Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113710 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
The fantasy crashed and burned when Gabriele was born. The flames of the inferno were ferocious enough to destroy any happiness they once rewarded me.
Dante’s glassy eyes bore into mine, and then recognition dawns. “It’s you.”
I return his stare, lost. Who did he think he was making come?
When all roads lead to one answer, I feel sick.
I attempt to slip off his lap, but Dante holds on tight, refusing to let me go.
Mercifully, the pitter of little feet saves me from having my heart shredded.
Camille is awake, and I’m not the only one realizing. Dante’s eyes widen as his throat bobs on repeat. He dreads the thought of his daughter seeing him like this. Not just naked, but with his bravado stripped away.
I’ve never seen him so bewildered.
“I’ll tell her you’re not feeling well.”
This time, he lets me go.
My thighs wobble with more than the effects of an orgasm when I make my way to the door. “Once you’ve slept, you should feel better.”
I freeze partway through the door when Dante calls my name.
He waits for me to face him before saying, “Camille…” Before he finishes, his eyes bulge, and then they’re hidden by the trash can liner a cleaner replaced yesterday afternoon.
I tell him I’ll be right back before I rush out of the bathroom, almost tumbling over a sleepy-eyed Camille who was about to enter from the other end.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” Her pupils dilate as her eyes shoot between her father’s now closed bathroom door and me. She’s only four, but her accusatory glances are extremely visual.
I deserve every suspicious glare she gives.
“Daddy is feeling a little unwell today, so I took him some…”—come on, brain—“medication! I took him some medication.” Fret for her father overtakes her face until I add, “So I guess that means more pancakes for us.”
Her mouth gapes open as a greedy flare lightens her dark eyes.
Her curls spring in every direction when I scoop her into my arms and fling her onto my back. Her giggle when I piggyback her out of his room isn’t as loud as the one she rewards Dante with each evening, but it defrosts my heart enough to push aside that he imagined the woman he was with last night while making me climax.
Luckily, I anticipated Camille’s breakfast request. A stack of pancakes is already in the oven, waiting to be devoured.
As I go through the motions of a live-in nanny as I have the past week, my mind continually drifts back to Dante. Don’t look at me like that. Not all my thoughts are salacious. I’m praying he hasn’t collapsed in the bathroom. Or worse, choked on vomit.
My worries play havoc with my stomach so much that before I can eat a single pancake, I make out to Camille that I left the maple syrup in her father’s bathroom.
“I’ll be right back!”
The panic burning me alive is instantly quelled when I enter Dante’s room and see him in bed. I pad over silently, my hand unconsciously plucking at a lint ball in the hem of my sleep shirt. He’s breathing loud enough that I don’t have to place my finger under his nose as I did my father many times in my youth, and his chest is minus the rattling sound of someone choking on their tongue.
He’s okay.
The verdict is still out for me—even more so when Dante whispers my name in his sleep.
Chapter 25
Dante
Aviolent jolt rips me from sleep so abruptly that, for a few seconds, I don’t know where I am, what time it is, or who I’m supposed to be. The world is hazy and blurred, my usually perfect vision smeared with fog. My head pounds a deep, rhythmic thump. It isn’t a normal hangover headache, more my brain seeping out of my ears.
I blink, forcing the room into focus. When my vision finally clears, I recognize the furnishings and the faint citrus scent that always lingers in the air. I’m in the apartment next to Lucia’s studio—the one I bought with cash. I’ve been here every day for two weeks but have no idea how I got in this bed or why I’m naked.
I used to sleep naked before Camille came into my life, but that stopped when her silent screams became impossible to ignore.
A cold ripple slides down my spine.
In my teens and twenties, I did some crazy things, but I never woke up with no memories of the night before.
Snatching my phone from the bedside table, I squint at the screen glare. I groan when I see the time. It’s halfway through the afternoon. I haven’t slept this late in years—not since my life became a cycle of endless responsibilities and vigilance.
After pulling on sleep pants, my movements sluggish, I enter the hallway and call for Camille and Lucia. The apartment is silent; both the living room and Camille’s bedroom are empty.