Page 13 of Isle of Seduction

Next, I remove all the towels from the bathroom and replace them with the fluffy dark blue ones that match the bedsheets. Anyone who has white towels in their bathroom is asking for blood on them. And in the Moretti Family, that can happen at any time.

I also bought amazing curtains with dark jungle patterns on them but even as nosy as I am, I don’t feel like looking everywhere for a ladder to do it myself. Instead, I place all the clothes I bought with Andrea’s money in the built-in closet on the other side of the room. There are a couple of extravagant gowns, but mostly, it’s everyday outfits that I love. Leather and jean jackets, tight denims that mould my ass and an assortment of loose tee shirts and blouses, without forgetting my iconic leather boots, high heels and a pair of white sneakers.

And of course, my Kiki de Montparnasse lingerie collection. Nothing else will do to fit my generous double D and size 16 ass.

As I pull the bras and panties out of their bags, a white card falls off. The paper is thick, what you would expect from a high end boutique, but there isn’t any logo on it. Just a note scrawled in a small masculine script.

Welcome back, Giulia.

Alarm bells ring in my head because I’ve never shopped there before. I take the computer I bought out of its packaging and plug in the USB key I carry everywhere with me. It has a couple of programs I’ve developed. The one I use now allows me to hack into the cameras of the Kiki de Montparnasse shop I was just in and review the time I was there. The angles are shit and I don’t really see the shop workers put the card in my bag, or not, but they do fumble with the four bags for a while, folding and packing all the items I got.

My stomach grumbles loudly, and I put the card in the drawer of the nightstand. I haven’t eaten all day. I feel bad for Nico. This isn’t unusual for me. I can get tunnel-vision when I’m doing something I love. And I loved spending Andrea’s money.

I haven’t heard from my dear husband and I’m getting antsy. I need to get to know him well if I have any hope of renegotiating our timeline or simply kill him in his sleep. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer and all that.

I enter the kitchen, determined to cook myself a meal though I don’t know any single recipe.

Andrea is at the stove, a man-bun well in place at the back of his head, giving him a laid-back aura I know is only a decoy, and an apron around his toned waist. A fucking apron.

I stop dead in my tracks, and he turns to me with the smirk of the Cheshire cat.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you today, guerrieritta. Did you get everything you needed?”

I shake my head out of my stupor and walk to the counter. “For now,” I say with a smile. “I hope you’re ready to lose a lot of money. I loved using your card today.”

I mean it as a taunt, but I'm not ready for the force of his attention on me and the darkening of his gaze. He walks the short distance that separates us, leans his nose into my hair and… inhales?

What the actual fuck.

“You can make a habit out of it, guerrieritta.” His voice drops low and rough, travelling across my skin like it belongs there.

My hand presses on his chest to keep him at bay.

“Get off me, Andrea. You’re being a creep.” My voice comes out breathy, his proximity making me feel dizzy.

He steps back and turns to the stove again.

“Are you cooking?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I am.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Andrea clamps his lips together to suppress a smile and I have half a mind to grab the bottle of wine and smack it on his head until he lumps on the floor at my feet. Where he fucking belongs.

He ignores me and asks if I’m hungry before fixing me a plate without waiting for my answer. He also serves me wine, but I don’t touch it. I don’t want to make a habit of casually drinking every day. Alcohol won’t be used against me ever again. Once a man you trusted makes you drink to get sexual favours, you learn to stay clear of what would alter your mind.

I dig in and fuck him, it’s delicious. A risotto with mushrooms and pumpkin and so many flavours I wish I could cut my tongue out instead of enjoying anything he made. He looks at me with intense focus and rather than getting lost in his gaze, I clear my throat, and breach the most important subject of my presence in his life.

“So, dear husband, are you gonna tell me what you need me for?”

“Say that again.”

“What?” I glance up and when our eyes meet, my breath hitches.

“I love it when you call me ‘husband’.”

“You’re deranged.”

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