Page 27 of Captured Fantasy

I knew who it was before I raised my eyes past his feet. Cosimo Barone loomed over me, all six feet plus of gorgeous muscle. My mouth went dry as my eyes roamed over his body, too distracted to drag my gaze away.

He had a large, black-and-white tattoo of a sculpture of St. George slaying a dragon on his side. It was detailed and clearly expensive. On the back of his left hand was an Italian flag and on his bicep above it was some kind of logo with a snake twined around it. I ran my eyes over the depiction of St. George and down the ridges of his hard abdominal muscles, pausing at the V going into his waistband.

“Mrs. Russo,” he drawled.

I struggled for words. “Cosimo, I had no idea you belonged to the club.”

I’d expected him to be dismissive, or perhaps cold, but instead he took off his sunglasses and his dark gaze dragged over my body. Unashamedly. Over the wet bikini that barely covered my pussy and the visible outline of my nipples. They lingered on the gold wedding rings I still wore on my left hand, glittering in the late morning sun. I was acutely aware of being almost naked before him and the shameful sensation roused warmth between my thighs.

“Good morning,” he said. “Mrs. Russo.”

His drawl was more sexual than if he’d put his hands on me and it was accompanied by another flick of his gaze over my body. He smirked and pushed his sunglasses up. I stared at him for a second, my heart hammering against my ribs, before spinning on my heel and walking away.

I was showered, dressed, and had fresh makeup on when I entered the dining room. Amadeo’s wife, Carolina, sat in the corner with her phone in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I hurried over as soon as Jonathan told me,” I said, sitting down.

She looked up, smiling and a wave of affection moved through my chest, making my throat stick. I’d never had female friends and deep down, I wanted them. Badly. My eyes teared up and I looked down, adjusting my purse.

Despite having two parents from Italy, Carolina didn’t look very Italian. She was a curvy woman with a round face and large, hazel eyes. Her dark blonde hair was curly and just brushed the collar of her pink polo dress. She was sweet, if a little too innocent, but I found I liked that.

In fact, I envied her.

I wanted to be like her—pretty, protected, and purposefully naive. It sounded incredibly relaxing.

“Are you drinking?” she asked, smiling. “I’d kill for a mimosa.”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Make that two for me.”

She laughed. “Thank God, it’s been a week.”

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed far too quickly. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was with someone who wanted nothing from me but good conversation. We drank until we were tipsy and then remembered to order some food around two in the afternoon.

Carolina had all the best gossip about the outfit and everyone who attended St. Bede’s. She shared it with relish and I listened enraptured over a plate of crab legs and chilled oysters. After lunch, we went back out by the pool and sunbathed. Thankfully, Cosimo had left so I could enjoy the rest of the afternoon in peace. I’d had enough of men for the day.

“Do you think you’ll get married again?” Carolina said, lifting her hat off her face and squinting at me.

I kept my eyes closed. “Maybe, if I wasn’t part of the outfit. I doubt anyone would want to marry me.”

“Honey, you’re gorgeous. Why wouldn’t they?”

Oh, sweet, naive Carolina.

“I’m a widow. Even though a lot of the made men don’t abide by their religion, they still want virginal wives. They like being the first person to break the seal and that ship has sailed for me. I’m not the kind of woman any of them would want for a wife.”

“Oh, goodness,” she said slowly. “Do you think you could find a man who wasn’t part of the outfit?”

I laughed humorlessly. “As if I’d be allowed. Anyway, I’m perfectly content being single right now. If it weren’t for some of the…overbearing men around here, I’d have it made.”

She pursed her lips, clearly thinking hard. “So even though you’re not married and you don’t really have a family, you’re not allowed to do what you like?”

“Federico is my financial guardian,” I sighed.

“One that you’re clearly ignoring.”

We both jumped and I turned, dragging my eyes up a lean frame in dress pants and a white button-up. Federico looked down at me, one brow lifted, his hands in his pockets. His sharp mouth pressed into a thin line and he held out his hand, beckoning for me to stand.

My stomach twisted, but I stood. Carolina started to get up, but Federico pointed at her chair and she sank back down. Her face was pale and her eyes round.

---