He sits at the other end, lifts my legs onto his lap, and opens the kit like he’s done this a hundred times.
“Really, I can do this myself,” I protest.“I’m not a damsel.No need for a fuss.”
He ignores me, undoing the straps of my heels and slipping them off with surprisingly gentle fingers.Then, with practiced ease, he cleans the wound with methodical care, dabs on ointment, and neatly bandages it.
Okay.Now I’m officially rattled.
Where the hell did Stefano Castello go?Who is this nurturing impostor?
As he snaps the kit closed and sets it aside, I clear my throat and murmur, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the black heart in that ice chest of yours actuallybeats.”
He snorts.“Or maybe I just wanted to see up your skirt.”
With that, he shifts my legs off his lap and stands, then disappears through the side door again.
Frowning, I glance down at myself.My dress is slightly bunched up, but still hovering around knee level.No way he saw anything.Not that I’d mind.
Before I can spiral too deep into that thought, a knock sounds at the door just as he reappears.He pivots smoothly and answers it.There’s a quiet exchange, and then the door clicks shut.
When he returns, it’s with my laptop bag.
“You’re working here for the rest of the day.”He drops the bag unceremoniously into my lap.“Check your email.Lo sent instructions.”
“Whyhere?”I ask, sitting up.“I’m perfectly capable of working from the villa.”
His gaze flicks to the side, avoiding mine, then dips to my legs.“Your foot’s hurt.”
“Oh, good gollywash, it’s just a scratch.You can’t possibly think—wait…” I narrow my eyes.“You had this bag sent from the villa before I even hurt my foot.”
He doesn’t respond.
“I promised Gio I would keep his company while he’s sick,” I plead.“If Lorenzo’s tasks can be done from here, then it can be done from the house, too.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw.“WhatIsay fucking goes, Delilah.”
The hell is his problem now?Goodness gracious, I can’t keep up with his moods.
Burned out from sparring with him overeverylittle thing, I huff and settle back into the couch, pulling out my laptop as he strides back to his desk.
Lorenzo’s email is waiting in my inbox.Clear, detailed, informative.I read it over, then tap out a reply:
I’m going to get you back for sticking me with your asshole brother today.Just you wait…
We work in silence.Icy, stubborn silence.As I’m determined not to utter another word to that mercurial man.
But as the minutes tick on, it becomes impossible to ignore the signs of his mounting misery and discomfort.
He keeps massaging his temples.Pressing the heel of his palm into his left eye socket.A low groan slips from his throat every so often, though he doesn’t seem to be aware of it.
Despite myself, I can’t help feeling bad for him.Especially since Ideliberatelydisrupted his massage session.
Even assholes don’t deserve migraines.
Empathy makes me break my vow of silence.“You battle the migraine demon, too, huh?”
“Demonis exactly the word,” he mutters, pressing two fingers between his brows.
“My dad used to get them.Had a full-time masseuse on staff.If he missed even one session, it ruined his entire day.”
