Page 42 of Tainted Princess
How fucked was that?
“And lastly, I have ordered you new identification. Your new Nevada driver’s license in your married name will arrive at the condo in a few days, as well as an updated social security card.”
“How were you able to order me a driver’s license?”
Julian looked at her like she was stupid, and she let it go.
I, on the other hand, suddenly wanted to punch him.
“Oh,” he continued, completely oblivious to my suddenly murderous tendencies. “And I guess you’ll be wanting this as well,” he finished, contemptuously throwing a black American Express card across the table. I watched as it slid to a stop in front of Francesca, and she eyed it like it was a venomous snake.
“I really don’t think I’ll be needing—” she began.
“I’m sure you’ll find something to buy with it.” Julian said dismissively, not even looking up at her.
Francesca looked at me again, and I only shrugged as she picked the thing up and slid it into her wallet. I honestly didn’t know what she was planning on doing with her time here in Las Vegas, but judging by her simple and modest wardrobe, it wasn’t shopping. I really didn’t care what she did, as long as she stayed the fuck outta my way.
“Now,” Julian finished, placing various documents into his briefcase and standing, “if you have no other life-altering surprises for me, I have actual work to do.” He moved to the door and yanked it open before turning back to me with a sardonic grin. “Congratulations, Enzo. She now owns half your shit.” We both stared after him as the door closed loudly in his wake.
For a few moments, neither of us spoke, and I took the opportunity to study Francesca as she sat across from me, her eyes on the door, lost in thought.
She really was a pretty woman, with her thick dark hair and her olive skin, but it was her eyes that always drew me in. Depending on the light in the room, they shifted between a warm whiskey brown to a burnished gold, and were so large, that you really couldn’t blame me for comparing her to a doll. She was small and delicate, but with curves that made me want to fall to my knees to worship them, and I had no clue what to do with her, but it was clear from the way my dick was twitching that he had some ideas.
Finally, I couldn’t take the silence.
“So,” I said lamely. “You hungry?”
Forty-five minutes later, we were seated in a booth at the Italian restaurant I owned,Peccati Di Gola, which loosely translated to ‘The Sin of Gluttony’. Yeah, I was a creature of habit.
Francesca had barely picked up the menu when the day manager, Carla, sauntered over.
“Mr. Argenti,” she purred, placing her hand on the back of the booth behind me and leaning in close. “I didn’t know you were planning to join us today. Unfortunately, Emilio isn’t in right now,” she said, referencing my general manager and pouting dramatically. “Shall I send over a bottle of your favorite red for you and your…guest?” Her eyes raked over Francesca once, twice, then she dismissed her completely, like she couldn’t possibly be threatened by my little wife.
And that pissed me off. No one dismissed an Argenti. The fact that Carla didn’t know Francesca was my wife shouldn’t matter. She was dining with me, in the restaurant I owned, and she should be respected. Full fuckin’ stop.
Narrowing my eyes, I glared at Carla, letting her get just a peek at the darkness I kept inside. Her face blanched and she wisely stepped back, her gaze darting back to Francesca once again. I could see her actively calculating what this woman might mean to me and how to fix her fuck up.
Letting Carla stew a bit, I said, “Francesca, do you prefer a red or a white?”
Francesca looked at me, her face that pleasant doll’s mask once again, and I was starting to realize that she used it like a weapon. Francesca Argenti wanted the world to underestimate her.
I’d do well to remember that.
“Actually, Enzo,” she replied casually, rolling the words out of her pouty mouth like she just couldn’t make up her mind. “I’m feeling a bit… spicy today.” She raised her chin and winked at me.
Francesca just fuckin’ winked at me and that fuckin’ wink shot straight to my dick.
“I’ll take a double of thePuni Alba,” she said boldly, shooting Carla a brittle smile that was sharper than any weapon I had in my buckle. “Neat, with a water back.” She blinked her long dark eyelashes at Carla before turning to me. “What about you, Enzo?”
Fuck. Me.
The woman just ordered double whiskey straight up.
At lunch. On a Monday.
I muttered out my order of a glass of red, just one because I was driving, but I couldn’t stop looking at her. She had gone back to perusing the menu, reading every detailed description and pretending she couldn’t feel me looking at her, watching her every move. I was remembering the way her breathing sounded beside me in bed last night, how her gentle exhalations were like hurricane force winds in my normally quiet bedroom. I’d never had a woman stay the night before, never had to deal with those quiet moments in the dead of the night where your brain won’t stop thinking of the person next to you and just what in the hell you were gonna do if she insisted on wearing that idiotic yet somehow still insanely sexy outfit to bed again.
Coming out of the bathroom and seeing her there by the window, I had been struck again by just how small she was. In her frilly top and tiny shorts, she looked delicate, breakable even. But seeing her today, holding her own against the likes of Julian, Carla, shit, even against all the things she came face to face with atTaste of Eden, it was becoming clear to me that Francesca might just have a bit of that fire I’d hoped for after all.
