She’s My Queen

16. We’re living together, dear

16

WE’RE LIVING TOGETHER, DEAR

SEVERIO

T he smell of pie in Cristina’s kitchen makes me want to bash Romeo’s brains into a pulp on the driveway, then make Cristina scoop out the fragments with a spoon while I lounge in the beach chair on their front lawn reading Shakespearean tragedies for inspiration for what to do with her next.

I hadn’t expected her to have a man at her house. When he opened the door, he surprised me. I almost killed him on the spot. Almost. But a man doesn’t get as far as I have by allowing people or circumstances to control his responses. Besides, I hire people to handle others for me.

Romeo’s jacket is folded neatly over the chair at the kitchen island. I pick it up and bring it to my nose. I sniff the jacket for Cristina’s perfume, and I inspect it for any traces of her. Like lip gloss. She’s always wearing it. Today’s color is peach, and I bet it tastes like peach too. Finding nothing, I fold it back on the chair before sitting down.

A plate of untouched pie sits before me, with a piece of eaten pie across from me. The fork over there is dirty, and it makes me wonder if she offered him a bite from her fork.

The image of the man’s brains splattered all over the grass comforts me.

Cristina’s on the other side of the island, looking out the window at where Drago’s working on the body on the closed-off side of the house by the kitchen.

Her hair’s pulled into a messy bun, and her chestnut-brown eyes are bright and swollen from crying. Her cheeks are red, her lips glistening with peach gloss, and she’s wearing pink pajamas. Also, she’s barefoot.

“I want to slap you again,” she says. “But it doesn’t work.”

“Come here and try.” Violence from such a benevolent woman turns me on. I spread my legs wider to give my growing erection more space.

Cristina comes to stand right in front of me. She swings, and I have to force myself to stay in place so she can land a good one. She’s angry with me again, and she has every right to be. Her slap stings a bit, and she shakes out her hand.

“Did you hurt your wrist?” I catch her hand. I bring her palm to my lips and kiss it, then bring her hand up to cup the side of my face she slapped.

“I’m sorry.” She starts crying. “I don’t know why I keep slapping you. I’ve never slapped anyone before, but you…but you, you infuriate me.”

“I must be special, then.”

She presses her lips together.

Our eyes meet, and I no longer wonder if she’s attracted to me. She is. It’s probably why she wants to hurt me. She hates being drawn to me. I hate being drawn to her too. I hate it so much that I grab her jaw and pull her, forcing her to stand between my legs. “It’s a little early in the day to have guests. Particularly men.”

“Yet here you are.”

Touché. I ignore it. “Did Romeo stay the night?”

“You sound like a jealous boyfriend.”

“I wouldn’t know what that sounds like since I don’t do girlfriends.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

The peach scent from her lip gloss drifts into my nose. I want to bite her bottom lip. “Believe it or not, I don’t date. I have fuck toys for what I need.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this. To watch her blush. To make her uncomfortable.

Maybe I want to hurt her like she keeps jabbing me. She tried to marry my uncle, and now I find a man in her house on a random Thursday morning. Sometimes, I look at her, and it feels like someone has taken an axe to my heart and is trying to hack at the armor I’ve built around it.

But now that I’ve told her I have women who are fuck toys, now that she pointed out how I’m acting like a jealous boyfriend, I can’t stand it. I can’t stand myself around her. I feel out of control. A mess.

It’s disgusting.

I take a deep breath and growl as I exhale and let my mask slip back on, allowing my chest to fill with emptiness. I need to get back to business. Gently, I push her away.

“Go put some clothes on,” I say.

“I’m wearing clothes.”

“You’re in pajamas.” They’re cute and intimate. And flimsy. I could easily tear them off. I wince at the thought of her nude body, wishing I’d never undressed her the night of her mock wedding. Now I can’t unsee her. I’m a big fan of the way her body curves.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what you’re doing in my house.”

“Technically, this house is mine.”

She covers her mouth, and tears start anew. “Where would you have me go?”

I grab the man’s jacket again. “Go get dressed, for starters.” I reach into his pocket and pull out his wallet, flip it open, and start scanning it for anything interesting. A two-dollar bill. I pluck it out and put it on the counter. “I’m keeping this.” When I find nothing else, I walk to the window and open it.

I toss Drago the wallet.

“Where’s the shed?” he asks.

I look over at Cristina.

“In the courtyard by the pool.”

I close the window.

“What’s he need from the shed?” Cristina asks.

“You don’t want to know.” I pick up the untouched piece of pie and lean against the counter. “I’m moving in with you.” I stab the pie. “Technically, if you don’t mind me using the term again, you’re going to be living with me. Rent-free.”

Wide-eyed, she stares. “But you’re supposed to be in Switzerland with your family.”

“I live in Paris.” I’m disappointed she doesn’t remember that. “Since you’re staying in the house with me, rent-free, and you’re an excellent cook and baker…” I pause and swallow the pie. Delicious. “You will feed me and Drago and yourself, of course. I want a meal made by you and only you.”

“We have over two hundred restaurants on the island.”

“I’m selective about who I let feed me.”

Understanding dawns on her face, and Cristina’s eyes widen even more. “You can’t eat at restaurants because you’re paranoid that people are trying to poison you.”

“People are trying to poison me.”

She’s on a roll now. “You didn’t eat at my wedding, and the only other time you ate was because I ate the sandwiches with you. It was after your entire family had the same meal. Now you saw me taste my pie before eating yours.”

“You should become a spy.”

“Is your mafia hiring?”

I chuckle. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you there is no mafia? They’re just families who stick together and do business with other like-minded people.”

“They?” She’s putting away the rest of the pie. “More like we .”

I tsk and bring my plate to the sink. Turning, I lean against the counter, hands gripping the sink’s edge. “I’ve been poisoned three times in my life. Once, my heart stopped beating.” I take her hand and press it over my chest. I drum my palm over the top of her hand. “I was very lucky my father was around because he saved my life. Do you know who poisoned me?”

“My guess is Gio,” she says softly.

I shake my head.

Cristina’s eyebrows draw down. “I don’t know, then.”

“It was your father.”

Immediately, she tries to tug her hand away, but I hold on to it. She tugs one last time. I hold firm. When panic registers in her eyes, I bring her palm, the one she slapped me with, to my lips and kiss it. “Revenge isn’t always served cold. Sometimes, it’s served in the form of a pie.” I release her, and she clutches her hand to her chest.

“You’re my revenge pie,” I tell her, and I mean it as a term of endearment, but she doesn’t take it that way. Probably because it sounds terrible.

“You’re lying,” she says.

“I’d tell you to ask him, but he’s not here. You have to believe that I’m not lying because I have no reason to lie.”

“I was under the impression my family and yours haven’t crossed paths before.” She tilts her head. “Oh, but wait. Corrado said you visited the island a few times. Was it during one of the visits?”

“It was.”

“How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“If he really did that, that’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“It doesn’t justify you taking it out on me and seizing my home and my marriage and my life.”

“No, it doesn’t, and yet I’m doing it anyway.”

“You’re a heartless man.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

“Asshole.”

“Worse yet.”

Cristina’s trying to come up with a nasty name for me when Drago walks in from the back. He takes off his shoes in the mud room and enters the kitchen.

“Cunt,” he says ever so helpfully, before noticing the dessert on the counter. “Can I have some pie?”

“No,” I say while Cristina says yes.

She narrows her eyes. “I poisoned it, so have all you want.”

Drago side-eyes the pie.

“I’m kidding,” Cristina says. “I would never deliberately poison someone.”

“Which is why she will cook for us,” I tell him.

She groans. “I’ve never wanted not to be a chef until now.”

I smile.

“Severio,” she says, her tone serious. “What are you really doing here?”

I consider how to answer her. Cristina has had a rough week. She’s a good girl who’s been sheltered all her life. Breaking her even more than I already have when I took her from Gio and then tattooed a serpentine collar around her neck isn’t in my best interest.

Neither is telling her that I think her dad is alive and waiting for an opportunity to take what he thinks he can take from me. I’m certain her father wouldn’t hurt her, but he might enlist her help now that I’m in her house. I’m the bait, and I’m on his home turf. He can come get me.

“I needed a place to recover,” I say. “The villa was too isolated.”

“Mmhm,” Drago confirms, mouth full of ricotta pie.

“How long do you plan to stay?”

“As long as I must. It is my house, Cristina.”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

“I’m not asking you to leave.”

She chews her lip. “Rumors about us are already floating around. Living together will only confirm what people are thinking.”

“People are always gossiping.”

“But I live here, Severio, and I’m a woman. It’s different for me.”

I press the grinds into the espresso machine slot. It starts dripping into a small cup. “If you’re worried about anyone harming you, I’ll have Drago start a hit list.”

“That’s not funny.”

I sip my espresso. “I wasn’t joking.”

“You wouldn’t.”

I lift an eyebrow.

She looks to Drago, who shrugs.

“I don’t like this,” she says. “I don’t like you.” She points at me. “Or you.” Now at Drago.

“I’m crushed,” I deadpan.

“I have a question,” Drago says and drops his plate into the sink. He rinses it, then goes to stand on the other side of the island. “Do you have any other boyfriends?”

I narrow my eyes at him. That’s probably why he stood out of my arm’s reach.

He shrugs. “A valid question.” He’s asking for security reasons and also because disposing of bodies is always more efficient when better planned. Today, Romeo’s tragedy was unplanned.

“Romeo wasn’t my boyfriend,” she says.

“Lover?” he pushes on. “Someone else interested in eating your pie ?”

“You’re two seconds away from eating your own tongue,” I bite out.

Drago smirks. “That’s what I thought.” He tips his hat. “See you around.”

He baited me, and I couldn’t help but defend her. If he wasn’t sure I was interested in her before, he is now. “I’ll be in my study.”