Page 41 of Obsession & Oath

“So,” she agrees.

Our footsteps crunch along the gravel in tandem.

“How’s your day going so far?”

She glances at me with a smirk. “Fine, I guess.”

“What have you been getting up to?”

“In my glorified prison cell?”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve always wondered what you do with all that time on your hands.”

“When I’m not listening to you complaining about how hard your life is, you mean?” She gestures around for emphasis.

“Indulge me.”

“How do you expect me to answer that? You know already. ”

“I’m curious.”

Her eyes narrow. “Fine. Besides eating and sleeping and strategizing all the ways I could possibly wring your stupid neck…I alternate between practicing Italian curses and pleasuring myself.”

She delivers the words with such indifference it takes me a moment to realize what she’s said.

I swallow hard and attempt to match her tone. “And have you noticed much progress?”

“My tutelage has left something to be desired,” she quips back. “But then again, I’ve been learning from a book.”

“I wasn’t talking about Italian.”

She turns around to me, a smug smile on her face. “I know. But the sentiment still applies.”

I find myself stepping forward to crowd her. “I can’t recall you complaining before.”

“That’s because I find it difficult to fuck myself with my own fingers when I know what yours feel like now.” Bold. Petulant. Challenging.

There she goes, blindsiding me again.

The garden suddenly feels alive around us, with the hum of bees in the air and the rustle of leaves in the soft breeze.

I have to remind myself that we’re not alone. That, between the gardeners and the patrolling members of the Grasso di Ferro and the windows of the castle behind us, there’s no escaping scrutiny.

But I can’t stand this tension a moment longer.

I snatch up her wrist and half drag her across the gardens toward the only place I can think of that will give us even a slight semblance of privacy.

Tucked away behind a crumbling stone wall at the far end of the garden, there’s a small alcove that nature has begun to reclaim. Vines creep along the wall’s jagged edges, and a single bench sits half-hidden by overgrown ivy.

The alcove isn’t entirely shielded; the sound of footsteps on the gravel paths is faint but ever-present. However, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Carmen only has a moment to take in the location before I push her flush against the wall, shielding my body with hers should anyone try to peer through the gaps in the ivy.

“I wonder,” I say, merely a whisper against her cheek. “If I fucked you properly, would you curse me in Italian or Spanish?”

Her lips part in a small gasp, and her pupils become so large I can barely make out the ring of caramel.

Oh. She wants to find out.

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