Page 55 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

“Fuck.” I ball my hands into fists and stalk out the door.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Clifford demands. “We have the meeting later.”

“Home. I’m going home,” I say.

Chapter 16

Renata

I have no idea how long Matteo will be. He left his security detail behind, or at least some of them, but they aren't here in the main house. It means that I have a chance to snoop. This might be my only chance, so despite the gnawing anxiety in my stomach, I grab it.

I have been mindlessly watching the television for about twenty minutes now. I think that's a safe enough time lapse that Matteo’s not going to come back for something he's forgotten. Does he even forget things the way I do? I'm always forgetting my phone or my lipstick or something that I must dash back for. He probably doesn't. Does he have any idea that I’m scatty? I can’t recall if it was a character trait I had when I was younger.

Will Matteo find my chronic forgetfulness annoying?

My ex-husband used to get so impatient if I forgot my phone. He’d roll his eyes, sigh, and make me feel stupid and small. Would Matteo do that?

Why do I care?

I remind myself that this isn’t about a real relationship—it’s about revenge.

And amazing sex.

Not wanting to think about that right now, because I need my game head in place, I sneak out the door. Firstly, I check that there are no staff around in the kitchen, and then I race upstairs and into the bedroom. I find my handbag and take out my small Louis Vuitton pochette, in which I keep a few items I carry daily.

My fingers brush over the items, moving them around, until I see the shiny metal of the paper clip. I take it and grab the hairpin too, and then I rush down the stairs.

The door to the study is still open, although not quite as ostentatiously so as it was earlier.

Then it was a glaring invite. It might as well have been a bottle with drink me written on it.

“Oh, Matteo, my venomous darling, how you underestimated me?” I mutter under my breath. “Now, it’s time for you to be the one who is played.”

Clearly, he knows I've taken a look and seen the information already, and he's no longer tempting me with wide open doors and a veritable welcome mat of invitation. I grind my teeth at the Machiavellian games he's playing here. How can he be so unbelievably good at knowing and reading my body, and taking me to such heights of ecstasy, and all the time his mind is plotting and planning betrayal?

Well, I'll show him.

I slip behind the desk and take hold of the small brass handles on the inlaid drawers in the back of his desk. I jiggle them to see just how tightly the lock mechanism is in place. This desk seems old. I don't think it's a modern piece that has been made to look old, but a very worn, hefty antique piece of furniture. I need to be careful not to break anything.

I place my small instruments on the surface of the desk and wipe my hands on my clothes, making sure they’re dry and steady before I pick up the paper clip. I unfold it and squat until I'm at eye level with the lock, then I carefully insert the paper clip into the hole.

There's a method to this that a lot of people don't understand. They see it on television shows or in films and think it takes a second and is easy, but it isn't. It takes me a full five minutes before I hear that beautiful sound, the gentle click as the lock gives way.

I'm sweating by the time it finally opens, with stress and concentration. I glance at my watch. More than thirty minutes have passed since Matteo left. I still have time I'm sure, but seeing as I don't know where he is, or how long he'll be, I need to make this as quick as I can.

I take out the notebook that’s on top of three brown envelopes and open it.

I stare in total shock. In Matteo’s neat handwriting is page after page of notes about my activities and whereabouts.

What the hell?

Twelve-thirty, hair appointment.

Two pm, drinks with Jilly.

I turn the page.

Ten am, Renata left the gym.

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