Page 6 of The Temptation
“The steak isn’t for me,” I argue. “I …”
The rest of my reply dies off when he tilts his face towards the ceiling and blows out a long, frustrated breath. When his grey eyes finally meet mine again, his expression is unreadable.
It feels like he just slammed a door on this conversation, and if I know what’s good for me, I won’t say another word. I’m okay with that; this wasn’t going anywhere, anyway.
I reach out and snatch the beer from his hand as I give him my back. A thrill pulses through me as I lift the bottle to my mouth, letting my lips settle on the exact spot where his had just touched. It doesn’t compare to a kiss, but this is the next best thing, I guess.
He stays looming behind me, and even though I can no longer see his face, I can feel his eyes burning into the back of my head. After a beat, he reaches around me, snatches the empty plate off the counter, and stalks towards the sink without a word.
I flip the steak one last time before turning off the heat, keeping Romeo in my peripheral vision the whole time. He bends down, grabs the dish soap, and turns on the tap, filling the basin with warm water.
It might sound insignificant to some, but I’ve never actually seen a man wash a dish before. Where I come from, that was strictly a woman’s responsibility, an unspoken rule etched into my daily life.
I was raised to believe that serving a man was my duty. Papa made sure Arabella and I never forgot that.
With that memory echoing in my mind, I step towards the sink, because apparently, old habits die hard.
“I can take care of that,” I offer softly.
The idea of playing housemaid to a man is something I’ve pushed back against my entire life, but for him, I’d do it without hesitation.
“I’m perfectly capable of washing a dish, Lucia,” he replies without sparing me a glance. “I’ve been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember.”
That admission catches me off guard. It may answer my earlier question of why his house is so clean, but it also breaks something deep inside me. I’d give just about anything to shoulder that role, to be the one who takes care of this man. It would feel less like a duty and more like a privilege.
I stay quiet, unsure how to respond. He glances at me briefly over his shoulder, his eyes edged with something sharp. I quickly school my expression. He wouldn’t want pity, especially from me.
“I’m sorry about the steak,” I murmur. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just continues to scrub the plate with a quiet intensity. I notice the tension in his shoulders, his tight jaw, and how he grips the sponge with such ferocity that his knuckles turn white.
“I know,” he says quietly. “It’s just been a long fucking day.”
There’s a heaviness I can’t seem to shake as I stand in the kitchen of the safe house and get a start on dinner. I don’t want to be here. I want to be with my sister and my baby niece.
It’s only been a few hours, and I already feel antsy and claustrophobic, like I’m no longer free. It’s reminiscent ofbeing trapped back in Italy under Papa’s iron rule. Like I’ve been moved from one gilded cage to another.
At first, the idea of being holed up here alone with Romeo gave me a thrill … the chance I’d been longing for. But now, I think our time together isn’t going to be anything close to what I imagined in my head. Quite the opposite, he hasn’t said a single word to me since we left his house.
When we arrived, Romeo unpacked all our supplies from the car, took his dog for a walk, and then locked himself away in his bedroom on his return. It’s like he can’t even stand to be around me anymore.
He only emerged briefly to head straight for the shared bathroom. When the shower turned on a minute later, I came in here to distract myself from thinking about that ripped, tattooed body of his, naked and glistening under the spray of the water.
I let out a slow breath as I open the oven and carefully slide in the tray containing the cheesy garlic pizza I just made. I need to pull myself together. This one-sided relationship has left me feeling drained. It’s wearing me down.
It’s time I faced the truth. This man doesn’t feel the same way about me, and probably never will. I’ve been settling for crumbs, convincing myself they’re enough, but the reality is, they’re not.
I feel like I’ve been restricted from being the person I want to be my entire life, so this rejection is just another blow. Maybe I should let that dick Giuseppe claim me and be done with it. At least then I’d stop pretending I have a choice.
I drop the pasta into the boiling water. The steam rises to sting my face before I move over to stir the sauce. That’s when I smell him. I glance over my shoulder briefly as he enters the kitchen, and the scent of freshly showered Romeofills the air. It’s like a citrusy spice with a hint of something darker … something dangerous.
An underboss has no business smelling that intoxicating.
“Something smells good,” he says, his voice smooth, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s a stark contrast to how he spoke with me earlier.
Yeah, you.
I lift a shoulder, still facing the stove. “I’m getting dinner started.”
