Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
My God. Who has a facialist?
“We’ll get you on a good routine. Fortunately, you have small pores and good genes, and it doesn’t appear you’ve done irreparable damage.”
“That is fortunate,” I say, wondering if she can hear the sarcasm in my tone.
She eyes me thoughtfully. “Good bone structure,” she murmurs. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
“I… am not quite sure anyone’s ever mentioned my bone structure. But thank you.”
She stands and walks to the balcony window, her back to me. I breathe more freely, as if being near her had stolen my breath.
“I have delicate bones. It comes from being thin and small,” she says, as if she’s somehow… the opposite of me? “But I didn’t bear children well. My hips couldn’t stand the pressure of a child, despite my efforts to remain fit and thin. My first baby broke his clavicle upon delivery, which was quite dramatic. After that, I chose nothing but C-sections.” She turns to me and eyes my plate before she looks at my eyes again. “But your hips are perfect for child-bearing.”
I manage to swallow my mouthful of cappuccino without choking.
“Excellent. I suppose the size of my hips and solid bone structure will be a decided point of delight for my future husband.”
I ignore the way her eyes widen and her cheeks color.
“He’s mentioned the demands and needs of a dominant male, and it seems sturdy hips—”
She puts her hand out as if to stop me. “Oh, dear, there’s no need—
“Oh, but there is,” I continue, pushing to my feet. “Just so you know how seriously I take my vows to your son. All of them. And the only way for me to bear those children my hips will gladly support is to—”
“I—I get the point,” she says with another really pathetic attempt at a smile. She ought to practice in front of a mirror. It might crack, but it would be better than scaring little children away when she’s let out of the dungeon. When she sees me reach for the last scone, she walks over to the tray and quickly sweeps it up.
“So glad you’ve enjoyed your breakfast. Staff will be up in about half an hour to begin preparations. You should shower, though don’t wash your hair yet, since the hair stylist will be here momentarily and may need to treat your hair before styling.” She leans in, scrutinizing my hairline. “No gray yet, I see.”
If she sticks around long enough, I’m going to sprout gray right under her very eyes.
“Not yet,” I say with a smile. “Though my mother was fully gray by thirty, so it is likely to happen at any minute. Ooh, fingers crossed,” I say with mock enthusiasm. I pull that one out just for fun. My mother wasn’t gray until she was well into her late fifties.
I watch her eyes widen. She’s questioning whether or not marrying a capricious Rossi like me is worth their family’s trouble, I’m sure.
I suppose we’ll have to see about that.
I drum my fingers on the table and look thoughtfully out at the wide-open sea. “I wonder if I have time for a quick dip before we begin preparations? Salt water is so good for the skin and this morning’s horoscope reminded me to make sure I’m earthing as often as I can. Are you familiar with earthing? Some people call it grounding.” I go to the window and wriggle my toes in the carpet.
“I like to go barefoot and connect with nature at least daily, because it brings stress relief and prevents so many illnesses. I suppose it might even stave off gray hair…”
The door shuts behind me with an audible click.
I smile to myself and pour another cappuccino.
CHAPTER NINE
Salvatore
“You shine up nice.”
Cristiano approves. Like I fucking care.
I stifle a yawn while I fasten my cuff links and cast a casual glance at myself in the mirror.
It’s my job to shine up when in the public eye, so I do. I dress nicely, I keep myself well-groomed, I do everything I can to be the photogenic pretty boy for the Capo family’s legion of paparazzi.
The weight lifting isn’t for show, though. It helps to be prepared.
I shrug. I want to get this over with so I can move on to the work I need to do. The work I’m eager to do. Namely, teaching my new wife what’s expected of her. Showing her off when we travel or I have business to tend to. Coming home to the bed she’s warmed at night.
I’m not, shall we say, disappointed that this turn of events means Marialena Rossi takes my last name.
“You do, you look good.” Cristiano pulls a flask out of his pocket and takes a long swig.
I don’t return the compliment. It’s rare that any human resembling a pit bull shines up nice. “You’d better be fucking sober for this,” I tell him.