Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
I decide to call her later.
With a sigh, I get out of bed and ring room service for breakfast. It’s a few minutes past eight, and of course, my dear husband is nowhere to be found. He left the room at the crack of dawn, and I haven’t seen him since then. Even though he has most of his bases in Italy and America, he still finds a way to work and keep busy while we’re on honeymoon in Paris.
Yesterday, I went the entire day, only seeing Valentino once when I returned from Mass. He disappeared shortly after, and I didn’t see him again until past midnight.
Is he avoiding me? What does he actually do in the huge chunks of time he is away from me? Maybe he truly cannot stand to be in my presence.
This makes me happy. I mean, it should make me completely happy but I can’t ignore the slight twinge of disappointment settling in a corner of my heart. When he’s here, I hate him. When he’s not, I spend my time thinking about hating him. Regardless of his absence or presence, he’s always on my mind, and that annoys me. And I know why. All of this confusion and self-torture I attribute to that little bud between my thighs, throbbing with need whenever it even so much as catches a whiff of his presence.
As I pad on my bare feet to the bathroom, I wonder once again why we have to share a bedroom. He’s rich and there is no one around and so no reason for us to pretend to be a pair of cooing lovebirds. So why the hell is he torturing me? A part of me expected and dreaded the idea that he would force himself onto me, but he hasn’t so far so why can’t we just get our own rooms and sleep in peace? Why can’t he sleep in the master bedroom?
Maybe I should move in there…
Then I can think about Thomas instead of worrying about where Valentino is and what he is doing. I brush my teeth with extra vigor when I remember that I’ve hardly had a chance to think about Thomas anymore. I blame Valentino for that. He ruins everything. Horrid man. As I brush my hair, I allow my thoughts to dwell on Thomas.
Poor thing. He must be suffering in silence.
I leave the bathroom, go into the living room, and stop dead in my tracks. Valentino is at the dining table, fresh as a daisy and eating his breakfast without a care in the world. Sunlight is pouring in through the lofty windows and making him look gloriously grand and unapproachable.
How long has he been around?
I didn’t hear a thing. His stealthiness bothers me. I’ve noticed how silently he moves. One second, he’s not here, and the next, he is, all without making the smallest sounds. For a man that big, it’s a wonder how he moves so quietly. I’m barely over five feet and cannot climb down the bed without waking the whole hotel up.
Valentino looks up from his food and eyes me for a fleeting moment before returning his attention back to his meal.
He is definitely ignoring me.
My stomach rumbles again. To hell with him. There is enough food for two there. I walk confidently towards the table and take the chair across from him.
“Good morning,” I greet, because obviously my Mama taught me better than his did.
To my surprise he snubs me completely, not even bothering to look in my direction. He seems only interested in stuffing bacon and eggs into his mouth. Okay, that is a lie. He’s not stuffing it into his mouth, he’s eating it in a civilized way.
Quite an attractive way, actually.
But two can play at this game.
I reach for a warm croissant, cut it in half and butter it liberally. Then I spread a thick layer of peach jam on it and take a big bite. Oh wow! French croissant is nothing like the American version of a French croissant. It’s heavenly. As I chew, I reflect on the fact that Valentino is giving me the type of marriage I hoped he would. I told my mother that I wished he would not speak to me or touch me, but she laughed and told me how impossible that was.
‘Men will be men,’ she said. ‘They all want sex.’
But here we are, Valentino and I, and he is doing better than I could have hoped.
He doesn’t speak to me even when I speak to him. And better still, he hasn’t tried to have sex with me. I know that I told him he repulses me and I didn’t want to have sex with him. And it's not like I want to have sex with him, but freaking hell. He’s a man! All men want sex. And he’s known to be hot-blooded too. Obviously, I’ve heard the Subway sandwich rumors about him too.