Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Business ventures…
What a delicate wording for what was probably some violent pursuits that required his immediate attention.
“That’s fine.” In fact, I was relieved. Since the engagement party fiasco, I hadn’t seen or talked to any Salvatores. It had been a much-needed reprieve of Matteo’s scrutiny… and Adrian’s recklessness.
“I appreciate you taking the time to show me around,” I said, keeping my voice light. “Will I be seeing anyone else today?”
“For dinner, yes, but during the day… Everyone does their own things. So you probably won’t be bumping into anyone else.” She beamed. “I’m your only company for the rest of the day.”
Giulia led me into a vast room dominated by antique furniture and oil paintings of stern-faced men I presumed were Salvatore ancestors. “This is the main salon,” she announced. “Frankly speaking we barely use it. The place is too big for just a few of us.”
“And through here is the formal dining room,” she continued, guiding me through double doors into a space dominated by a mahogany table that could easily seat thirty. “For important family dinners. Otherwise if any of us wants to grab something quickly to eat, we use the breakfast room. It’s much cozier.”
We moved from room to room. And each one felt more like a museum than a home. Beautiful, historically significant but utterly devoid of warmth.
No wonder Adrian had called me a caged bird; I would be exchanging one gilded prison for another.
I found myself stiffening at the thought of him. Since the night in the moon-lit garden, I had managed to avoid thinking of Adrian, but his presence still lingered like a shadow in my mind. Every now and then, the sudden memory of him…
Of his lips on mine…
His hands—
“Serafina? Did you hear me?” Giulia’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“I’m sorry… it’s just, this is a beautiful place. I got a little distracted.” I pushed the thought of Adrian, in his tailored tuxedo and black masquerade mask, standing under the moonlight, tall and handsome in a rugged, dangerous way, to the back of my mind.
He was the villain in my story, in my pretty gilded fairy tale.
“Does your whole family live here?” I asked slowly.
Would I have to see his face every day, bump into him every time, share meals with him?
“Matteo actually has his own place,” Giulia shared, guiding me toward the back, to where I presumed would be the kitchen. “A large penthouse downtown, very modern. Not really my taste, but he likes that place. Still, he stays here. Family tradition and all. He’s the heir so Father insists on it. So, this will be your home after the wedding.”
I nodded, filing away this information.
“But I’m sure you and Matteo will be able to escape to the penthouse for some privacy on some days.”
Right…
We would be a newly married couple and all. The honeymoon phase some people would say.
God, I didn’t want to think about that.
“As for Adrian, he has his own place about an hour from here. A nice estate, close enough to the city for business but far enough to be private, just how he likes it. Nestled perfectly right next to the Ward Pound Ridge Reservation. Thick woods, miles of trails. Father wanted him to stay here, he practically insisted, but Adrian refused. He wouldn’t budge on this matter.”
Giulia rolled her eyes. It was more playful than exasperated. She didn’t seem annoyed by her brother. In fact, I noticed gentle warmth in her tone when she spoke of Adrian, compared to Matteo. “Typical Adrian, he does whatever he wants and really, no one can stop him. Not even Father.”
“Is he always this…” My voice trailed off when I couldn’t find the adequate words to describe Adrian.
Arrogant. Unruly. Deviant. Conceited
An anarchist.
But I couldn’t say any of those words out loud.
But despite me not speaking those words, Giulia seemed to understand my silence. She let out a small chuckle. “Yes,” she said, her shoulder shaking with mirth. “He has always been like that, for as long as I can remember.”
She guided me through another doorway, and we stepped into a spacious kitchen with gleaming stainless-steel appliances and pristine marble countertops.
Two chefs in white uniforms worked diligently, almost in synchrony. One chopped vegetables with practiced precision while the other stirred something in a large pot. The kitchen was filled with a decadent, savory aroma that made my stomach grumble.
I skipped breakfast this morning because I was too nervous about this visit. I hadn’t known what to expect, who to expect…
Damon and I arrived in New York last night. We stayed in a hotel, trying to mask our impromptu appearance as ordinary.
My sleep had been fretful, and when I woke up this morning, my stomach churned with unease and apprehension. I couldn’t bear to put a single morsel in my mouth, let alone have the whole breakfast that was presented to me.