She’s My Queen

7. A gentleman

7

A GENTLEMAN

CRISTINA

H aving been discovered, I step out of the room at the same time that Paulina walks in. One eye seductively hidden by a hat, she gives me what I interpret as a knowing smile. Unless I’m reading way too much into this, she thinks I slept with Severio. Why else would I be sneaking out of his bedroom at noon?

I smile back, certain my face is as red as a ripe currant.

After Paulina, Corrado’s wife, Michela, smiles as well and bids me good morning as she walks by. I mumble something back, her cute baby, thankfully, taking up all her attention. Even though I promised myself I wasn’t going to wave at the baby, I do it anyway so I can see her wave back. She doesn’t because her cheek rests on her mom’s shoulder, and her eyes are droopy. She’s clearly ready for an afternoon nap.

I could use a nap too. Or a time capsule trip into an alternative reality. I’ll take anything that would get me out of sitting down for brunch with Severio.

Corrado comes from the terrace and closes the door behind him. His attire of T-shirt and shorts tells me the family is going to the beach before they depart. (And never return.)

“You forgot the slippers.” He points at my bare feet.

“I didn’t forget them.”

Lazily, Corrado’s gaze climbs from my feet to my face. His hazel-green eyes harden. “You will want to do exactly what my brother’s note instructs.”

My face burns. “I thought his note was private.”

“It was.”

“But you read it.”

Unashamed that he breached his brother’s privacy and mine, for that matter, he nods.

“That’s not very nice,” I tell him as if he cares.

“I’m not here for nice.”

Since he’s standing at the door, I don’t move in his direction. I wring my hands and look around the room.

Corrado walks toward me, and I tense, pulling back my shoulders like a soldier might as his commanding officer walks by. Thankfully, Corrado says nothing more before exiting the villa.

Now that Severio’s entire family saw me before they left, my walk of shame is complete, and I make my way outside, where Severio’s dressed in a pair of crisp black pants and a white button-up shirt. Business casual again, even as his family is going to the beach, and he’s visiting one of the nicest resorts on this side of Europe. Most men, even Gio, who dresses as formally as my dad used to, wears more casual clothing when coming for lunch at the resort over the weekend.

But if Severio is departing today, maybe he’s ready to leave already.

He’s still standing near the iron railing of the terrace and conversing with Gordon when I make my way to the table to check on all the food the staff brought out. They ordered from the catering menu, which we normally offer guests staying more than three nights.

Before I freak out over the Mancinis staying four or more days, I remember that Severio is a special kind of guest and that it’s possible Tiki let him order from whichever menu he wanted.

“Is everything as it should be?” he asks beside me.

I look up into ocean-blue eyes, and their beauty makes me forget what he asked.

“Cristina,” he says, reminding me I’m not lost at sea.

“Everything looks great.” I want to ask him about the menu choices and why he chose this spread instead of the others, but he walks into the villa, heading for the bedroom. Seconds later, he’s back out with a pair of slippers.

Severio stops in front of me, but when I think he’ll drop the slippers on the floor and tell me to wear them, he doesn’t. He sneaks a hand around my waist and lifts me as if I weigh nothing. I hold on to his shoulders. Our eyes are locked, but thankfully briefly, only long enough for him to walk two steps to the table and plop me on there. Porcelain plates clatter and at least one glass topples.

He holds my ankle firmly while he slips on one slipper and then the other.

Once done, he offers me his hand, and I slide off the table as if I’m stepping down from a carriage. Severio Mancini, the gentleman.

“The floor is cold.” He pulls out a chair left of the one at the head of the table.

When I stand there wondering if Severio is really worried about my being cold and that’s why he insisted on me wearing the slippers, he points at the procured chair.

“Sit.”

It’s not a good time to tease him, but if he continues to order me around like this, eventually, I’ll bark.

Once I’m settled, he unfurls the cloth napkin and drops it into my lap before seating himself.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, folding the newspaper on his right. I haven’t seen anyone read a physical paper in ages.

I right the glass that fell when he dropped me on the table. “I did. You?”

“Not at all.” He picks up my plate. “Ham, turkey? Roast beef?” He offers a tray of sandwiches.

“There’s no roast beef,” I say. “There was a delay in shipment, and the beef will arrive next week.”

“Turkey, then?”

“I can serve myself.”

“Good for you.” He puts the turkey sandwich on my plate. “Salad?”

Clearly, Severio heard me, but is doing whatever he wants. “Yes, please. The spinach and feta one.”

Severio serves me and then piles more food onto his plate. “Do you want coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

“Juice?”

“I’ll get it later.”

Severio sighs. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I’m not hungry yet.”

He looks longingly at the food, but leans back instead of starting his meal. It occurs to me that his family ate brunch already, and he didn’t.

“Do you want to ask me something?” he prompts.

I don’t know how to ask about Gio. I’m not ready to hear bad news about him, and I hope none comes. My mother didn’t mention anything, but that could also mean she hasn’t heard anything about him yet. “I want to ask after Gio.”

Severio’s expression tells me he doesn’t like that. “Gio is fine. I didn’t sleep because you occupied my bed.”

It’s great to hear that Gio and Severio seem to have sorted out whatever differences they had since Gio is fine, but Severio is lying. Or, wait, maybe he lay down but didn’t sleep. Which means he might’ve watched me sleep. “I could tell you were in the bed. The pillow smells like you.”

“You smelled my pillow?”

“I had to know.” I’m sure I’m blushing. The rosy cheeks might be my standard when I’m around this man.

“I rested for twenty minutes. I get up around dawn, so I didn’t have time to sleep last night.”

“You can still nap on the plane ride back home.”

Severio’s lips tip up. I’d like a confirmation that the Mancinis are leaving, never to return. My life needs to continue. My job, my hotel, etc. But I get nothing from him.

“It’s interesting that you asked about Gio while wearing my shirt.”

He wants to talk about “that.”

I lean in and whisper, “Did we do it?”

“Do what?” Severio taps his finger on the glass.

“You know what.”

“I don’t.”

He knows and wants me to say it. He gets off on humiliating me. Terrible, terrible man.

“Did we have sex?” I ask.

“Yes. You seemed to have enjoyed yourself last night.”

I gasp and cover my mouth. “Oh my God.”

Severio’s lips pinch, but his eyes lift at the corners as if he’s suppressing laughter. When he can’t hold it anymore, he smiles. It’s a full, genuine smile, showing two dimples and a narrowing of his eyes.

Playfully, I slap his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“Only to you.”

“My amusement matters. Can we eat now?”

I’m not hungry, but I think he’s one of those men who won’t eat in the company of people who aren’t eating, so I pick up my sandwich and take a bite. My eyes roll back at the delicious taste of soft-boiled egg yolk coating the turkey and cheese between the multigrain bread.

Severio takes a bite of the same sandwich and moans.

I chew, nodding at him in approval as he finally eats something my kitchen prepared. Last night, I was starting to question our skills when he wouldn’t take a bite.

“Stop gloating,” he says.

I almost choke, but chase it quickly with a glass of water.

Severio eats in silence, probably because he’s hungry and his mouth is busy consuming four sandwiches, two servings of salad, and now fresh fruit for dessert. He has a healthy appetite, and by God, while I love watching people enjoy food, I really, really love how Severio devours it.

It’s very savage.

Totally unexpected. As a person, his character is difficult to pin down.

While he eats, he asks me to talk about myself. I tell him about my job, about the brunch he’s having, about my friends and my life on the island. I don’t think he’s genuinely interested in me even when he seems to be, but I appreciate the conversation.

After we eat, I make an espresso and serve it on the terrace at the other end of the table where it’s clean. The service staff will come soon, and I have to leave, but there’s a part of me that liked spending an hour with Severio before the Mancinis take off. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have them return.

I’m scooping out a kiwi when Severio says, “There you are.”

I turn at the same time that Gio walks in. He’s wearing a navy-blue suit and a menacing smile.

Oh my God. This is the worst. I’m so embarrassed to have been caught out here with Severio in my robe, and by the man I was supposed to marry yesterday.

Gio gives me a disproving look, his gaze lingering on my chest. He’s probably viewing the bandages over the tattoo, but years of unwanted attention from creepy men staring at my large breasts with longing makes me pull my robe tighter around my neck.

“Cristina,” he says. “What are you still doing here?”

Good question. One I struggle to answer now that I understand why Severio kept me here all night and most of the day. He wanted Gio to see us together. He particularly wanted him to see me relaxed and in a robe, because it sends a message of intimacy. I was smiling as if I was having a good time with his nephew.

Severio orchestrated it.

I’m the fool who thought he was enjoying the food along with my company.