A hot soak in the bath is exactly what I need. I drop my head back to the edge of the tub and let the hot water work its magic, easing my aching muscles.
It’s been a very quiet morning. Peppa and I had a chance to chat and get to know each other a little better. I learned that Peppa is the closest thing that Raffaele has to a mother. She was devastated when she learned that Claudio was looking to overturn Raffaele and take over Ultimo Morte.
Raffaele’s brother, Claudio, went rogue. It was Raffaele who pulled the trigger and killed his brother, but from what Peppa tells me, Raffaele was crushed by Claudio’s betrayal.
“He stood by the casket alone. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to mourn Claudio. By tradition, a rat is buried without a name and forgotten. There was no formal funeral, but I know that he found a place for his brother, just not in the family mausoleum,” Peppa told me.
The thought of Raffaele standing alone breaks my heart.
“My Raffaele is all alone now. No real family to speak of.” Peppa had a tearful expression as she spoke about Raffaele.
“I’m his family,” I responded. “You’re his family. So is Ivo. Blood isn’t the only thing that makes you family. Commitment, truth, love, those make a family.”
Peppa embraced me in a warm hug. “You’re right, bella,” she choked out.
The water begins to cool. I promised Adriana that we could have a tea party later. A real royal tea party. The sweetie is fascinated with tiaras. Thinking of this, I force myself up and out of the tub.
On a hot day like today, I choose a pair of shorts and tank top and slip into a flat pair of sandals. Leaving my hair damp, I pile it into a high ponytail to keep cool and saunter back down through the halls to find Francesco speaking to the other guards. When he sees me, he says something to the men, and they leave immediately.
“Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Yes, of course. They have to get back to their posts,” he says, although I think there’s more to it than that.
“Do you have plans for the day?” he asks.
“I’m invited to a royal tea party with Adriana this afternoon. In the meantime, I thought I’d bake us some scones to have with our tea.” Francesco looks relieved, but he’s acting strangely. It’s clear that he isn’t going to give me any more information. I decide I’d better go about my day and leave him to whatever it is that’s disturbing him.
I haven’t made scones in ages, but it doesn’t take me long to find a recipe online and take out everything I need to get started. I find some white chocolate chips and fresh raspberries and cinnamon and brown sugar to make two different kinds. With one tray in the oven, I go about preparing the other and then start the cleanup. That’s my least favorite part of baking, but my mother always told me that cleaning up as you go makes it so much easier. I’ve adopted the same habits as Mom. I miss her, but she’s on her trip to Italy with Dad, and I don’t want to disturb them. Aris must be having a blast having the house to himself, although I hear that he’s working with Nero, and he can be demanding. I’ll call him later tonight to say hello.
The ding of the oven timer goes off, and the aroma of fresh scones fills the air when I open the oven door. I bend to pull them out of the oven when I hear, “Evangeline,” in a harsh tone. I jump and nearly drop the tray. After setting the tray on the stove, I turn around to see a highly irritated Raffaele glaring in my direction.
“You nearly scared me half to death,” I say.
“Who else has seen you like that?” He throws his hand out at my outfit.
“Pardon?” I look down at my shorts. They’re cute and not short shorts. There must be a million women who have these.
“Besides Francesco, who else has seen you?” he insists, coming closer. I pivot from the stove and walk around the kitchen island to put some space between us.
“No one. What are you angry about? It’s hot out, and this is perfectly normal attire.”
“Do you know what any normal man is thinking when they see a beautiful woman with an ass like yours, with her sexy legs strutting about? They’re thinking, I want a piece of that,” he barks. “And that top is molded to your skin.”
“Are you crazy?” My voice rises an octave. I’m too stunned to say anything more as I gaze into the fire in his smoky-gray eyes.
“You can dress like that when you’re with me.”
“It’s shorts and a top. I-I never gave it another thought. It’s hot, and I wanted to bake for our tea party. That’s all.” I shake my head. “There are hundreds of women far prettier than me. Your men know I’m your wife. They probably don’t even notice me.”
He comes around the table, and I think it prudent to stay still, not wanting to aggravate Raffaele further. An arm of steel comes around my waist and lifts me to my tiptoes, pressing me tightly against his chest. “You’re too fucking beautiful for words. All that wild, sexy hair, that face that rivals Helen of Troy, this ass.” He grabs a handful of my ass cheek. “Any man would kill to be with you.” Anger turns to lust, and his mouth falls on mine in a hard, punishing kiss that leaves me gasping for air. “You belong to me,” he whispers harshly, his lips touching mine.
“I know,” I murmur.
“No one touches you.”
“They haven’t. They won’t,” I say quietly. “But you have to trust me. I didn’t dress for anyone but me. I would never do anything to hurt you. I’m your wife.” I can’t stop the trembling in my voice.
“You’re enough to tempt a priest into becoming a sinner,” Raffaele says.
“If you don’t want me to wear the shorts, then fine. But it’s hurtful that you think I’d do this to get attention.”
Raffaele scans my face and rests his forehead on mine, taking in a deep breath.
“Wear your shorts, and have your tea party,” he mumbles.
“I don’t want you to be upset.” I caress his cheek. “I know it won’t mean anything to you, but I like you. I want this marriage to work for both of us.”
“There’s no other option, tesoro. We’re bonded for life.” He holds me for another moment, then releases me. He picks up a scone and takes a bite, walking away with a grin. “Have fun at your tea party.”