Page 9

C ontessa

I’m now sitting on the floor of a guest bedroom in Cristiano’s house reading a bunch of police reports and trying not to throw up all over the pristine white carpet.

When I returned to Trilby, having left the two vodkas on the kitchen counter, unmixed, she took one look at my blood-drained face and steered me in the direction of a guest room in the east wing of the house. She told me to get some rest and we’d have breakfast together in the morning. She didn’t ask what had caused my sudden decline; I assume she thought I’d run into “Benny” again and decided I’d had enough of him for one night.

She would not have been wrong.

I’m still reeling over the fact he’s going to be permanently based in the office above my dance studio, supposedly “keeping an eye” on me. And to make matters worse, I really don’t like having the impression he too doesn’t seem very happy about it. Has someone forced him to be some sort of bodyguard? Could it be Cristiano? Or Papa?

I’m determined to find out, as soon as I’ve recovered from the trauma of reading these frankly grotesque police reports.

My stalker’s name was Ronnie J. Smythe and he was a three-time-convicted felon. He was older than he looked—thirty-nine—and he’d spent in total twelve years in jail for crimes ranging from drug abuse, to sexual assault, to attempted abduction. It was clear from the reports he wasn’t a reformed character; he was dangerous. And I let him follow me without breathing a word about it for three years .

I look down and realize I’m pressing a curled fist against my heart. I’ll never know how close I came to being hurt, but I do know in my gut it was imminent. If Bernadi hadn’t killed him when he had…

My gaze is drawn to the window. The full moon illuminates one half of the guestroom and the lawns outside. I’m reminded of when I stood opposite Bernadi in the kitchen only an hour ago and the feelings colliding in my chest are confused. I hate him, so I have to assume it’s possible to hate someone yet still feel grateful to them.

And maybe it’s not unusual to shiver beneath a heated gaze.

My vision softens and I rub my eyes. Dragging my heavy limbs into the enormous bed, I pull the comforter up to my ears. And when Bernadi’s burning gaze as he coasts it up my thighs enters my head, I’m too tired to bat it away, so I don’t. I let it linger until sleep consumes me.

I tiptoe past Trilby and Cristiano’s bedroom as quietly as I can. It was a well-kept secret in our family that Trilby hadn’t slept a full night ever since Mama was killed. This is only the second time I’ve stayed at this house, and both times it seems, Trilby is out for the count. Still, I don’t want to risk it. I tiptoe so I don’t wake her—she deserves all the sleep she now gets.

I clutch a towel around me with one hand and grip the handrail with the other and make my way quietly downstairs to the pool. It’s not even seven a.m. so the terrace is deserted. There’s some bustling coming from the direction of the kitchen but I expect Cristiano’s housekeeper is up and about.

I reach a lounger and let my towel fall onto it, then I sit by the edge of the pool and lower my feet. Warmth crawls up my calves and I let out a relieved sigh. It’s too early for the sun to have warmed the water so the pool must be heated.

I close my eyes and slip beneath the surface, letting weightlessness wrap around me. When my toes touch the floor I push off and swim underwater to the far end of the pool. I come up for air and push the wet strands from my face.

God, this is nice .

I’d say it’s worth the risk of running into Bernadi last night just to get a few lengths in his boss’s pool.

I dive under again and swim a couple of lengths back and forth. After punishing my limbs for weeks to perfect my current dance routine, my body is relishing the way the water supports it and pushes me along.

I pop up again in the same place I’d slipped into the water and take a few moments to look around. It’s so quiet and peaceful I can almost hear the waves a few miles away.

But I can’t fully relax. Just like the moments after I lost my virginity to Federico, I feel tight everywhere, and even the water isn’t helping me fully unwind. I need to feel free —unhindered and uninhibited. Since that first time I swam naked, having felt how freeing it is, I do it quite often. Sometimes, nothing else can unwind me better than feeling the cool water against every part of me.

It’s a Sunday so I’m pretty certain no one will be awake, let alone out on the terrace, until at least eight, and even that time is for regular churchgoers, which I suspect Cristiano isn’t .

With adrenaline thumping through my veins, I peel off the top of my two-piece bathing suit and drop it onto the edge of the pool. Then I roll the bottoms down my legs until I’m completely naked. The release is instant. My breaths loosen and a long sigh escapes my lips. I drop my head back onto the edge and let my legs float up to the surface.

This is exactly what I needed. Now, I feel like I’m back in control. Reading those reports made me feel like I can’t trust myself—that I’m not capable of being the independent woman I so want to be. But now, as my whole self, embraced by the water, I know I wasn’t to blame. Smythe was the crazy one, not me.

After a few minutes I duck down again and swim a few more lengths, loving the way the water hugs and glides along every inch of me. My long black hair swishes over the arc of my bottom with each stroke, sailing along behind me like a sheet.

When I pop up at the other end I arch my back and let the sun warm my face. Then the sound of metal on metal makes me jump half out of the water. Droplets spray around me as I spin my head to the right, then my cheeks burn .

Benito Bernadi is sitting on the edge of a lounger about fifteen feet away with a gun in one hand and a cloth in the other. I grip the side of the pool and hold my breath. There’s no way he couldn’t have seen me and I feel hollow with embarrassment.

I silently watch him as he turns the gun this way and that, using the cloth to polish it. His dark hair gleams beneath the early morning rays and the inked muscles in his forearms move like a ballet with each twist and turn.

He doesn’t look up once. It’s as if I’m not even there.

And something about that irritates me .

I continue to watch as he lovingly polishes the metal. I watch his large, thick hands twist it about. He takes off a part and places it gently on the lounger beside him, then inspects the cavity in the pistol. After more twisting and polishing, he replaces the part. It makes a click sound that fills the terrace.

On the few occasions I’ve recalled Bernadi’s form, I’ve viewed him as a brute. Yet there’s something about the way he handles the gun—with such gentleness and care—I almost yearn for someone to touch me in that way.

My breaths are ragged and deepening to the point my chest lifts out of the water with each one. My glare is hot and prickly.

I hate him, I remind myself.

I hate him.

So why am I treading water and willing him to turn his gaze in my direction?

Minutes pass slowly.

My fists clench at my sides. Well, that’s just about ruined my morning dip.

Pissed, I duck beneath the water and swim to the steps at the opposite end of the pool, then I reach out and grip the handrails. Pulling myself up, slowly, I place a foot on one step. Then I shake my hair down my back. Despite its length, it doesn’t cover my naked bottom. Water runs down my upper thighs, droplets roll down my back. Another step. My entire body is on display and I don’t care that if Bernadi looked up from his spot on the lounger, he would see all of me .

I want him to see it.

Want him to see what I gave away to someone else, because of him .

I saunter slowly to where I left my towel. A small puddle forms at my feet as I take my time bending to lift it, then leisurely wrap it round my body. Only when I’ve secured the towel in a knot above my breasts do I dart my gaze to the figure at the other end of the terrace.

He’s still staring at the piece of metal in his hand. He hasn’t moved. His body is still angled slightly away, just as it was five minutes ago. My lips tighten over my teeth and I turn sharply and walk back to the house.