Page 142 of Bitter Poetry

Out of self-preservation, I distanced myself from everyone, even my sister.

Which left me with Christian.

I’m still staring at my purse. Did he go through it?

I open it and check the contents: my makeup case, a couple of tampons… and my birth control prescription, still in a sealed paper bag. If he realized what it was, I’m sure he would have taken it for no reason than he’s an asshole and would enjoy forcing me to ask for it back.

Jessica gets it for me—she has since the start. I get regular health checks with Ettore’s doctors, but it’s not like I could ask them.

I’m not delusional about my liberation. This isn’t a noble cause. Dante made it clear that he owned me—even went so far as to use that word. Now is not the time to be getting pregnant.

I ought to rail against his blunt descent into autocratic declarations, but the fact is, Dante’s claim on me, whether real or perceived, is not the worst thing to happen to me. Honesty dictates I admit to welcoming it. Ettore is a monster, and no ordinary man will cut it in a battle with him. All this aside, I cannot deny the explosive spark between Dante and me. I couldn’t resist him even at the risk of getting pregnant. Far from injecting caution, the thought of carrying his child has the opposite effect.

Better to continue quietly taking these… which means I have to hide them.

I carry my purse back into the bedroom and look around. It’s his room, full of his things, and not even a drawer I might call my own. He almost certainly has someone come around and clean, which he may or may not curtail for however long I’m here. I need to put them somewhere easily accessible, whether he’s at home or not.

After thirty minutes of inspecting the apartment, I decided to remove the pill strips from the packaging and tape them to the inside of the face frame of the bathroom vanity. Then, I rip the packaging into tiny pieces and flush any incriminating parts down the toilet. The rest, which is indistinct, goes into the trash.

It takes longer than I intended. I double-check the tape is holding, but I’m tense and shaking by the time I head back into the lounge… just as the door opens, and a stunning woman enters from the foyer.

I have a vague impression she’s dressed casually in jeans, but most of my attention is on her long, deep red, and very glossy hair.

The door clicks shut behind her, snapping me out of the daze. I blink a few times. There are several large shopping bags in her arms and a piece of paper in her hand that she tucks into the pocket of her jeans.

She smiles brightly. “Hi, I’m Cherry.”

You definitely are.

Also, who the hell are you besides being Cherry? She’s certainly not his cleaner. Her smooth, educated voice is at odds with her appearance. A sickly sensation washes through me. Is this his girlfriend?

He can’t have a girlfriend.

“You have me at a disadvantage.” I search for the legacy of my mother’s famous poise, certain it’s failing me miserably.

She shakes her head and her brows pull together. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m not with Dante. At all. Ever. I’m just…” Her smile is rueful. “One of the dancers at his club.” She glances around, her expression turning glum. “I realize I’m a little older than typical for such a career path.”

My eyes widen—not at the older part because if she’s a day over twenty, I would be shocked… but at the whole package she just divulged.

She grimaces. “That didn’t come out great, did it? It was Leon who asked me to collect these things. I’ve never even spoken to Dante except that one time when he was—” She cuts off abruptly.

When he was what? “Leon Barone?” I’ve lost my brain somewhere between her entering and now.

“The very same.” She smiles—she really is stunning. “He mentioned you needed clothes and products. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, and you must have been through a lot. Are you doing okay?”

Am I? “I’m better than I was.”

“I can relate to that… Given Leon was offering up his credit card for me to abuse, I bought every product I could find. Hopefully, something in there is what you prefer.”

She hands over the bags, which I take with thanks. Dropping them down on the small coffee table, I open the first. On top is an enormous block of chocolate.

I sigh.

I smile.

She smiles back. “I figured go hard or go home when it comes to chocolate.”

“Thank you again.”