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Why haven’t I heard anything?

A laugh comes almost immediately as an answer.

My teeth press into the inside of my lip. She’s laughing?

Why?

I move back to the door. I lean in and rest my ear against the wood, heart tapping steady beneath my ribs. I press my palm against the door for balance, leaning just closer, trying to catch—

The latch slips and the door opens. I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the frame before I can fall face-first into the room.

They're standing there.

She’s by his side, hip cocked slightly, one hand smoothing the edge of her red dress. Her boots gleam up the length of her calves.

Vieri stands just beside her.

“You have good taste,” she says, looking at me. Then she leans into him, voice lower. “When you’re tired of her, I’ll be one call away.”

She walks past and her perfume follows.

His fingers wrap gently around my wrist before I can turn. He pulls me into his study and the door shuts behind us. My hand lifts on its own, brushing a curl off my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. The skin along my neck feels too warm. I smooth the shirt at my waist, then immediately wish I hadn’t—it only draws attention to how oversized it is.

I notice in relief that his shirt is buttoned now. That’s a good thing, right?

His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls me towards his oak desk. One hand presses lightly against the small of my back. The other grazes the curve of my thigh.

Then I’m lifted. He places me on the edge of the desk. The surface is cool beneath me. My legs dangle slightly, knees brushing against the side of his hips.

His body fills my view. His scent—warm, faintly spiced—floods in. I glance away.

“Why were you snooping?” he asks. My lips part, but I don’t bother lying.

His fingers brush my cheek, coaxing gently. He tilts my face back toward him, his thumb resting lightly beneath my chin.

“Were you worried?” he asks. “Jealous?”

The questions land softly, but they buzz under my skin.

“Ask me what I did with her.”

My hand comes up fast and swats his hand away from my lips.

“I don’t care,” I whisper.

His smile widens, amused. “Liar.”

His gaze drops to my hands. To the rosary looped tightly around my wrist.

He reaches gently, fingers closing around my forearm. His thumb brushes the beads once before he unfastens it. The chain slips through his fingers.

He turns to the drawer beside him. Opens it. Places the rosary inside.

The drawer shuts with a soft click.

When he turns back to me, his face is calm.

“I don’t like snoopers,” he says, voice smoother now. “Your snooping distracted me.”