Page 30 of The Deal

“It’s very … un-Italian of you.”

My mother’s parents and my father’s mother may be of Italian heritage, but one of my grandfathers was Australian. “My paternal grandfather wasn’t Italian.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Regardless, you won’t find any of that in this house. You’ll feast like the queen you are while you’re here.”

Once he’s standing at the foot of the bed, he looks down at me, offering a soft smile. Has he forgotten I spat in his face moments ago? It’s something I’ve never done before, and a part of me feels ashamed of my reaction, but he had been holding my hands hostage, leaving me with little choice but to act on instinct.

“The walk-in wardrobe is just through that door, which also leads to your private bathroom. It has everything you need. If you want something specific, ask, and I’ll ensure you get it.”

“I want my freedom.”

“Except that,” he counters, shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark-grey trousers. He has paired them with a black V-neck sweater, and it’s the first time I’ve not seen him wearing a suit. “Now change,” he adds as he turns and moves towards the door. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

I don’t move from the bed until he leaves. I rise and cross the room once the door clicks shut behind him. My eyes widen as I enter the lavish closet slash dressing room, overwhelmed by its sheer opulence.

It brings back memories of a life I once lived, but on a much grander scale.

The tips of my fingers glide over the beautiful clothes hanging along the wall. A mix of casual, semi-casual, and formal wear—an entirely pointless collection if I’m going to be locked away in this room for the foreseeable future.

I skirt around the long seating bench occupying the centre of the space, heading towards the chest of drawers,and although I’m not at all pleased by my current predicament, a flicker of excitement runs through me as I reach for the ornate handle.

The top drawer is filled with delicate lace and silk undergarments. The sheer volume suggests he plans on keeping me here for a long time, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corners of my lips when I spot some simple, inexpensive cotton pieces mixed in with the luxurious underwear.

This man is such a conundrum. A combination of sugar and hot-headed spice, and I’m not sure which version of him I like best.

When I open the bedroom door and step out into the hallway, Alexander is waiting, as promised.

He takes a step back, and although he doesn’t say a word, I see the heat in his eyes as he peruses me from head to toe. The way he’s looking at me makes my skin prickle all over. What I like most about it, though, is that he did the same thing the night we met when I was in my bargain basement clothes.

This man has my emotions all over the place—at least for a moment—because that look is followed up by a single word: “Acceptable.” And just like that, I’m back to hating him again.

I opted for a pair of navy silk lounge pants that are absolutely adorable. The front features a delicate spray of white flowers, and the cuffs have white piping. The fabric feels incredibly luxurious against my skin. I paired them with a satin camisole accentuated with lace trimming along the neckline, and I topped off the look with a lightweight white jacket. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this put-together.

The selection I had to choose from was vast, but in the end, I picked this outfit purely for how it felt. I’m used to slim pickings and just opting for whatever’s clean.

Unfortunately, there were no shoes in the closet, so I slipped on a pair of white satin slippers. It didn’t feel right to be barefoot, even though that’s usually how I am at home.

He turns and starts walking down the corridor, so I follow. I’m famished and in no mood for another fight.

“I wasn’t sure of your shoe size,” he says as we descend the stairs. “I’ll have someone come to the house tomorrow for a fitting.”

“Or I could just tell you what my shoe size is.”

He pauses for a beat and glances at me over his shoulder. “That could work.”

“It seemed like the logical option. No point wasting money on a foot measurer when I already know my size.”

“I can afford it,” he grumbles.

“Can I ask how you knew my clothes size?”

He side-eyes me before saying, “I walked around one of my clubs until I found someone your height and build, and I asked them what size clothes they wore.”

“Humph,” I huff, oddly put off by that knowledge. “You were a little overzealous on the cup size of my bras. They are a tad big.” Hence why I neglected to put one on when I got changed.

My breasts may be bigger than average, but they are still perky.

This has him pausing again. His eyes flicker down to my chest before briefly moving back to my face. His throat clears as he faces forward and starts walking again. I bite my lips to hide my smile.

---