Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
We spent weeks planning this trip to Sicily together. And I was damn sure going to enjoy it, even if my lying, cheating boyfriend just abandoned me.
I push aside self-pity to venture out and take photographs. Later, I lock eyes with a stranger at a bar. This tattooed god, Constantine, is way out of my league, but to my surprise, he’s all in—every inch. And up in his hotel suite, he claims me for his own. Over and over again.
Constantine’s touch helps take away the pain, and he possesses me like I’ve never known. I fall hard. But beneath his kindness to me, to his family, to his dog, I sense danger. How could I know that to the city of Rome, he’s a brutal enforcer?
When I trust the wrong man, I discover just how dangerous Constantine can be. He may call me sweetheart, but the Roman Republic calls him Emperor—and trembles at his feet
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
Aurelia
After an hour flight from Rome to Catania, and then another hour drive from the airport, we arrived in Taormina, a quintessential Italian village with cobblestone pathways that led through little alleyways to reveal seafood restaurants that had been in the same families for generations, sandwich shops with freshly made focaccia bread, and little spots with Neapolitan pizza.
Paradise.
We’d planned this trip five months ago, and it was hard to believe it was finally here. With a packed schedule of visits to the wineries, the active volcano Etna, a trip to the Greek theatre, lots of cannoli and granita, it would be a trip to remember.
And we needed it now more than ever.
For the past couple months, Enzo had been noticeably withdrawn. It started off small, like not giving me the same focus he had in the past, missing whatever I was saying because his mind was somewhere else. It progressively got worse, and he didn’t even bother to pretend to listen. Then there were other things . . .
He used to slip in behind me and join me in the shower. We never had sex in there, not when there wasn’t room and the tiles were slippery and I’d fallen once before, but it always served as awesome foreplay before we made it to the bed and dampened the sheets. But he stopped doing that, and when I joined him instead, I could see his glimpse of disappointment. He tucked it away quickly, but not fast enough for me to miss it.
Conversations over dinner had grown stale and forced. He spent more time at work or out with his friends. He used to invite me to join him and his boys, but those invitations stopped.
Whenever I asked him about it, he said he was stressed at work, that he had a falling-out with one of his friends over a stupid argument, that his vertigo had come back with a vengeance . . . always something.
I’m not stupid, so I jumped to the conclusion every woman jumps to.
That there was someone else.
I wasn’t proud of my actions, hated myself a bit for doing it, but I went through his phone and checked his messages. He’d never used a passcode, and I took that as a sign of committed transparency.
I never found anything.
I went to his work parties and knew all of his colleagues. He worked in finance, so most of them were men, and Enzo didn’t strike me as the type of man to play for the other team. His boss was a woman, but she was about seven years older than him, with a husband and two kids.
So that was a dead end.
That led to one last possibility . . . and it was by far the worst.
That he’d just stopped loving me.
That I’d watched it happen, watched the love and desire slowly fade from his heart, watched the light fade from his eyes. They used to burn bright when they looked at me, with love and attention, and now there was just nothing there.
And the fact that he didn’t acknowledge it when I asked, always had an excuse to explain his behavior, told me he didn’t want to fix it. Didn’t want to fight for this. Wanted to let our tree wither until it killed the roots and there was no going back.
He even tried to cancel the trip, said he had too many projects at work, but the hotel said our deposit was nonrefundable, so he conceded.
Maybe this trip would be a turning point for us. Maybe the sunshine and the warm beaches and the fancy dinners over candlelight would light a spark for a fire that had died in the depth of winter. Bring strength back to our broken bones and blood back to our hearts.