Celeste;
Gentlemanly of him, he sleeps on the Chesterfield sofa through the entire night—after we've munched on the snacks for dinner, though.
While I take his gigantic mass of a bed. Dark sheets, warm pillows, and soft bedding.
It's the crack of dawn, and I swear I haven't shut my eyes for the past six hours, trying to get a leeway to do what I orchestrated all of these for.
I'd pulled that fresh-out-of-the-bath stunt just so he'll find me alluring and difficult to deny.
Not that I want him to touch me…yikes.
Fortunately, I haven't yet found myself in any situation where I'd have to resort to that.
Yet, at the idea of someone possibly touching me, I don't know why a different set of forest-green eyes appears in my mind—sharp, steel-like jawline, bulky, muscled frame, and a raspy voice that feels like sin's rough caress on skin.
My breath hitches, clogging in my chest.
I need to achieve what I'm here for so I can leave this house before my brain fully gets infested with those sick thoughts.
Right.
Tilting my neck, Romano is still sprawled uncomfortably, long legs hanging off the rolled arm.
He's in simple dark pyjama shirt and pants, yet he looks so delectable in them.
'Focus, Poppy.'
Seeing that he's still fast asleep—I hope—I lift the comforter off myself, casting it to the side. My line of sight catches on his bedside table, the drawers thankfully lacking a lock.
Casting a glance at his form, I sit up, my legs touching the floor, and then I slowly start with the first one.
To my dismay, nothing of importance. Merely papers and documents depicting an agreement about a downtown casino and pub area.
Infuriation chafes at me.
Carefully pushing it back, I move to the other one, my pulse ticking in my ears, pounding and shooting with shockwaves.
Hovering over the second opened drawer, a reluctant pause snips my movement. A tight ball of apprehension lodges itself in my throat.
I can't believe my eyes.
Terror locks my chest, licking down my skin as my heart hollows.
A tremor travels down my spine as I lock gaze with a picture—an old, slightly faded photograph, its edges worn and corners softly curled with time.
One that I recognize too much to have my lungs burning.
My fingers spasm as I reach for it, moisture clinging and making my eyes heavy.
Familiar eyes bore into mine from the image.
I shiver.
The last time I'd seen those eyes…they had no trace of life in them.
With blood trailing down between them.
A fiery burn stings my chest, the air turning dense and rigid, agony clawing through me like it's tearing flesh.
"Is it me, or are you snooping through my stuff, Celeste?"
His groggy, lethargy-laced voice spears through the melancholy in the air.
My shoulders tense, tightening by the second.
The rough squish of leather against his body echoes as he shifts to sit.
My back still to him, dread fills my stomach in place of breakfast, my brain scrambling for an expensive lie to bail myself out of this situation.
Swallowing past the lump clogging my windpipe, I relax my bunched fists knuckling the sheets. "It's not you."
Offering the old, chipped photograph one last lingering look, I brush the salty moisture from my eyes before turning to face him.
"I was indeed snooping around."
What better excuse than the truth?
Romano's sharp dark brows flick, a stretch of silence following—perhaps him giving me a chance to explain.
"I truthfully thought I'd find something useful in there, you know?" I huff out a warm breath.
He looks at me like he doesn't know.
And I laugh, making his expression loosen a fraction.
"I mean useful…to give me more information about you…" my lips catch between my teeth, "my husband-to-be."
Doubtful lines crease his forehead, just beneath the haphazard curls framing it.
"If you want to know anything about me, you could have simply asked, Piccola mia." His expression is easygoing. But I'd be a fool to fall for it.
"My bad," I nod, as if I understand.
"Why, though?" he presses, his right leg stretching out as he leans back.
"Our marriage is in two days? God forbid a girl wants to find out more about her arranged marriage fiancé without him knowing." I slot that in without hesitation.
A ghost of a smile kisses his morning face.
Leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees, Romano inquires, "So what is it you want to know about me?"
My pulse drums wildly as my gaze uncontrollably skitters back to the contents spread in the still-open drawer.
A hot burn builds in my throat as I force the words out. "Who are these people?"
I try so goddamned hard to rein in the break in my voice.
I show him the picture with lightly trembling hands. I don't know if he notices.
Romano's gaze narrows as he studies it, then relaxes with a sigh. "They worked for my Father in the past."
"Oh—"
"They are all dead now," he says flatly.
A sharp pain slices through me, as though I'm being cut open by his words.
"Why?" I mutter, breath uneven.
Romano's gaze narrows. His tongue darts out, swiping along his lower lip.
"They committed a huge crime," he replies, as if that's all he'll allow himself to give.
"Can I—"
"No. You can't." He smiles, like he hasn't just shut me down.
"Okay." Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I try to tamp down the horror pooling in my gut.
"If they are dead, why do you still have this photo?" Threading cautiously, I pose the question.
A masculine rumble echoes deep in his chest. "You're a curious little thing, aren't you?"
Averting my gaze, I nibble on my lip, heat creeping up my neck as fear sends my heart slamming against my sternum.
Feeling his chilling, lingering attention on me, I bristle when the deep timbre of his voice cuts through the silence. "There were loose ends. Stones left unturned."
Realization crashes over me like waves against jagged rock.
The loose end he's talking about…could it be—?
I stare at my father's eyes—so strikingly similar to mine—terror knotting tight in my spine.