Page 60 of Cage the Storm
My skin’s still tender when I step into the shower, whether it’s the heat or the way Nico gripped my hips like he meant to brand me, I don’t know. But I don’t have time to think about how my body responds to him. Not today.
When the door creaks open, I quickly rinse and shut off the water.
“Give me five minutes.”
Nico leans against the doorframe, already dressed in his crisp suit. “You’ve got two since the car’s pulling up the drive. And you’re not even dressed.”
I yank the towel around me, dripping onto the tiles. His gaze follows, but I don’t look back. There’s no time to catch his smoldering eyes in the mirror.
The dress he picked for me is lying on the bed, black and boring. Exactly what his mother expects me to wear. Exactly what I won’t.
Instead, I reach for deep red silk. It’s elegant, and since this is my house, it’s my choice.
His thumb grazes the spot below my ear where he bit me last night. My breath catches, but I force myself to keep moving. He walks out before I can shove him away.
Bria’s laughter drifts in from the driveway as I press the dress flat over my stomach, willing myself to stay calm.
“Ready or not.” Nico waits at the door, holding out his arm.
I want to respond with, “Here I come,” but I refrain. He’s tense enough beneath my fingertips. Taking a deep breath, I tell him like it is. “Let’s get this over with.”
We walk through the estate halls, his hand in mine. The air between us is heavy with things we don’t want to acknowledge. Too much has happened in the months they were away, and we decided last night not to talk about any of it.
Bria’s already waiting in the foyer, a smirk playing at her lips.
“Red? Bold choice.” I know it’s not said with malice, but Caterina—Mrs. Caputo—is close, so I don’t respond.
Instead, I lift my chin, letting the silk drape over me like a statement. “Would you rather I dress like a widow? Like I’m still mourning a man who’s been buried for months? Nico is my husband now.”
Nico sucks in a breath. It’s subtle, but I catch it. He then tightens his grip against mine, a warning perhaps.
Her smirk widens, but there’s something in his mother’s gaze that’s simmering beneath her pristine façade.
No doubt because I didn’t use Nicolai’s given name.
Bria’s gaze flicks to Nico, her smirk deepening like she knows exactly what game I’m playing. “She’s got some bite, doesn’t she?”
Nico exhales through his nose, the kind of slow breath meant to cool his temper. “Don’t start.”
His mother steps forward. Judge, jury, and executioner. “Months have passed, and some things never change. Still so desperate to prove yourself, Luna?”
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
Bria laughs, shaking her head like this is all amusing for her. “And to think, I thought coming home would be boring.”
Nico stiffens; he’s uncomfortable. “Let’s go inside.”
His mother turns without another word, leading the way through the double doors.
And just like that, the house that’s been ours, just ours, isn’t any longer.
The dining room’s warm with the scent of freshly baked bread, citrus preserves, and rich coffee. The table is laid out in delicate China, polished silver, and has four place settings. Nothing but the best for the lady of the house.
Nico’s mother sits in her usual place with Bria beside her as she tears into a croissant.
“Several months in Santorini, and I can honestly say I missed Laurent’s cooking,” she says through a sigh, brushing crumbs off her fingers. “Not that the private villa wasn’t stunning, but there’s only so much seafood a girl can eat.”
His mother lifts her tea with measured grace. “Santorini was a necessary escape.” That much is obvious. The estate hasn’t seen her since the day after our wedding.
