Page 60 of Massimo

I still don't trust him, but it's hard not to want to. And I want to show him my backbone. Around him, it's almost impossible to play the meek, obedient, perfectly poised princess. I don't want to wilt and hide from him.

Geez, girl, you get a few orgasms from the man, and you're ready to proclaim your undying love.

Shut up,I order my snarky inner critic.

He's a monster.

Yeah. Yeah, I know that.

He may look respectable and immaculate, but I know better. My father often looks the same way and is the vilest of them all.

But it's so hard not to fall into the trap of thinking that maybe Massimo is a different breed than my father.

A knock on Massimo's office door cuts off my thoughts and pulls his attention from me, if only for a moment.

"Thank you, Jerome."

Jerome places the tray with our dinner on the desk and smiles at me. "Miss, can I get you anything else?"

I've never been looked at so kindly before. My father's servants were all scared of him, and they kept their distance from me because he severely disapproved of me 'fraternizing with the help.' He was always quick to remindme of my elevated station in life, like it was something to be coveted.

I realize that Jerome and Massimo are waiting for me to respond, and I shake my head. "No, thank you."

Jerome offers another kind smile before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Massimo pushes away from leaning against his desk and runs his knuckle down my cheek. I have to fight not to lean into the touch.

He walks around the desk, pushes his chair back, and sits. His intention is clear; like the last two meals, he wants me to sit on his lap for him to feed me.

And like the other times, he isn't ordering me to do so.

My fire and fight flare to life, like they have since I met him—even when I was frightened of him and his menacing malice—and I risk letting him see it. I have yet to be punished for standing up to him. The initial angst and struggle between Massimo and me was when Iwouldn'tfight him, and he sensed I was hiding my true self from him.

Taking a deep breath, I lift my chin and set my shoulders. "I would like to sit in a chair."

I hold my breath, waiting for Massimo's anger, waiting for him to snarl at me to fucking obey him, waiting for the revelation that I pushed the monster too far and would now have to pay.

But it doesn't come.

I'm sure I see disappointment in his expression, but there's no anger. He nods, seeming to accept what I want.

With a shaky breath, I sink into the chair, watching him warily—certain my lesson and punishment are coming, and they'll be harsh.

He rises—slowly, as if trying not to startle me—and wheels his chair around the desk to sit beside me.

Reaching across the desk, he pulls the food tray closer and lifts all the warming lids to reveal the meal I had selected for tonight. The salmon, quinoa, and broccoli make my stomach rumble in anticipation. The avocado slices may seem like an odd pairing, but Massimo said I needed to include something with some fat, and I've always had a weaknessfor avocado. The fact that Massimo seems to be educating himself on nutrition at my expense is too mind-boggling to contemplate right now.

I'm confused and disoriented enough as it is.

"Would you like me to dish you up?"

I startle at his deep voice, being lost in my head. Plus, I'm always expecting harshness like with my father.

His finger—the one that wears a thick gold ring with the Santoro family crest—touches my chin and lifts my face. "Princess." His thumb rubs my jaw like a caress. "Would you like me to dish you a plate of food?"

Suddenly, I feel ridiculous about my reactions to food and eating. My cheeks heat, and I shake my head.

He doesn't ask me if I'm sure; he only nods and eases back.

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