When She Loves: Chapter 7

My new food arrives quickly. It’s a vegetable curry over jasmine rice, and it’s so fucking good that I inhale it in minutes. I immediately feel better.

Now, if only I could get some wine.

There’s a bottle sitting on the table right in front of me, but the servers pointedly ignored my glass. If I had to guess, I’d say Rafaele told them to keep the booze away from me.

So what if I like to indulge on occasion? I’d like to see him living with Pietra and Stefano Garzolo for nineteen years without developing a vice.

I huff out an annoyed breath and glance around the table. Two ancient nonnas are giving me the evil eye from behind their plates of steak. If I was sitting any closer, they’d probably try to spit on me.

Does Rafaele really expect me to sit through the rest of this dinner sober? He’s drinking, so what gives? The air in this palatial ballroom is suffocating enough to clog my throat. It’s like I’m being tried for a crime I didn’t commit, and his relatives are my jury.

Fuck it.

I reach for the bottle, but Rafaele beats me to it, snatching it from under my fingertips.

Frustration prickles over my skin. “Oh, come on—”

He fills my glass and tops off his own.

“Drink,” he commands.

My brows arch up. What’s this? Has he decided to take pity on me? Or maybe he can tell I need something to take the edge off or I’ll explode.

I don’t care about the opinions of other people. Never have. But normally, I wouldn’t just sit here quietly, letting their judgmental gazes skewer through me. I’d cause a scene, embarrass my parents, find a way to be sent home.

Only now this is my home.

I drink the entire glass in three gulps and I swear I feel a light buzz right away. Some tension leaves my neck.

Rafaele pushes his chair back and stands. “Come with me.”

My gaze slides up his huge body. He must be at least six-two. “Where?”

He opens his hand, like he wants me to take it, and doesn’t answer. His entire family is watching us, their conversations quieting. I sigh and slide my hand into his. At this point, I’d rather be anywhere but here.

His hand, warm and rough, swallows up my own as he leads me out of the ballroom.

Touching him is not entirely unpleasant, which gives me pause. Whenever Ludovico got too close to me, I got the strong urge to hurl, something I communicated to him quite often. It kept him away from me for a while.

We turn down a wide hallway and walk toward the door at the end of it. Behind it, a narrow staircase leads downstairs. Rafaele flicks on a light and gestures for me to go first.

I swallow. This is starting to feel ominous. “Want to tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ll see.”

I narrow my eyes. “Any reasonable person would want to know why you’re taking them to a creepy dark basement.”

“They would, but we both know you’re not a member of that group,” he drawls.

Wow. “So you expect me to follow you around like some lapdog?”

He crosses his big arms over his chest. “I don’t like dogs.”

I scoff. “You don’t like dogs? Well, that explains a lot. Is it because you’re deathly allergic?”

His eyes spark. “Wouldn’t you just love that.”

“If you have any serious allergies, you should probably make me a list. I wouldn’t want to accidentally kill you, would I? That would be very unwifely of me.”

His cheek ticks. “You can either take the stairs on your own, or I can throw you over my shoulder and bring you down there myself. Your choice.”

“Jesus, I got it.” I brush past him. I should probably keep my mouth shut, but I’m brimming with nervous energy.

Getting down is a challenge due to the narrow skirt of my dress. The air gets colder and colder with each step I take.

The chill fills me with foreboding. Seriously, what the fuck is down here? I mean, he wouldn’t kill me the night before our wedding, right?

I finally reach the bottom landing and take a few steps into the darkness.

Rafaele flicks on another light, illuminating the space.

It’s a cigar room.

Four leather armchairs are arranged in a circle with a small coffee table in the center. Behind them is a large glass case filled with cigars.

Rafaele opens the case, touches something, and then closes it. A second later, the entire wall starts moving.

My eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

A passage opens. I’m so stunned that I follow Rafaele down it without another peep. The passage isn’t very long and we stop in front of an armored door with a biometric lock.

Now, I’m genuinely curious. What is this place? A panic room? We have one back at my parents’ place, but it’s not nearly as high tech. And why would he take me here?

Rafaele walks up to the lock and allows the sensor to scan his eye. I can hear the lock disengage. The door pops open, and Rafaele holds it, gesturing for me to go in. I take a tentative step inside.

Oh. Oh.

It’s a vault brimming with jewelry. Three full wall cabinets, four shelves each. On each shelf, jewels glitter. Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds—so many diamonds.

Some are loose, but most are set into diadems, necklaces, bracelets, earrings, brooches, and rings. Stunning. One shelf even has a row of extravagant watches bobbing on watch winders. I have to scrape my jaw off the floor.

Rafaele stops by my side. “My family’s hundred-year-old collection.”

I’m speechless. Rafaele could have told me this was the jewelry collection of some dead king and I would have believed him. It must be worth hundreds of millions. I knew the Messeros were richer than my family, but I never thought they were this rich.

I walk around the vault, taking it all in, and my shock only deepens. I might hate Rafaele, but this…

This, I like a lot.

I’m a sucker for pretty, expensive things. Jewelry has always been my weakness. I had my own small collection back home, but it’s a joke compared to this.

“Pick something to wear for the wedding tomorrow.”

I glance at Rafaele. He’s leaning against the wall, watching me with an intent gaze. I probably look shell-shocked. My heart pitter-patters in my chest.

“I can pick whatever I like?” My voice comes out as a breathless whisper.

“Yes.”

Is this a test? This must be a test. But what is he testing exactly? Am I supposed to act all modest?

I nibble on my lip, trying to read him, but he’s not giving anything away with that indifferent expression.

Bah. Screw it.

I don’t know what he’s expecting, but modesty isn’t in my DNA. I head straight toward the shelf with the biggest, most over-the-top pieces.

What to choose, what to choose… Everything is gorgeous. I eye a pretty brooch in the shape of a butterfly. It’s made with dozens of diamonds and some ruby accents on the wings. It would look nice in my hair.

Rafaele walks up to the case and points at the showstopper diamond necklace in the center of the shelf. “That was my grandmother’s. Magdalena Caruso. She wore it to her wedding.”

Magdalena Caruso… Is that the Signora Caruso that Sabina is obsessed with? The one she said was pure class? What will that miserable hag think if she sees those diamonds on my neck? The neck of a trashy whore?

Oh, she’ll hate it. She’ll hate it so much.

“It’s perfect,” I breathe.

I’m half expecting Rafaele to refuse me, to say I’m not worthy of a piece this grand, but he simply nods, opens the case, and carefully lifts the necklace.

He turns to me, an expectant look on his face.

“What?”

“Turn around so I can put it on you. Don’t you want to see how it looks?”

“Oh. Right.”

I give him my back, and a moment later, the cold gems land on my upper chest. Rafaele’s fingertips brush against my nape as he secures the latch.

“There,” he murmurs. Big hands wrap around my shoulders, spilling heat over my skin.

He steers me to stand in front of a mirror before letting his hands drop away, and some illogical part of me misses the warmth.

Relax. It’s just because it’s cold as fuck down here.

I look at my reflection and a gasp falls out of my mouth. The necklace is stunning and…outrageous. Forget Signora Caruso—this is a piece that could be worn by actual royalty. It’s definitely going to make a statement tomorrow.

The fact that Rafaele is on board with this… I meet his gaze in the mirror. Maybe it’s a statement he needs to make to his family too. It’s clear they’re pissed about this marriage, about me being brought into the Messero fold. Is this a way for him to say “fuck you” to all of them for questioning his judgment?

Probably. I guess I’m helping his cause but given the treatment I’ve received tonight from his relatives, I’m happy to do it.

I walk back to where the necklace was and point at the matching earrings. “Those too.”

He takes them out and hands them to me.

“And the bracelets,” I say as I put the earrings into my ears. When I’m done, Rafaele slides the bangles onto my wrists, three on each.

This is a lot, but that butterfly brooch…so dang pretty. It really would look nice pinned in my hair. Would I be pushing it if I asked for that one too?

I shoot Rafaele a cautious glance. “And this one.”

Mild amusement passes over his features. “Why not just ask for the whole shelf?”

I scoff. “Are you crazy? I’m going for subtle.”

His lips twitch. He reaches inside the glass case and gets the brooch. “Where is this one going to go?”

“My hair. I’ll put it there tomorrow.” I slide the brooch into the small matching purse that came with the dress.

His gaze brushes over the bun on my head, and his lips tighten like he’s displeased. “Wear it down.”

“Sure, whatever,” I mutter as I move back to the mirror. I want to see how I look now that I’ve got everything on.

Oh my God. A laugh bubbles out of me. I’m practically a disco ball with how much light I’m reflecting and the effect is only going to be amplified with all the natural light in the church. “It’s perfect.”

Rafaele comes up behind me, stopping close enough for me to feel his presence against my back. My skin tingles with awareness that narrows to a point when he raises his hand and lightly presses a knuckle to my nape. My breath hitches. He drags his knuckle down the length of my spine and I have to consciously suppress a shiver. I swallow, forgetting about the jewels.

Forgetting about everything as I register how he’s looking at me.

There’s a dark possessiveness in his gaze that chills me all the way through to the bone.

His eyes rise to meet mine in the mirror.

“I agree,” he says in a low voice. “Perfect.”

And that’s when the spell lifts, and I remember exactly what I am to him. A thing to own, just like these jewels. A butterfly he’s got locked in a glass cage.

And tomorrow, he’ll break my wings.