Page 10 of Isle of Seduction

I didn’t think it was necessary for me to lock the door. I wouldn’t walk all over his space; it should be a given that we stay in separate areas of this place and don’t interact with each other and especially not when I’m so naked, literally and figuratively.

The water is still warm and I don’t feel like getting goaded by his stupid methods. I rarely indulge in alcohol, but I take a sip and groan. Fucker knows his shit! I bet my left tit this is a Sant Armellu Merlot from one of the best wine sellers of Kalliste.

My mind is spiralling and now there’s no way I’ll relax despite the warm water and the delicious wine.

I get out of the bath and put on the fluffy white bathrobe hooked on the wall before exiting the room. Warm male jogger pants and a white tee-shirt rest on the bed for me. I’m a big girl so I’m actually surprised when the clothes swallow me. It just reminds me of how big Andrea is. I shouldn’t like it so much.

I need to get my clothes here asap if I want to survive. There’s no way I’m going to be wearing this asshole’s clothes that smell like him every day until the end of this sham.

Determined to ask my new husband to give me a car so I can take myself shopping tomorrow, I get to the living room area where the table is set for two people.

“So kind of you to join me,” Andrea says with a smirk on his annoyingly handsome face.

“I need clothes until mine arrive.”

“But you look so delectable in mine, guerrieritta.”

“Be serious, Capaldi, this isn’t sustainable.”

“Would you rather be naked?” he drawls.

“Not even in your dreams, asshole.”

He groans and mumbles something unintelligible, then walks to me. I have half a mind to back off a step before I catch myself and stay rooted in place out of pure spite. My eyes are probably spewing venom at this point, and I wish he would disintegrate.

He leans in and his smell invades my senses. Bitter orange. My eyes widen at realising I must smell exactly like him because the bubbles I’ve put in the bath have the exact same scent.

My throat dries and words remain lodged inside. It’s a good thing I’m wearing men’s clothes three sizes bigger than me, no makeup and no adornments, probably have bags under my eyes bigger than this house and have bitten his head off more times in twenty-four hours than anyone I’ve encountered in my life. He’ll know to stay away from me.

“Get whatever you like.” He glides a black card in my hand without breaking eye contact.

“Your bank account isn’t going to like it.”

“I can afford it,” he says with the confidence of a rich man used to getting what he wants.

“We’ll see about that.”

The corner of his lips lift and he places his hand to my lower back, directing me to the table. “Please Giulia, join me for dinner. You must be starving.”

“Fine. Just because I’m hungry. I don’t want to spend time with you,” I say with less venom than I intend.

“Unfortunately, we will. But we can get to that tomorrow. Buon Appetito,” he says, reminding me of my purpose here. I need to understand why he needs a wife so badly if I have a hope of shortening our contract, or at least cohabit with him with the least amount of contact possible until our time is up.

We eat a delicious mix of vegetables that are crispy yet ferm, just how I like it, in a butter and white wine sauce to die for to accompany wild rice. Flavours burst on my tongue and I take two plates, relishing in the flavours. Behind the large windows at the back of the kitchen, night has fallen on the green forest surrounding Andrea’s house, alerting me of the late hour and how starved I actually am.

“You can congratulate your cook,” I say in between bites.

Andrea sits back in his chair, observing me with too much intensity. I swallow the food down, keeping my gaze on my plate and hoping he’ll lose interest soon. I don’t like attention I haven’t drawn by design, to fit a particular purpose; it unsettles me.

“I’ll be sure to do it,” he says mysteriously. “Any future request?”

I narrow my eyes and don’t answer at first, but if I’m actually going to live here, there’s something the cook will need to know. “I don’t eat meat.”

“No meat. Noted.”

“And next time you come to my room while I’m there naked, I’ll cut your balls and use them as paperweights.”

“So violent, guerrieritta,” he muses with a smile.

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