Page 72 of The Mastermind
It was my turn to drop my gaze, to corral my fracturing composure. An almost impossible task when even now, I felt the insistent throb deep inside me at his rough possession. The screams he’d dragged from my soul.
‘And here I thought you wanted to be besties,’ Sofiya huffed after a minute, mistaking my silence for reluctance to answer.‘Don’t besties share that sort of thing?’ she asked, her tone attempting humour that fell flat. Probably because she still hadn’t fully divulged what she’d come here to say. What I feared would shatter me.
‘I…’ I glanced down at my hand and grimaced. ‘Fun wouldn’t be how I’d describe it.’
Her sharp inhale snapped my head up. ‘He fucking hurt you?’
‘No! It wasn’t like that at all,’ I hastened to tell her. Then I cringed inwardly at my rabid defence of Cesare.
‘Okay. So then what was it like?’ she pressed, probably not realising she was leaning forward in her chair. Or that her eyes were sparkling with wild curiosity, not the judgement she’d first levelled on me when I entered.
My eyes widened. ‘You really want to know, don’t you?’
She tried to shrug it off, but her face pinked. And she fluttered her hand.
I smirked, absurdly happy to see my unflappable sister so flustered. And yes, I realised I was also grasping at any reason to delay opening the black door and confronting the bottomless chasm that awaited me in the form of an arranged, unwanted marriage.
‘Yeah, fine. So?’
My eyes widened further. ‘Sofiya… are you a virgin?’
She jumped to her feet, rushed to the French doors, threw them open and stepped out.
Laughing, I followed. ‘What, you’d rather throw yourself off the fifty-second floor than answer my question?’
She gripped the railing and peered over it. ‘Definitely thinking about it, yeah.’
I gently took her wrist and steered her around to face me. ‘I’m not a virgin, obviously. But if it helps, up until a couple of nights ago I was as good as one. And consideringour background, I think it’s entirely understandable. There’s no judgement here, okay?’
She nodded after a few seconds.
I led her back into the suite.
Crossing over to the wine selection the butler had arranged on the cabinet, I plucked the first red – Sicilian, of course – and grabbed the electric opener.
It whined, then gave a satisfying pop. I let it breathe for all of a minute while Sofiya grabbed two glasses.
I poured and she raised her glass, eyeing me as she took a large gulp. ‘The night has taken a definite turn for the unexpected. So, spill.’
I cast around for appropriate words to describe my experience without divulging sordid details. Because yes, I intended to jealously guard them.
Leaning a hip against the cabinet, I winced when the movement reminded me just how sordid my night had been. ‘I can definitely say he is as much of a hotshot in the bedroom as he is on the racetrack. Pole position all the way.’
Her eyes searched mine and I didn’t mind the bite of jealousy I saw in her eyes. Sofiya was the prettiest Mancinelli granddaughter, after all. ‘It was that good?’
I smiled, knowing she would never admit Cesare’s talent in public, and especially not to Ciso. Recalling his hands, his teeth, his tongue, his delicious cock, I caught my bottom lip between my teeth to stifle a moan and nodded. ‘Better than good.’
She kept on staring for a stretch longer, then transferred her gaze to her glass. ‘He’s not my favourite person for obvious reasons, but… I’m glad he was good to you.’
And just like that, the reprieve was gone. I stopped my fingers from curling too tight around my glass. Lifting it, I drained it in three large gulps and set it down with a hard click. ‘Tell me, Sof.’
She braced one shoulder against the pillar next to the cabinet, running one finger along the glass rim, her gaze actively avoiding mine. ‘He’s found a husband for you. He plans to get you hitched by Christmas.’
I reached out to brace my hand on the cabinet.
Why now? Why didn’t you tell me? Why do you know and I don’t?Why, why?—
‘Why?’ I hated that my voice wobbled a little, and I blamed it on the wine I’d consumed tonight. Shame it wasn’t doing a damn thing to make my head fuzzy enough to fool me that this was some twisted Kubrick dream. No, I was fully compos mentis in this nightmare.
