Stefan
Veronica looked so completely confused sitting there, it was charming. Almost endearing, even.
“Up. I’m taking you to bed.” I hauled her to her feet. It was the first time I’d really held her, and she felt smaller, lighter than I expected. More fragile.
“That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?”
She tried to stand on her own and stumbled, her little hand shooting out to grab hold of me to steady herself. The moment we made contact, we both stopped. I looked down at her hand, pale and delicate against my chest. I’d been working outside since late spring, so my skin had been tanned a rich golden brown, making her soft white a beautiful contrast.
I thought she’d pull away, and maybe if she hadn’t drunk that whiskey, she would have. Hell, she’d be smart to. I’d been messing with her up until now, but something about her innocent, maybe naive directness, intrigued me. And when she let her hand move over my chest, softly feeling the touch of my skin, sliding it over to my shoulder, then bicep, then up toward my face, to the stubble at my jaw, I knew what I’d said was more right than she probably liked to admit. She was curious.
“You feel nice.” She swayed on her feet. “Softer than I thought.”
I smiled and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You feel nice too, but you are so going to regret telling me that in the morning,” I said, lifting her up in my arms. Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again a moment later as I carried her out of the kitchen and to the stairs.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said, slurring her words, her eyes closing again.
I chuckled. “Don’t worry. I don’t like my women dead to the world.”
We were halfway up the stairs when she put her hand flat on my chest again and lifted her head. “A lot of women?” she asked.
“You’re drunk, Veronica.” We reached her door, and I pushed it open. She turned her face into my chest.
Her expression turned worried. “I’m a virgin,” she said, shaking her head. “Stupid, huh?”
“Not stupid. And for your information, I figured that out already.”
“It’s stupid.” She smiled. “You smell good, all worky and like a man.”
I chuckled. “I really, really hope you remember this tomorrow morning.” I pulled the covers of her bed back and sat her down, slipped her flip-flops off her feet and took her sweater off. I couldn’t keep my gaze from roaming over the little tank top and shorts she wore and all that skin they left exposed. I lay her down and drew the blanket up to her chin. I looked down at her, already asleep, snoring quietly. It made me smile and for some reason, I leaned down to kiss her forehead. She didn’t stir. I shook my head and walked out the door, closing it behind me, then headed to my bedroom, where I took a cold shower before climbing into bed.
She was sweet and innocent and scared.
And I would still tear her world down brick by brick.
She didn’t realize what I would do to her family’s business. She thought I’d take her inheritance and run. She thought she was saving her sister by sacrificing herself. Well, if she didn’t hate me by the time the inheritance came due, she would once she understood what I would do. It would be too late by then, though.
Not that it mattered. She was right when she said I wasn’t seeking absolution. I had no interest in forgiveness. Hate and betrayal had burned any goodness, any honor, right out of me.
And I couldn’t care less if she hated me.
It was after ten in the morning when Veronica came downstairs. Maria and her staff were already busy baking, and I had just come inside to get a second cup of coffee. She’d wound her wet hair up into a messy bun and wore a pale pink sundress and looked more than a little uncomfortable walking into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” I said.
She flushed, then cleared her throat. “Good morning.”
“Coffee or tea?”
“Um, coffee, please.”
“Fresh baked bread for breakfast?” I asked.
She glanced at the counter where Maria had set a basket of breads and small cakes. “It smells wonderful.” She looked at Maria and repeated the same in Italian. It was heavily accented, and the sentence was out of order, but it worked. Maria nodded her thanks.
“Headache?” I asked, making sure she knew I remembered the night before.
“I’m fine.”
Liar. “Well, if you happen to get one later, there’s aspirin in that cabinet. Come on, we’ll eat outside.”
I carried our coffee cups, and she followed me out. I watched her take in the surroundings, the beautiful rise and fall of the hills, the vast green fields. The dead vineyard. We sat down at the table, and she took a piece of bread and buttered it.
“Your brother said he was going to the seminary?”
“Yes. He wants to become a priest.”
“He’s only twenty-four. I guess I’ve only ever known priests to be old men.”
“Our mother was a devout Catholic. She must have passed some of that to him.”
“And you don’t even believe in God.”
I shrugged my shoulder.
“You’re not close with either of your brothers. Really? Not even with Stephen being a twin.”
I shook my head.
“I guess I can’t imagine that. I don’t know what I’d do without Robyn.”
An awkward silence stretched out between us.
“I have some business at the neighboring farm, so I’ll be gone most of the day.
“Can I come with you? I don’t want to sit here alone all day.”
“The seamstress will come in the afternoon to fit the wedding dress.”
“A wedding dress? I assumed it would be a civil ceremony.”
“In front of God and man.”
She didn’t pursue that conversation. “You said you’d give me a tour.”
“Later.” I checked my watch.
“I’m finished now. I won’t make you late.”
She swallowed her coffee and left the bread. She really did need to eat. “Finish your breakfast. I can wait a few minutes.”