Page 231 of Ruins
She hesitates, gaze dropping to the table, silence stretching between us before she finally speaks. “When I used to take art classes, I had to paint nude models. Men would come and go, and it was just…” She shrugs, her voice casual, as if the idea of her staring at other men naked wasn’t something I’d latch onto.
My jaw clenches, jealousy sparking hot and fast in my chest. “Nude models?” I repeat, my voice a little sharper than I intend.
Her eyes dart up to meet mine, and she must have caught the edge in my tone because she gives me a tiny, nervous smile. “It wasn’t like that, Santo. It was just for art.”
“For art,” I echo, my fingers drumming once against the table before I fold my arms across my chest. My mind betrays me, conjuring an unwelcome image of her, brush in hand, studying some faceless man with a focus that should belong only to me. “So you spent hours staring at other men?”
Her lips part in surprise, and then she laughs, the sound soft and disarming. “It wasn’t like that,” she say again, shaking her head. “You really are ridiculous sometimes.”
“Ridiculous?” I raise a brow, but before I could press further, she cuts me off.
“It’s different because…” She trails off, biting her lip, her cheeks blooming with color.
“Because what?” I press, my voice low, still doused in a possessive edge I can’t quite suppress.
Her fingers still, and she glances up at me through her lashes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because you’remine, Santo.”
I freeze, her words hitting me harder than I expect. The vulnerability in her steady gaze, her cheeks flushing deep causes something inside me to shift. The jealousy, the frustration—all of it melts away, leaving behind only the undeniable truth.
She’s right.
I am hers, as much as she is mine.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips, and I reach across the table to take her hand in mine. “Yeah, Dea. I am.”
Her blush deepens, and she ducks her head. I can’t help but chuckle as I stand, pulling her gently to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get you that sweet treat I know you want.”
I lift her tossing her over my shoulder as her squeals fills the room. Her laughter is infectious, and I feel it surge through me like a live current. My heart pounds in rhythm with her giggles, and a warm satisfaction curls within me. I’ve made her happy.
Her happiness now belongs tome.
Just like she does.
Chapter 45
Vasilisa
IstealaglanceatSanto his eyes already on me as I paint my newest work of art. His lips tug into a smirk as he lounges on the plush chaise, book in hand. He’s always handsome, but there’s something about seeing him like this—casual, relaxed. His grey shirt clings to his torso, the hem slightly lifted, revealing just a hint of firm muscle beneath. A distraction I do not need right now
“Stop staring at me like that,” I huff, my brush faltering slightly. I try to ignore the heat creeping up my cheeks, but his smirk tells me I’m failing miserably.
“We’ve been over this, Dea. You’re mine. If I want to look at what’s mine, I will.” He smirks, eyes dark with amusement.
“It’s distracting,” I huff, pretending to be annoyed when in reality, I relish his attention.
“I can’t help it if my wife is so beautiful I have to stare,” he responds smoothly, closing his book and rising from the chaise. He moves with purpose, crossing the room and sliding his arms around my waist. His lips find the nape of my neck, warm and deliberate, his breath fanning over my skin.
My heart skips a beat and I melt in to him, but as I do his phone begins to beep.
Santo groans in mild irritation, and sighs before he pulls his phone from his pocket. “It’s my alarm to get ready for the meeting I have at NovaRael,” he says annoyed.
“A business meeting?” I ask turning to face him.
“No, it’s—” he cuts himself off and gives me an apologetic look, “It’s about the footage we took from your parents estate and with Angelo in Florida I have to go.”
“He’s in Florida?” I ask remembering the conversations I had with Angelo about the woman he loved.
The corner of Santo’s lip rises, “Yes.”
