Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144979 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“Abella?”
Gabi’s voice stirs me from sleep, and when I open my eyes, I find myself sprawled face down across the bed. I blink away the fog of confusion and glance around in search of her.
“Gabs?”
“I’m right here.” She laughs, the sound muffled beneath me.
I drag myself upright and find the phone beneath me, where I must have fallen asleep on it. Worse than that is the realization that I unintentionally answered Gabi’s video call, and she’s staring at me with a mixture of shock and amusement.
“Nice melons.”
“What?” I look down, perplexed and slightly horrified that my boobs are on full salute.
“Oh, God. Hang on.” I fling the phone onto the bed and adjust my disheveled tank top, but as I do, I feel something sticky on my chest.
“I bet Matteo can’t wait to get his paws on those,” Gabi muses from the speaker.
“Please don’t remind me,” I mutter. “Gabs, can you hang on a minute? I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
I walk into the bathroom and lift my top, wondering if I’m having a weird reaction to my new body cream. But as I’m washing it from my skin, I realize my tank top feels crunchy too. When I bring it to my nose and inhale, I freeze. The faintest hint of citrus and clove lingers on the material, and a whisper of a memory floats into my consciousness. Soft at the edges, almost out of reach…and then fragments come flooding back all at once.
Rough hands, dark whispers, velvet dripping with sin…
Flashes of the masked stalker blur together with images of Angelo, disorienting me as I try to separate reality from imagination.
Vivid dreams are a side effect of the sleeping pills, and on the occasions I do take them, I tend to dream of him. But they’ve never felt so real. And as I take stock of my body and the sticky feeling between my thighs, I realize I didn’t just orgasm in the dream.
For a second, I wonder if I’m going insane. Could I really have done that in my sleep?
I reach for my body cream and scan the ingredients list, frowning when I see the orange oil. Of course I chose this scent…because I’m a glutton for punishment. But is that what’s on my chest?
“Are you still alive?” Gabi calls out from my phone in the other room.
“Yes.” I tug my top down with a sigh and return to my bed, resuming our video call. “What are you up to?”
“I’m on break,” she says. “I have one more class today.”
“You’re getting close to the finish line.” I flop back onto the mattress and prop the phone against the pillow so Gabi can’t see my shirt. “You must be excited about that.”
“I guess.” She shrugs. “Not that a degree matters when my father’s busy finalizing a marriage contract.”
Gabi uses the camera view to apply a fresh coat of pink lipstick and wind her long black hair up into a topknot. She is, as always, adorably fashionable in a sequined body suit, a dusty rose tulle skirt, and a fuzzy white sweater that could have been knitted by angels. She looks like she just stepped out of Carrie Bradshaw’s closet. More impressively, these pieces are her own creations.
She’s talented and beautiful, and I hate that she’ll be wasted on a man like Riccardo Venturi. He’s a distant cousin of the Vitales, but he’s also a total prick. When he’s not running his obnoxious mouth, he’s running crypto-bro scams and blowing his cash on escorts and high-end cocaine. He has the personality of a wet paper bag and a bad case of affluenza, and I can’t think of a worse match for Gabi. But this arrangement was made between their families years ago, and truthfully, it’s the only way Riccardo could get a woman to marry him.
“You can still carve out a life of your own,” I tell Gabs, trying to instill some hope.
In our world, most arranged marriages are a front. The couples rarely spend any actual time together.
“We’ll see.” She glances at me briefly. “Have you heard anything about…you know?”
My gut clenches at the reference to Grant Ellison. It’s something that’s been on my mind far too often, and clearly I’m not the only one.
“His wife raised the alarm,” I tell her. “They’re keeping it quiet for now. His campaign manager doesn’t want to rattle potential donors.”
“Should we be worried?” She frowns.
Realistically, we should be. Nothing went as planned with Grant Ellison, and the fallout could be messy. But I don’t want her to stress over it.
“We don’t know how it’s going to play out,” I say. “The best thing we can do right now is stay focused and carry on like normal.”
“I know.” She blows out a breath. “Speaking of, how’s the wedding planning going without me?”
“Fine.” I force a smile. “Val’s got everything under control.”