Page 33 of Of Murder and Matrimony

By the time I reached the last bush at the opposite end of the patio, I was wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist. I removed my gloves and tossed them on top of the clippings along with the pruning shears, setting the bucket to the side. The summer sun beat down from above, and my shirt stuck to my back.

“You can leave that there,” Diego called out when I picked the bucket up, looking for a better place to put it. “Somebody will take care of it.”

I nodded and worked my thumbs into the small of my back, stretching to relieve the soreness there. It had been a while since I’d done any work outdoors. My eyes wandered over to the pool. The cool water would feel amazing on my heated skin.

I strode down the path and pulled the gate open, only realizing Diego had followed when the gate didn’t clang closed behind me. He stood there, looking uncertain.

“You don’t have to watch me swim.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m not sure I should leave you alone.”

“It would be more inappropriate if you stayed, I’m sure.” I motioned to my sweat-dampened clothing. “I don’t have a swimsuit, so I’ll be stripping down to my bra and panties. Somehow, I don’t think Dante would appreciate you looking.”

Dante could go fuck himself for not letting me bring my things to Chicago.

He grunted and wrinkled his nose, glancing down at his phone. “Fine. I’ll let the others know to keep clear of the pool for an hour.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said gratefully. Diego tipped an invisible hat at me and exited through the gate, leaving me in sunny silence.

I wasted no time hurrying toward the little changing area. It had been updated since I was a child and resembled a mini spa with wood and linen accents. The skylights in the ceiling provided plenty of light, though rows of twinkle lights illuminated the changing rooms. I kicked my sandals off and stripped out of my clothes, leaving just the lacy lilac lingerie set that matched my shirt. It would have to do.

Wanting to feel clean again, I took a quick rinse in the shower before heading back out to the pool deck and dipping my toes in the shallow end. There was no diving in what I was wearing. I descended the steps and sunk into the water, leaving just my head out as I did a modified breaststroke across the length.

The water cooled my heated flesh, and the weightlessness soothed my sore muscles. I swam laps until my arms tired, then ducked below the pool’s surface, closing my eyes and holding my arms out in front of me while I propelled myself to the other side with my legs.

I let myself lose all sense of time and space, the sound of rushing water filling my ears. Thoughts of reality slowly trickled from my mind, leaving me calmer than I had been in nearly a month. Longer, if I were honest with myself. Even a small-town doctor carried weight on her shoulders.

My lungs burned as I swam the last few yards before touching the side at the shallow end, bursting through the surface to draw a deep breath. I pushed my hair from my face and wiped the water from my eyes, only to see my reflection in finely polished black Italian leather shoes.

I blinked, my face heating with anger at his nerve. A scathing retort sat on the tip of my tongue as I looked up—into Ettore Neretti’s dark, glacial eyes.

My jaw dropped, and the words were lost in my shock. I quickly hunkered down below the waterline, nearly hugging the pool wall to conceal the lilac lingerie I wore.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ettore loomed over me, judgment dripping from his gaze. It was strange how similar he looked to Dante, yet so different. Dante made me distrust my own feelings and actions. Ettore made me distrust him.

I felt my mouth gaping, opening and closing like a fish flopping on the shore, but the words wouldn’t form. My heart raced, and my hands went clammy as I wrapped them around my arms, trying to hide my exposed body.

“How dare you flaunt yourself like this for all the men to see?” Ettore’s lip curled in disgust. “Insolent brat. You’re disrespecting my family.”

I gulped, forcing the lump of combined mortification and shame down and finally finding the words to squeak, “I didn’t mean anything by it. Dante didn’t give me anything appropriate to wear.”

“That’s not my concern. Your respectability is. Now get out,” he snapped. Like the lash of a wet towel, his words stung.

Ettore Neretti was terrifying on a good day, but when the force of his anger was directed at me, I wanted to shrivel up and wash down the pool drain. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, half panic and half desperation. He held a towel out, but I hesitated.

Wrong move.

He glared at me and growled low in his chest. “Now.”

That did it. I snapped into action, paddling to the stairs and climbing out of the water. I held my hand out for the towel, but Ettore didn’t hand it to me.

“Come here.” He spread the terrycloth wide between his outstretched hands.

I shivered, but it wasn’t from the cool breeze against my damp skin. I forced my feet forward, but Ettore didn’t hand me the towel. His eyes bore into me, silently demanding I move closer. So, I did.

His hot breath wafted over my cheek when I finally moved near enough that only a few inches separated our bodies. He smelled of whiskey, cigars, and cloying cologne. We were never allowed to enter his office as children, but I remembered that same smell lingered in the hall outside that ominous closed door.

Finally, he wrapped the towel around my shivering body. His smile was taunting, like he could sense my fear.

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