Page 10 of Saint Of Envy (Tangled Hearts, Sinful Hands #2)

VALENTINA

I t’s almost hard to go back to a day alone in the hotel suite after spending such an enjoyable night out in the city with Luc. It appeased a bit of my desire to get out, but now it feels anticlimactic to spend the day inside the suite when I would rather be out doing anything.

Luc and I struck a happy medium, a negotiation of sorts.

I agreed to give things a bit more time to blow over as long as he agreed to keep taking me out so that I don’t go stir-crazy in the meantime.

It seemed like a fair deal to strike. And honestly, the way he protects me has increased and intensified because of my pregnancy makes me feel surprisingly good instead of stifled.

With Luc, it feels more like we are partners, each looking out for the other.

He’s trying to keep me physically safe, while I’m trying to help him embrace his more vulnerable, empathetic side, an emotional openness that comes from building a true, intimate connection.

I think we might save each other by embracing the flaws we thought we had.

Instead of envy, Luc now has love to fill his life.

And instead of being controlled, I now feel worshipped.

We solidified our once forbidden connection into something unbreakable—a genuine connection transcending physical longing, forging a nearly unbreakable emotional bond between us.

I’m lost in thought all morning about Luc and our unborn child as I stare out the window and let all sorts of fantasies play out in my head. I almost don’t even notice when someone comes in.

“Valentina? Miss?” Maria’s voice interrupts my daydreaming.

I turn to see her standing there in her maid uniform with a cleaning bucket in one hand and a vacuum in the other.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Oh no, not at all,” I say as I get up to greet her. I’m actually grateful to the company and happy to see her again. When she brought me my dress yesterday, she didn’t linger. But now that she’s here to clean the hotel suite, that means she’ll stay and chat for a while.

Aside from talking with Isla on the phone a few times, during which she’s done her best to act like a sister to me and offer me advice and solidarity from afar, I haven’t really had another female friend to talk with.

“Did you have a nice evening last night?” She asks as she wipes down the counters. “Your dress was lovely.”

“Yes, I did, thank you,” I smile as I watch her subtly graceful movements while she cleans.

“And did you get the answer you were hoping for?”

For a second, I’m not sure what she’s referring to. But then I remember the pregnancy test, and that she left before I found out the results.

“Well, it was an unexpected answer,” I laugh a little. “But I think that being pregnant has turned out to be a good thing.”

“Oh, congratulations!” she beams, genuinely seeming excited for my news. “I was wondering last night if perhaps that was what you and Mr. Moretti were celebrating. I didn’t say anything to him because I promised you I would keep it a secret.”

“Yes, well, he knows now, and he’s happy about it as well,” I say. “Thank you for all of your help.”

Maria nods and goes back to focusing on her work, and I go back to my daydreaming since she has work to do and I don’t want to distract her or take up more of her time.

Just before she’s finished, there’s a knock at the door.

Since Luc isn’t here, I hesitate to open it.

Call it an old habit, but a knock at the door still sends a sense of foreboding down my spine.

When I lived at Leonardo’s estate, it meant that he had returned.

If it wereLuc at the door, he certainly wouldn’t be knocking.

But I suppose Leonardo wouldn’t likely be knocking either.

While I’m still deliberating whether to answer it, Maria reaches for the doorknob and opens it.

“Someone delivered this downstairs for Ms. Ricci,” the man at the door says as he hands her a small package. “Gabriel asked me to deliver it.”

Maria takes the little box and then closes and locks the door. She pauses for a moment to look at the package as if reading who it’s addressed to. Then she turns and hands it to me.

“It has a seal on the front,” she says. “Looks like a big, ornate letter C.”

Dread fills my stomach. I would recognize that seal anywhere—the “C” stands for Conti. It’s Leonardo’s family seal.

I take the package and stare at it. Someone wrote my name on the front, just below the seal.

Whatever he’s sent me is irrelevant—the bigger issue is that he knows exactly where I am in order to have it delivered to me.

Luc was right—it was only a matter of time before Leonardo made some sort of move.

True to his style, it might be some sort of elaborate bribe, an over-the-top token that mimics generosity only to lure me back to him.

But then again, Leonardo knows I wouldn’t fall for such shallow tactics.

“I will give you your privacy,” Maria says as she quickly collects her cleaning supplies to leave.

I don’t actually want to be alone with this box, but it’s not as if having the maid here is going to help me deal with this unwanted “gift”.

Once Maria has walked out, I take the little box to the couch and sit down.

Carefully, I open it and find a pretty jeweled necklace sitting inside.

At first, it seems like nothing more than what I had initially expected it to be—an unwelcome, shallow bribe to get me to return.

As if having more money than Luc was going to tempt me to run back into his arms. I’m surprised that this is the best he could do, especially when he still has my father’s debt to leverage. But then, I see something else.

In the box's corner, peeking out from beneath the red velvet inlay that the necklace is resting against, I see the edge of a white note. When I open it, I instantly recognize Leonardo’s handwriting.

It’s rare that he would write anything by hand himself.

Usually, he had someone else do it for him while he dictated whatever information he wanted relayed.

The only time he ever handwrote anything was when it was a personal threat.

An unborn bastard child, eh? Are you so sure that it’s Luciano’s? Don’t forget about the drunken night that we had together, Valentina. That child could be mine.

—Leonardo

I instantly feel sick to my stomach. Crumpling the note in my hand, I stuff it back into the box. I throw the box into the trash can as if merely holding it in my hand is unbearable.

Leonardo’s threat is just that—a threat, nothing more.

I can barely remember the one night he and I were together.

My drunkenness caused me to nearly pass out, and it happened only once.

I’m convinced he spiked my drink, as I would never have consciously agreed to have sex with him.

Another clue is I distinctly remember only having two glasses of wine that night and then suddenly feeling more drunk than I have ever been in my life.

I remember he took me to bed in a quick, emotionless act that wound up leaving me with nothing more than regret and a throbbing headache in the morning.

But now, after reading that note, I questioned whose baby I may be carrying in my womb.

I pull up the calendar on my phone and count back the days.

My foggy recollection of that night makes it less than clear when exactly it was that I slept with Leonardo.

I suppose it could technically be possible that the baby could be his too, but it’s far less likely.

Besides, my gut tells me that the baby is Luc’s and that this is just a sick game Leonardo is playing. The baby has to be Luc’s.