Page 47 of The Madman and his broken Princess
His expression reflected curiosity when I sank across from him. The dining room table easily accommodated twenty people, but only two places at opposite ends had been set.
I raised my eyebrow. “Are you scared of getting close to me?”
“Your closeness unsettles me for various reasons,” he drawled as he lifted a glass with red wine.
I did the same and let the alcohol boost my courage. “Why?”
A predatory look crossed his face. “Because I’m not a man who has to restrain himself, but you aren’t my wife yet, so restraint is required.”
“Marriage doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still restrain yourself,” I said softly. Nestore was shirtless as usual, the thick fur coat draped over the back of his chair. His upper body oozed strength, and I could imagine running my fingers along his pecs and biceps, then lower. I had only lived out my desires in my fantasies and wished I could explore them in reality, but I couldn’t help but feel anxious over Nestore’s plans. He scared me.
Nestore motioned at one of the maids who rang a small bell. Soon after, another maid entered the room with a tray. A roasted duck perched in its center, surrounded by roasted carrots and brussels sprouts. She put it down in front of Nestore. He picked up a long, gleaming knife from the serving platter and began carving the bird. At least he wasn’t using the knife he made from my father’s bone, though I was sure he still had it.
I shivered. If Nestore intended to unsettle me, he was succeeding.
When he was done, he got up and carried the serving platter over to me. The maids left the room. “What piece would you like?”
He had cut the duck into two breasts and two legs.
I pointed at the breast. He lifted it onto my plate, then cut it into thin slices so I could see it was medium rare inside. Meat juice gathered at my place. Nestore put the vegetables down beside the breast before returning to his side of the table and serving himself.
I stared down at the duck breast, my belly clenching. I loved duck, and I always took my steak medium rare, so I could only blame my squeamishness on the situation.
“Enjoy your food,” Nestore said, almost in challenge.
I speared a piece of meat with my fork and pushed it into my mouth before I forced a petulant smile. Nestore took a bite, but never took his eyes off me. “I have been dreaming about your taste.”
My expression fell, my mind tumbling over images of cannibalism.
Nestore chuckled and leaned back, giving me an enticing view of his six-pack and the trail of dark hair disappearing inside his black pants. “I’m not that depraved. I’m talking about tasting your pussy.”
My heart pounded even faster, and warmth settled in my cheeks, then seemed to drop into my core. “What about Flavia and Luciano? Will they be allowed to attend our wedding?”
The switch of topic was necessary to keep my sanity.
“No. They aren’t welcome in my territory.”
“But they are safe?” I whispered.
“I have no interest in punishing Flavia.”
Relief eased the weight off my chest. “Only me?”
“Only you. I’m still not sure what punishment you deserve.”
On the morning of our wedding day, the seamstress came over again. Today was the first time I would see my wedding dress. I was nervous. What if Nestore had picked something morbid for it? Even though this wedding wasn’t my choice, I wanted a dress I felt comfortable in.
Francoise entered my bedroom with two men holding a giant white clothing bag. They had trouble carrying it into my room because it was so voluminous.
Once they had left and closed the door, Francoise unzipped the bag. I stepped closer, my breath catching in my throat as she lifted the dress on a hanger with obvious strain. The dress was magnificent, more beautiful than anything I’d ever imagined, even in my most daring fantasies. It looked as if the fabric of the bodice had been woven of white gold yarn and adorned with minuscule diamonds, lace roses, and pearls. Due to the many pearls attached to the fabric, it was rather stiff, almost like armor. The collar and sleeves were made of silk and adorned with gemstones and pearls. The inside of the dress was as smooth as water as it glided over my fingertips.
“Did you sew it alone?”
This looked like a project that took months, not a week.
“Yes. Mr. Romano handed me a drawing of the dress he wanted, and I sewed it based on it.”
My eyes grew wide with surprise.
