Page 15 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

“Well then, it’s probably a good thing we never did get married. We were far too young, and we wouldn't have been happy together. I expect by now, we would have both been plotting how to kill one another every night, over the dinner table.”

I laugh softly. “No, baby, we would have just been playing toxic mind games. I would never be able to kill you. You're far too pretty to die.”

She bursts out laughing at that, and the rich sound fills the atmosphere between us. “Did you really just come out with such a terrible line, Matteo Mancini?”

“I think I did.” I shrug and laugh along with her.

“Well, you're a smooth talker.” She shakes her head as she carries on giggling.

“Seriously, though, talking about death and those kinds of things...” She picks at a non-existent thread on her skirt and shuffles in her seat, a sign that she’s uncomfortable. “I'm genuinely sorry about what happened to your wife.”

And there we go. That click was her stepping on one of the landmines. Depending on what I say next, we could go boom, or I can steer us to safer ground. I decide to give her some truth, but then I need to move this conversation onto less dangerous territory.

“It wasn't a love match,” I say softly. “But thank you for your kind words. Even though we didn't love one another, we still lived together and tried to build a life as best as we could. It's in the past now, though, and I try not to dwell on it.” I let a beat of time pass before I move the conversation firmly on. “So, what made you choose a place in Windsor?”

“I like it there,” she says. “I love the castle and the history, you know? Plus, there are great shops and cafes. There are lots of places to meet friends, and there are the parks. Because it's not in the center of London, it's not so busy, but I can get into London quickly if I want to go to the shops.” Her words come out in a rush as if she's relieved that we've moved on from the tricky topic of our previous marriages.

“I understand that. When I inherited the family home, I could have moved and sold it for much money, but I like it. It's in a nice part of Surrey. I suppose it has a similar vibe in the sense that it's a small rural place, but it doesn't take me long to get into the city.”

She nods, listening intently.

“Where now?” I ask as we drive through the center of Windsor. God, I'm such an asshole because of course I know. I know her apartment address, the number, and what she bought at the supermarket yesterday.

She gives me directions to her apartment building, and when I pull up outside the front, I'm relieved to see that there's a capable looking man sitting behind the front desk in a well-lit foyer. At least the building is serviced and has a security guard. She unclicks her seat belt, and I turn to look at her. I flick the light on in the car for a moment so I can study her face. I need to see her properly and commit her to memory before she goes inside.

This is the closest I've been to her in years. As I let my gaze leisurely roam over her face, taking in all the details, I marvel at how clear and smooth her skin is. She has the features of an incredibly beautiful woman, but her skin still looks as if she's a teenager.

I reach out and cup the side of her face. She sucks in a breath, her lower lip trembling slightly. I enjoy the rush of her skin against mine, and I drink in the beauty and perfection of her face.

“You remind me of an Italian actress,” I tell her. “I can't remember her name, but she's stunningly beautiful, and you look so much like her. Prettier, though,” I say truthfully.

Her cheeks slowly flush a fetching shade of pink as I continue staring at her.

“Do you want to come up for a coffee?” she asks.

I shake my head and lock down the twitch of a smile pulling at my lips at her shocked expression. I bet there aren't many men who say no to Renata Andretti. Physically, it's taking me every ounce of willpower not to take her up on her offer, but I'm going to play this my way, not hers.

“I have some work to do back at the house.” I let my thumb brush ever so lightly over that full lower lip. “Would you like to have dinner with me again one night?”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“Are you going to say yes?”

Renata sighs and pierces her eyes closed for a split second, as if my close proximity is affecting her.

“I don't know if we should do this,” she mutters breathily.

Now I really have to fight back that smile. Oh the game she wants to play. Her flushed cheeks, her increasingly heavy breathing, and her parted lips tell me that she'd let me take her to bed right now. There's no way, even if she wasn't under the impression that she's the one in charge here, she'd ever say no to a second date. Despite the game she thinks she's orchestrating, and despite what her parents have told her to do, Renata is going to say yes to a second date because her body wants it more than anything.

“All the most fun things in life are the things we shouldn't do.” I shrug and give a casual smile. “Of course, it’s entirely up to you. Text me if you decide you'd like to meet again.” I act as if I’m already losing interest. As if this was simply a suggestion.

“No,” she says suddenly. “I'd like to. Thank you. It would be nice to catch up ... to talk, I mean. It's been a long time. There's a lot of water under the bridge, but I see no reason why we can't try to maybe build a new bridge between us.” She pauses and then feeds me a line that I know deep down is a lie. I can practically hear her mother’s voice saying it instead. “It would be nice for our families to perhaps slowly have the chance to build bridges too.”

I'm not interested in building any bridges with her family. I'm only interested in blowing up everything they own. “That sounds nice.” I lean in and gently brush my lips against her cheek to say goodbye. Nice, fuck my life; I crack myself up. I picked the most asinine adjective I could and threw it in her face, and still, she hasn’t realized that she’s not the one in charge here but the hired entertainment.

The kiss is an immediate misstep. The moment my skin touches hers, something in me burns. Renata, being the little devil that she is, turns her head ever so slightly so that the next moment my lips aren't brushing her cheek but her mouth.

She sighs against me, and her lips part, and God help me, but I cannot refuse that invitation.

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