask what happens when the men gather together. It’s safer for us and them if we never know what’s going on.”
I turn to look at Valentino. He is talking to Roberto and Giuseppe, and he takes my breath away. He’s in a black suit like always, but today he looks particularly handsome and elegant. Valentino glances up and catches me staring. He holds my stare for a moment longer than necessary before returning his attention back to Roberto.
Isabella nudges me. “Oi, oi, that man cannot take his eyes off you.”
I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. He’s pretending, but I have to admit Valentino is very good at this game. His stare is so intoxicating, I almost believe it is real.
“What’s the stage for?”
“Eros Ramazzotti is coming to perform for us,” both women cry excitedly at the same time.
My eyebrows rise. “Nice.”
I stay by Isabella and Serena’s side as more people pour in. Over the course of the evening, they introduce me to dozens of people whose names I no longer remember. Eventually, I arrive at the point when I start to feel suffocated. I need to take a break. I haven’t seen Valentino since he left the party with Roberto half an hour ago.
I spot my chance to slip away while Isabella is busily engaged in conversation with a haughty, middle-aged woman. In the distance, I can see a woman dressed in a soft-blue dress with snow-white hair sitting on the grass. There is a squirrel eating something directly from her palm.
“That’s Nonna Fabiola. She is the oldest member of our family. She is a hundred and two years old.”
“Wow,” I gasp. “I’ve never met anyone that old.” She is five times older than me and has lived for more than a century!
“Yes, she is very, very old, but she insists on living alone at the edge of Lake Garda. She is a bit mad, but the animals seem to like her well enough.”
“I think I’ll go and pay my respects to her.”
“All right, but don’t be long. Eros Ramazzotti will be arriving soon and you don’t want to miss that.”
As I approach, the bushy-tailed squirrel scurries off in a flash of grey fur, and she turns her head to look at me. The low sun is in her pale blue eyes and, I swear, there is something almost magical or otherworldly about them. Her face is wrinkled, but her cheeks are rosy. She is exactly how, as a child, I imagined Cinderella’s fairy godmother would have looked.
“Ah, the new bride. How impossibly beautiful you are,” she exclaims softly.
I blush at the extravagant compliment. Under no circumstances am I impossibly beautiful. I’m a five and a half, or six at best, definitely not an eleven.
I sit on the grass opposite her and look into her enchanted eyes. “What’s the secret? How did you get the squirrel to eat from your hand?”