Page 36 of Intrigue
Cassian’s voice pulls me back. His brow is furrowed, concern tightening his features. I force myself to nod, to breathe.
But I don’t know if I still can. I set the glass down carefully, afraid of shattering it. “Cassian…”
He forces a smile, brushing a kiss against my forehead before pulling back. “Hey, we should forget about all of this. We have the dress fitting soon. I booked the appointment.”
I hesitate. “Right.”
“I was going to surprise you, but—” he scratches his jaw, his voice light, almost like he’s teasing, “I can’t afford to fly my parents in for the wedding.”
I snap my head up. “What?”
He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “They wanted to come, but I’d rather put that money toward getting you the dress you deserve.”
A pit opens in my stomach. He doesn’t say it, but I know what it means. He’s sacrificing for me.
And I know what I have to do.
My hands curl into fists. I hate it. Hate that I already made my choice before I walked into this kitchen. Hate that I knew it the second I walked into Sandro’s office last night, as he told me exactly how he would break me. How I would break Cassian. Hate that it’s working.
“I need to go out for a bit with Gia. Don’t wait up,” I say quietly.
Cassian nods understandingly, without questioning why I'm suddenly meeting my old friend Gia, especially after I’d previously told him of our falling out before I left Florence. He's always been like that—never pressing when unsure. And not I’m certains he is assuming that Gia and I have reconciled. His concern is always for my happiness, evident in every thoughtful gesture. It hurts, knowing he cares when he shouldn't. It breaks my heart in ways I can barely comprehend.
I turn before he can see the truth on my face.
***
Sandro’s penthouse is exactly how I remember it. Too much. Too clean. Too perfectly curated to look effortless.
I step inside, pulse thudding in my throat. I hate that I’m here. I hate that I came anyway.
“Selene?”
“Hello, Sandro.”
His eyes narrow. “How did you get past my passcode?”
I give a small, knowing smile. “Like I’d ever forget your birthday. Even if you pretend it doesn’t matter, it’s stuck in my memory.”
I watch with bated breath as a shadowy figure rises from the darkness. He’s tall but delightfully so and when he straightens, I feel my toes curl. He steps forward, one hand held at a reasonable distance away from his face and the other kept suspiciously close to his side. I take him all in at once. The white T shirt stretches evenly against his very muscular chest, looking like he never takes it off. It’s clean so it’s not really about that. It’s in how it fits him so well, how it seems to have been made just for him. He pairs this with jeans that hang low on his waist, clinging to his hips like a fucking invitation. Tonight, in the cool stillness of his house, he looks impossibly delicious—dangerous, edible, a predator I want to sink my teeth into and let devour me whole.
“How are you here right now?” he asks. His tone is casual and calm and even though there’s still a tinge of surprise in them, he sounds more curious, frighteningly so, like he’s already calculating how to pin me down and take me.
I shrug off my jacket, letting it slide off slowly, a tease I know he’ll catch, and toss it on his couch. “What? You didn’t think you were the only one capable of breaking into a house, did you?”
“Ah.” He rakes a hand through his hair as he regards me carefully, eyes glinting with something dark and hungry. “You should be thankful I didn’t shoot you on sight. Most people usually avoid breaking into my place.”
“They’re not me.”
“I see.” That’s the only thing he says before stopping in front of me. I have to strain my neck to catch the look in his eyes. He’s impressed. That’s the look he gives me even as he tries to hideit by curving his mouth to a frown—a shitty mask for the lust pooling in his eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re here to check out the architecture, so what are you doing here?”
I spread my arms out, letting him drink me in. “Well, what do you think?”
I don’t know if I’m dressed inappropriately for the occasion. Sandro has shown, every single time, that he wants me back in his bed, that he craves me there, sprawled out, helpless under him. He leverages the power he has over me and has me falling at his knees every single time, a puppet to his twisted game. The sex had been a brute result of that power, but today, at home, I decided I needed to get that power back, to make my own choices and decisions without having to follow him like some lost dog. Tonight is about taking the power—ripping it from his hands and making him beg for once.
I’m dressed in a tight wrap dress, the color of which I hope brings out my eyes well enough, screamingfuck mein every shade. I’d taken extra time on my hair to make it softer and cool and now it sits framing my face and neck, brushing my skin like a whispered promise. The dress is low cut so my tits spill out just enough to make him twitch, but Sandro doesn’t quite acknowledge this. Instead, he gives me a long look, one infused with a kind of indifference that’s staggering, a lie so blatant it’s almost cruel.
“You’re here for a reason,” he murmurs. “Speak.”