Page 73 of The Counterfeit Lover

He knew about her home situation, of course. The fact that her father had died when she'd been but five and her mother had run away from home when she'd been even younger. She'd been taken in by Valentino, her older brother, and his wife, Romina. But even that had run afoul when Romina had been murdered and Valentino had dedicated himself to finding her killer.

His pet had soon been forgotten, abandoned to whatever servant was about to care for her. It was no wonder no one had detected her dyslexia, or helped her overcome it.

Yet in all the time he'd known her, even in the beginning when they'd been nothing but friends, she had never complained.

She never spoke ill of her family, never held a grudge against them.

And it would have been so easy to do so. After all, those who were supposed to protect and care for her had simply…forgotten about her.

Michele's lips flattened into a thin line as his mind went in that direction. Somehow the thought of his pet alone—lonely—struck a chord in him.

He didn't like the fact that everyone in her life had simply abandoned her.

And more than anything, he didn't like it that he, himself, was part of that category.

Because he'd done that, too, hadn't he?

He'd used her and thrown her away.

It was for revenge.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Yes, it had been for revenge. Andmaybehe'd made a few miscalculations when it came to her, but it was why he was here at the moment. He was rectifying that.

He begrudgingly admitted that in his quest for revenge he'd been rather…rigid in his thinking. From the beginning he'd had a plan and he'd followed it to a t. The fact that the situation had evolved in such a manner that he could achieve his revengeandkeep her had been just as surprising for him.

But that was the beauty of it. Now he didn't have to deny himself his pet. And he wouldn't abandon her again for as long as she was his, she'd be only his and forever his—as long as his interest lasted, of course.

He wagered that as soon as she stopped mattering—as soon as she stopped fucking haunting his mind—he wouldn't feel bad about seeing her so small and alone.

She would become like any other in his life—transient.

Yes, indeed, he nodded to himself. That was just the problem. At the moment he felt bad for her because she was still part of his world, part of his mind and part of what made him function properly.

As soon as he exorcised her from his life—for good—she wouldn't matter anymore.

Pleased with his reasoning, Michele continued to look around, his hand brushing over a curious piece of paper. Withdrawing it from the bottom of the stack, he blinked twice as he perused it.

It couldn't be…could it?

He could recognize his own drawing anywhere, just as he could his handwriting.

From Michele to Venezia, the prettiest pink princess.

Suddenly, a long forgotten memory poked the surface as he saw himself as he'd been before—when he'd still had a soul. And then he saw her too—the little pitiful girl she'd been.

* * *

"What are you doing?"a small voice asked, barely penetrating his ironclad focus.

He blinked, the tip of his pencil stopping in place as he lowered his notepad to look in front of him. A child of about five stood in front of him, studying him with curious eyes.

The first thing he noticed about her was the rich mane of auburn hair framing her porcelain skin stained with bits of mud. Her hair was streaked with dirt as well. And as he looked lower, he realized her clothes were dirty, too, the black dress she was wearing completely soiled.

She was a pretty child, her face resembling that of a doll. But she was averydirty child.

"I'm drawing," he answered in a soft voice, especially as she turned her big eyes towards him and regaled him with a wide smile.

"Can I see?" she squeaked, coming closer.

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