Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I check the size and am surprised to find he got it right.
I pull on the large bow and open the bigger box, pushing the scented pink tissue paper aside to find a turquoise sundress inside. It has a halter top and is cut low on the back. The skirt ends midthigh in a ruffle. It’s pretty, very pretty, and I’m glad it’s not formfitting.
When I slip it on, though, I realize it shows off enough without needing to be. It doesn’t allow for a bra—and even if it did, I don’t have one. My breasts are a very modest B cup at their most full time of the month, and this sort of dress is new for me. I’d never wear it at home.
The fabric is softest cotton. A glance in the mirror shows me it’s not see-through. I slip on the sandals, and the look is soft. Very feminine. The turquoise complements my skin and hair.
I peek under the tissue paper for underwear, but there doesn’t seem to be any. Which is probably for the best, since I don’t think I could wear any today anyway.
Back in the bathroom, I brush out my hair and set it over my shoulders. I need to ask him for some clips or hair ties or something. I’m used to my hair pulled off my face and neck, especially in the summer.
Guessing I took just over the five minutes I was allotted, I open the door and, for the first time, step into the hallway. I look right and left and up. There’s another level to the house, and this floor houses, from what I can see, seven rooms. I’m not sure if one is a linen closet or bathroom, maybe laundry. All of the doors are closed.
Our house back home is big too. It’s been in the family for generations. But, opposite this house, it’s old and needs repair with whole sections closed off, and it’s always too cold in winter and too hot in summer.
I take a few steps, and I’m at the top of the wide, opulent staircase. Sebastian is downstairs. I can see him in what I guess is the living room, and he’s on his phone. I make my way down. He looks up at me when he hears my heels clicking on the stairs.
When I reach the first floor, I look around as he wraps up his call. Large living room on one side, larger dining room to the other with a long, rectangular table that looks like it can seat more than a dozen people.
French doors lead outside from each room, making the space bright.
The front doors are opulent, the wood light in color, the carving intricate, each door making up one half of the giant symbol drawn in it with two smaller ones on either bottom corner.
Sebastian comes to me, and I watch him look me over, nod in approval. He’s dressed casually, wearing jeans and T-shirt, same as yesterday. Again, I see the tattoos. It takes me a minute to drag my eyes away.
I clear my throat at the awkward moment.
“What is that?” I ask, pointing to the door.
“Scafoni family crest.”
“Wow. Is that in case you accidentally walk up to the wrong house?”
He smiles, puts his hand at my low back, and the contact of skin on skin sends a small current of electricity sparking through me. It’s instantaneous and quick, and I wonder if he feels it at all.
“No chance of that. We’re the only house on the island.”
Island. Wow. They own a freaking island.
“I thought we were in Venice.”
“We are. This is Isola Anabelle, one of Venice’s islands.”
“Oh.” I sound stupid, I know, but honestly, I’d never thought about anything but Venice proper when I thought about Venice.
“This is the living room. You’re welcome in here anytime. Dining room, same thing. Although I advise you to stay in your room when I’m not on the property.”
“Because you’re my only ally?”
He narrows his eyes, gives me a smile that warns me to watch myself, and continues. “Any doors that are closed on any level are off-limits. Don’t let me catch you inside any of them.”
I face him, meet his charcoal gaze. He must have shaved this morning because it’s the first time I’ve seen him without scruff along his jaw.
“Or you’ll send your mommy to cane me?” I can’t help asking, even though I know I shouldn’t.
“Nah,” he says, leaning in close, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He’s studying me as closely as I am him. I wonder what he sees. “I’ll cane you myself.”
His hand is at my elbow, fingers closing around it.
A shudder runs through me, and I don’t know if it’s his breath at my neck or the words themselves that do it. I look up at him, swallow, my smile fading as his grows.