Page 7 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

He’s wearing an expensive suit, and his hair glints under the downlights. His skin is tan, and there’s ink peeking out at his open shirt, crawling up his throat. He isn’t wearing a tie, and his top button is undone. It gives him a deceptively causal look, but I really observe him, and there’s nothing casual about this man. The way he moves through the space around him screams purpose.

He doesn’t look my way, too focused on his table. It means I have the luxury of watching him for a while. As he reaches his seat, he runs his hand through that thick hair and then smiles at someone.

A gorgeous young woman walks up to him, and my heart stutters. Did Mamma get her intel wrong? Is he meeting someone tonight? The woman hands him a menu, and I relax. He says something to her, and she replies. Whatever she says makes him laugh. I watch his profile awestruck, and I know with a bone deep certainty that I’m already in too deep. Matteo Mancini might have the face of a cage fighter and the body of a pro athlete, but his laugh? His smile? They are beautiful. Utterly beguiling.

I did my homework and read as much as I could about him. The man is a triple threat. Tall, strong, wealthy, and if reports are to be believed, intelligent as hell. Yet, here, in front of me, he has another weapon, one that is hard to define and quantify, but perhaps the most dangerous of all.

Matteo Mancini has something now that he didn’t possess as a pretty, teenage boy. He has charisma. So much that the air around him crackles with it. People turn to look at him even though he’s not gesticulating or raising his voice or doing anything to gain their attention. They are drawn to glance his way like moths to a flame.

He sits with his back to me, and I immediately realize that Mamma’s plan isn’t going to work easily. How can he take pity on me sitting all alone back here if he can’t see me?

Fuck. I’m going to need to walk by him. The thought of putting myself under his scrutiny makes me all hot and bothered. He probably won’t recognize me from behind as I walk by him to the restroom. I’ll have to put some serious swing into my hips and get him interested in the back before he sees the front. Is he an ass man? Most men are. I’ve never met one who didn’t like a handful of ass.

The second glass of champagne goes down far too quickly. I drink it and watch Matteo. He sips at his drink, and his starter arrives. Mussels. I dislike seafood and shudder at the thought of the dish. He eats as he reads something on his phone. Why did he come here? Why not order in at home and eat there if he’s not meeting anyone and he’s just going to check emails?

Then the starter is cleared away, and I realize my time of procrastinating is up. I need him to see me now. I stand, smooth down my dress, a sexy cocktail number that at first glance looks business like, but on second glance will make Matteo’s mouth water more than his starter. Or, at least, I hope so. The dress has cap sleeves and is mid-length. I look both demure and sensual, because while it shows very little flesh and comes in a deep, muted wine-red, it’s also fitted enough to cling to every curve.

My bra is underwired and uplifting, and I’m wearing stockings, just in case I get the chance to flash a bit of leg. The dress has a side slit, and if I cross my legs in a just-so way, you see the top of the stockings on one leg.

Rising from my seat, I breathe out and walk toward the bathroom, my eyes locked on the sign for the restrooms as if it holds the secret to the universe. I won’t let myself even glance his way as I pass Matteo. My plan is to get him intrigued enough to be interested in who I am just from my ass. It’s an audacious plan, but I have a very audacious ass.

Swishing past his table, I put an extra sway in my hips and thank God I have been able to walk in high heels from a young age. They are the one blatant piece of my outfit. Three-inch heels, with the red sole that is so eye-catching. Praise God for Louboutin.

When I reach the restrooms, I realize that I’m all clammy and a bit dithery. “Come on, Ren, you’re better than this. No man will ever get the better of you again. You’re immune, remember. Use them and leave them.”

Pep talk over with, I apply my lipstick. The deep red is muted and matches my dress. It’s not a bold, sexy siren-red, but it’s not a bland neutral either. My lashes extensions are applied every few weeks. My brows are micro-bladed and shaped. I don’t need to bother doing anything else with them as they’re naturally thick and dark. I dab a little extra shimmery peach blush on my cheekbones and smooth it in. Then I run my wrists under the cold water and collect myself.

The walk back is going to be easier … I think. With every step to the ladies’ room I felt vulnerable somehow. Self-conscious. It will be easier to walk by him when I can see his face.

Leaving the ladies’ room, I head down the corridor, wobbling a little when my heels dig into the plush carpeting. I glance around the room, looking anywhere but at Matteo, but as I get nearer, I allow my glance to cut his way, as if by coincidence. I already have my second take and shy smile planned out in advance.

I will act as if I recognize him, but I’m not sure where from. It’s not a stretch. He’s changed so much that if I had simply bumped into him by accident, I might well have been unsure at first as to whether the huge, intimidating man in front of me really was Matteo from my youth.

My gaze skitters over him, and my heart bumps. He’s taken his jacket off while I’ve been in the ladies’ room, and I’ve never seen a shirt fit a man so well. It’s almost indecent the way it hugs his shoulders and arms. Oh, God, he has the sleeves rolled up, and his forearms are so big and strong, tanned too. His left forearm is covered in ink.

My tight sexy dress suddenly feels ordinary compared to the tease that is Matteo Mancini in a tight-fitting shirt.

He’s staring intently at his phone. Damn. As I near, I wait for him to glance up, the way you do when you sense the presence of someone nearby, but he doesn’t. Why would he? After all, he is an apex predator, and apex predators do not have to worry about the lesser creatures scuttling around them.

My heart beats far too fast. At this rate, I have two options. Either I walk on by and miss my chance. Or I pause at his table and speak to him. The second option comes with the risk of much shame if he gives me the cold shoulder.

Time slows as I grow nearer and nearer and must make a decision. My palms are clammy again, and I resist the urge to wipe them down the sides of my dress. What if I say hello, and he merely glances at me, gives me a smile, says hello back, and then returns to his phone. I swear I will die of mortification.

My breathing increases as anxiety gnaws at my stomach. This isn't going the way I thought it would. This great plan that I had of avenging his betrayal of me looks set to fail at the first hurdle. I don't have the courage to do this.

Panic intensifies as I’m only a few steps away, and I consider bottling this and walking on by. My mother will have plenty to say about it, but let her. I can't do this. I can't put myself on the line again only to be rejected. How could I think I could get one up on this man? He’s been my one weakness in life ever since I let myself fall for his glib lies as a teenager. It sounds melodramatic, but he really did ruin my life back then.

I was already messed up due to my parents’ lack of love for me. My relationship with my brother wasn't good, as we were always fighting and battling for supremacy in the family hierarchy.

The only genuine affection I had in my life at that time was my nonna on our father’s side. Sadly, she moved back to Italy to be near her other children. I can't say I blame her, because our family didn't exactly treat her with warmth and enthusiasm. Maybe to a lot of people looking at my life from the outside, the way Matteo affected me might have seemed outsized. However, to a lonely, insecure, and basically deeply unhappy teenager, his attention felt like the sun warming my face after a long winter.

Then, he wrecked it all by betraying me and making a fool of me in the worst way. It's the shame that burns so deep. The realization that I had been taken for a fool, and everyone knew except for me. I can still taste the way it crawled up my throat like acidic bile. So yeah, maybe I've built this up to be far more than it was over the years, or maybe, just maybe, Matteo Mancini really did ruin my life.

Step. I'm almost close enough to touch him now, and he still hasn't looked up.

Step. My fingers itch to trail along the edge of the linen on his table. In two more steps I will be past his line of sight.

Step. Dark lashes slowly raise, and deep brown eyes lock on mine.

---