Page 124 of Where Dark Hearts Devour
My breath escapes at the sight of him in a white button-up with rolled-up sleeves and a pair of slacks, sending the butterflies in my stomach fluttering in more of a frenzy.
“Hi,” I whisper.
A smile tugs at his lips. “Hi to you.”
We stand on the porch and stare at each other. Then he leans forward and presses a long, warm kiss to my mouth. When he pulls away, I’m lightheaded.
His gaze burrows under my skin, into my bones, heating every inch of me. “I missed you.”
“You only saw me yesterday,” I say, arching a brow.
“So? I still fucking missed you.”
I look past him into the house. “It’s quiet. Where is everyone?”
He shrugs. “A few people left after ... well, you know.” He turns around, and I follow.
“After you killed and carved up your brother? Yeah, I can imagine that isn’t to everyone’s taste.”
He laughs, and it makes my skin tingle.
“There’s no point in me hiring more staff right now anyway.”
“Oh?”
He pauses to look over his shoulder. “Well, I’d expect the new lady of the house to do that.”
My heart beats loudly in my ears. “Uh-huh.”
I follow him through to the lobby, where the staircase rises. “I had it put in the east wing,” he says. “Come find me whenyou’re done. I’ll make dinner.” His fingers find mine and curl around them. My breath escapes me at the simple, unexpected gesture.
“I will.”
He leaves a feathery trail along my fingertips then leaves me to climb the stairs. I try not to picture the last time I was at the top of them, but the terror of that night is still fresh in my mind. The memory of Savero standing over me with his hand around my throat, threatening my life, is so clear I can feel it. It doesn’t matter that he’s dead now—it brought home to me just how vulnerable I really am. I grew up with a lot of bravado. I lost it after Mama died, but it was always inside of me, itching to emerge.
The only times I’ve felt safe since she passed have been in Cristiano’s arms.
I sigh heavily and turn the door handle. Then I have to blink, because I’m not sure what I’m seeing.
The door swings inward, and I shake my head, trying to figure out what’s in front of me. I haven’t been back to the apartment since this morning, so why does it look like I’m back there right now?
I walk over to the antique console that sits in the hallway and rest my purse on it. Then I look around at the plant pots, the paintings I’ve thrifted from flea markets and vintage fairs, and the shoes normally laid out on the floor of my closet. I frown at the rows and rows of clothes that look alarmingly familiar, the easel and the paints, the pieces of art I’ve created over the past few years ...
I don’t understand.
But then again, I do.
This isn’t just the closet Cristiano bought me when I was staying in his apartment. This isall my stuff.
A soft knock sounds at the door.
“Um, yeah?” I murmur.
I hear the door open and close behind me, and even though I haven’t turned around, his presence fills the room.
“What is this?” I whisper.
“I thought you might want to feel at home.”
