Page 100 of Wounded King

I'm still clinging to his arms. "Ditto."

His eyes open, and his smile disappears. "We need to talk. These clothes should tide you over for a few days. Make a list of anything else you'll need, and I'll send Alejandro to fetch it for you."

"My underwear?" It was meant to be a tease, but his face darkens to such a degree I worry he might kill the poor man if he happened to step in here. He takes a deep inhale and regains his composure. "I'll take you shopping later, okay?"

He looks so pained that a small giggle escapes me. "I'm sorry to be such a hardship on you."

"Never," he leans his forehead against mine.

"There should be some underwear in one of these bags," he says, pointing my attention back to the bags, one of which Felix has made into a little nest. I hope it's not the one with the underwear. It's not. I get lucky and find several sets in another bag. I choose a white, lacy bra and a pair of panties, reminding me of the set I wore on our first night. Only this one probably has another zero or two added to the total sales price. "Can I take a quick shower?"

He nods. "I'll join you."

My belly flutters at the thought. "Do you think we'll get any talking done that way?"

Resigned, he shakes his head. "Probably not. Go on then. I'll use one of the guest rooms' showers."

"I can?—"

He shakes his head, "This is your place now."

My place?

My eyes move down to the ring he put on my finger last night.Fiancéeruns through my mind, increasing the fluttering—more than it ever had when I thought of Scott as my fiancé. I grab the bag of underwear, leave Felix to his adventures, and move to the bathroom.

I take a lightning-fast shower, not even taking the time to dry my hair before I dress. I put on the underwear, which fits like a glove. I hope it was Marcello who picked these out, although I have no idea when he would have done so. This is but a fleeting thought, though.We need to talk; his words run on repeat in my head, pushing anything else out.

I pull the dress back over my head when a loud scream from the kitchen makes me rush out without a second thought.

There, my mouth drops open. Zia Rosa is standing on top of one of the dining room chairs, swinging her feared kitchen towel, holding her skirts up, and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Porca miseria!"

In the open doorway stand four burly men, guns drawn. Marcello's bodyguards are all ready for action.

"Maledizione," Zia Rosa yells, flapping her towel, pointing it below the table, where Felix—unperturbed—is stalking a scared-to-death mouse.

One of the guards aims his gun, and I dive forward, "No!"

"Che diavolo!" Marcello yells, throwing himself on top of me.

"Dio mio," Zia Rosa chants, "dio mio."

Slowly, Marcello rolls himself off me, pulling me to my feet and looking furious as hell. "Don't you ever do that again!"

"Do what?" I'm not sure what he's mad at me for. I wasn't the one who brought the damn mice into the house.

"Throw yourself in front of a gun," he clarifies.

"He was pointing it at Felix," I state. Isn't it normal that one would throw themselves in front of their beloved pet when someone aims a gun at it?

"Merda," Marcello curses, running his hand through his hair and putting the gun into his waistband.

"Everyone, this is Felix. Violet's cat. It is not to be harmed in any way and… " he sighs loudly, "it is to be protected."

"Yes, boss." Marco nods, pressing his lips tightly together, trying hard not to laugh.

"What about the mouse?" Zia Rosa demands.