Inside were designer shoes. Her birth mother had tiny feet at size six. Her own eight and a half shoe now seemed huge. She picked up a suit jacket. This wouldn’t quite fit Astorre. Her father seemed tall as his jackets were bigger than her husband's, though Astorre had more muscle mass. He stood in the door frame and said, “The devil is in the details. And I gave you the summary. My father was obsessed with your mother even when he’d married my mother. When your parents married, it spurred him to make traitorous friends. It’s ultimately why he killed my mother as his house of cards was about to crumble on him and he’d face banishment.”
She hung the jacket back up. “Why does that matter for us?”
He widened his stance. “Because I didn’t tell you everything sooner.”
Clara walked to him and gave him a hug. “It’s hard to be upset about what I didn’t know when I don’t even have a memory of my mother to hold onto.” She looked into his sexy brown eyes and said, “My past, here, is a blank slate to me. I get to love who I want.”
He backed up like she’d bit him but his gaze narrowed. “Love?”
Maybe she was stupid for telling him, but this house somehow calmed her and she needed to tell him the truth too. “Astorre Manfredi, I know you don’t want to hear this but… I love you. I don’t expect you to love me back.”
He covered his mouth with his hand as he just stared at her. She turned to the window and the pretty fountain in the front yard.
Her parents hadn't bothered with gates. Maybe that was what had killed them as they'd had no protection, but somehow she was still here. She turned toward him as he lowered his hand and said, “You don’t?”
She snapped her fingers together in front of her. “You don’t even know me really.”
He stood next to her parents' yellow comforter spread over their bed. “We’ve had weeks, and you must be confusing sex with love.”
She let her hands fall to her sides as she said, “I loved you before our wedding night, Astorre. I followed you to remember every detail of your life, for a book, so I’d have a way to dream about you when my life reverted to…awful.”
He came closer and the air smelled like almonds, the way his skin tasted. “Reverted?”
She stared at the wooden floorboards. “Doesn’t matter. Marrying you changed my life, for the better, and love is possible. Maybe one day you’ll love me too.”
He reached for her and she inched closer to hold onto him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Clara. You deserve better than me.”
Her skin had goosebumps as she glanced up and said, “Deserve isn’t a good word for me. I’ve neverdeservedanything and that usually leads to bad luck. I prefer that we choose our own lives, together, from now on.”
The possessive way he held her close warmed her body. “Choose?”
Time was on her side for now. She took a deep breath and said, “Yes, I hope you choose to be happy and love me back one day… not because I chose you.”
He hugged her tighter to him and said, “Clara-”
“Just kiss me now.” The last thing either of them needed was to overthink any of this. She loved him and would settle into his house with him, if he let her. As his lips claimed hers, she knew she had something she'd never had before… she had love in her heart, and this had to be enough.
Chapter 11
Astorre Manfredi was known to the world as an uncaring, rich, titled lord who did whatever he wanted.
He stared out the window that was a former arrow slit in his castle. The lord of the manor's bedroom had a small view but that was by design. As a boy his parents had wanted him safe so he hadn’t been allowed a room like this. He’d have to be stopped from climbing outside like countless ancestors probably had done.
The image of his mother cleaning his knee from a scrape replayed in his mind.
A cold sweat broke out on his body so he went and grabbed a shower.
The water helped clear his mind. Memories weren’t good to have. His stomach was still in a knot but it was bearable now.
He headed into his closet and picked out olive green pants his staff had left for him--the house colors, though he chose a white shirt.
He noticed new clothes left for Clara, all with olive green somewhere in the fabric.
Hopefully she liked it. He considered his wife to beverylucky. She didn’t have memories of her birth parents, and she didn't talk about her adoptive parents.
Just as he didn’t talk about his.
It was probably better that way. He finished dressing and heard her audible yawn. He turned toward the bed where she stretched, not caring in that moment he could see all of her as she reached for the robe beside her. “I can’t believe I slept this long.”
