Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Not wearing a mask here was a mistake. A mask gave people anonymity, which most used as a license for lecherous behavior. Many would argue that was the true soul and purpose of Carnevale. To have one last debauched celebration before the austerity of Lent.
My sister certainly would agree.
How we could be twins and such polar opposites was beyond me.
I hissed as the stiffened collar of someone's Harlequin costume scraped my bare shoulder. Again cursing my choice of Colombina, with her off-the-shoulder white peasant blouse and cumbersome petticoat skirt, as a costume.
Finally, I broke free of the crowd along the other side of the piazza, which was flanked by a crumbling brick wall covered in colorful graffiti, a sad remnant of World War II bombing. Dilapidated, broken, bombed-out buildings surrounded the entire piazza, giving it a forlorn yet strangely timeless aesthetic. No one bothered to repair them, despite their being located in Palermo's center.
Welcome to Sicily.
I crept my way along the wall, wedged between the swelling crowd and the powdery rubble of the decaying bricks, searching for my contact.
A clandestine meeting with him was the only reason I was here tonight.
Certainly not to take part in the drunken festivities like my sister. My contact had said the chaos of Carnevale would be the perfect cover. No one could overhear our conversation.
For a split second, I thought the man who grabbed me was my contact. He had certainly been making enough unwanted advances of late, but no. This man was too tall, too strong, too everything to be the desk-bound bureaucratic attorney I was meeting with.
And it was imperative that I met with him.
Time had run out.
I had fulfilled my end of our bargain. It was past time for my contact to fulfill his.
Otherwise, my father would…
A hand wrapped around my upper arm and threw me backward against the wall. A warm body pressed into my front, pinning me against the bricks.
I opened my mouth to scream but never got the chance.
The man from earlier had found me.
His mouth descended on mine, cutting off my attempt to cry for help, not that I'd be heard over the festival music.
His lips smashed mine against the sharp edges of my teeth as his tongue thrust inside. He tasted like the sweet lemon icing from the taralli al limone pastries the food vendors sold along the square.
But that was the only sweet thing about him.
His kiss was brutal, possessive, and entirely too arousing.
I didn't even know this man.
There was something taboo and wrong about giving in to his embrace like this.
And yet… it was very Carnevale.
As they said, when in Rome. Or, in this case, Sicily.
My lungs burned as he stole every breath of oxygen from my body. His hands reached up to grasp my head, strong fingers weaving into my hair, gently twisting, causing just a slight sting of pain, which added even more of a frisson of awareness to his every touch.
He broke free, but only to yank his mask off and toss it aside. "Fuck this thing."
My eyes widened as his head lowered again. "No. Stop! I don't know who you—"
His mouth claimed mine again. His tongue swirling around mine, he moved his hand to snatch at the heavy fabric of my skirt just over my hip.
Cool night air teased my upper thigh where he pulled my skirt high.
My hand covered his fist in an attempt to pry his fingers loose. I had let it go too far.
He growled against my mouth as his teeth sank into my lower lip. "Stop trying to play the virgin with me. We both know it's not true."
Ice water replaced the rising heat in my veins.
He didn't want me.
He wanted my sister, Antonia.
Of course. Who would want the shy book nerd who hid from the world by devoting herself to her cello playing when they could have a vivacious, fun-loving party girl?
Anger gave me strength. This time I succeeded in jerking my head to the side, ending our kiss.
I reared my arm back and slapped him across the face so hard my palm stung.
His eyes narrowed as he gripped my upper arms. "What the hell was that for?"
My lips thinned. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but—"
He cut me off, scowling down at me, his towering frame once more pressing me against the ancient wall. "What the fuck do you mean you don't know who I am? Have you spread your legs for so many men you don't even recognize your own fiancé?"
Sciatiri e matri!
Matteo Cavalieri had finally arrived in Palermo to claim my sister.
CHAPTER 2
MATTEO
Well, this marriage was off to a shit start.
I'd spent the last month and a half arguing with my cousins, Enzo and Cesare, over my plans to marry Antonia Carlotta Fichera.
Not that I blamed them.
My intended bride's nickname was, after all, the Lucrezia of Sicily.