Around 3:00 a.m., he climbs into bed beside me and kisses my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck as he whispers, “I can’t wait to meet you.”
I bury my face in the pillow.Suffocation seems preferable to shedding useless tears that won’t change a damn thing.
No, Stefano.Youdon’twant to meet me.You won’t like me.You’ll want nothing at all to do with me.So please...stop trying to meet me.While we still have time, let’s just enjoy this idea, this fantasy of what could be…if I really were Raya Michel.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Raya
STEFANO EMERGES FROMHIScloset with two neckties in hand, considering them carefully.
A yawn pries my mouth open as I stretch beneath the covers.“You’re up early.”
He glances up from the ties, his lips slanting into a half-smile as if he’s happy to see I’m awake.Tossing the ties onto a nearby armchair, he strides over and leans down to kiss my nose.“Up early for Mass.”
“Oh.”I pout a little, then quickly cover my mouth to block my morning breath.“You’re leaving me.”
Chuckling, he kisses my nose again.“I’d take you with me, but Cora told me you’re an atheist…?”
“Agnostic,” I correct.“Which means I’m still curious, so…I’ll tag along.”
“Up you get, then.”He flips the sheets off me, dips down to kiss my bare stomach, then scoops me out of bed.“We leave in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
We shower together, get ready together, and every few minutes, he stops whatever he’s doing to give me a little kiss on my neck…my cheek…my nose…my forehead.As though he can’t help himself.As though he’s drawn to me on instinct.All while I’m trying not to dissolve into a puddle of soft goo.He’s so utterlyawareof me.Of where I am in every moment, every move, every breath, every step.
It’s as if he adores me or something.
I bite back a smile at the thought, my heart swelling fatter and fatter in my chest.
“Are you sure this isn’t too short?”I tug at the ruffled hem of the only dress from the rack that’s even remotely appropriate for church.A wine-red chiffon wrap piece that falls mid-thigh.
“It’s fine,” Stefano assures me for the third time, leaving a quick kiss on my neck.
Hey, he’s the churchgoer here.If he says it’s fine…
When we arrive at the cathedral, Mass is already in session.Stefano reaches for my hand, trying to lace his fingers with mine as we head inside, but I keep dodging him.
Visibly frustrated, he stops and stares at me, confused.
I tip my head to the left, subtly nodding toward the pew at the back right, occupied by only three men, two of them Sodalti stationed at each end.Becauseof coursethe king of Vegas has his own pew in a cathedral.“Your men will talk.”
Stefano merely blinks at me, as if he doesn’t understand what the problem is.But now is not the time or place for an argument, so I move past him and slide into the pew, right next to the third man sitting between the guards.
Gio Bellanti.Who doesn’t seem the least bit surprised to see me.
Stefano unbuttons his jacket and settles beside me, leaving me snugly sandwiched between the two of them.
“I see you’ve made your choice,” Gio mutters under his breath.
“I wasn’t aware there was a choice to be made…?”I whisper back.
He huffs, broad shoulders rising and falling with displeasure.“Good luck keeping up with that moody headfuck.”
If Stefano overhears our exchange, there’s no indication.His focus is trained straight ahead on the priest, Vale Fontana, reading scripture.
Fifteen minutes in, I’m already regretting tagging along.Good grief, this is dull.And why does everyone look so dazed and miserable?Aren’t churches supposed to be aboutjoy?
