Page 47 of Pas de Trois
My eyes remain fixed on the edge of the counter near where she stands, in the place where Luca disappeared behind it. When she tells him, “Good boy,” and bends down to pat him—on the ass or the head, I don’t know which—my eyes flicker up to look at her.
She’s staring at me.
“Come, Ezra.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes me. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Ezra,” she chides. “I won’t ask you again. If I have to ask you again, then perhaps...” She places her hands on the island counter’s edge, leaning forward with her arms apart and elbows locked. “Perhaps Anya finds herself accidentally falling down the staircase. Perhaps she bumps her head and slips away in her sleep from complications. Perhaps she finally succumbs to her depression and succeeds in ending her life. Should I go on? I can think of a thousand ways to kill her without drawing suspicion.”
God fucking damnit.
I move, walking to her slowly. Luca eats from his plate on the floor, just like I thought—like a dog, bending over to pluck each bite from the plate with his teeth.
“I’m not eating like that,” I tell her, pointing my finger in Luca’s direction.
She moves toward me and I press back against the edge of the island, my ass hitting the counter’s edge. She moves closer and closer until her body is flush with mine. She’s at eye level with her heels on, but she may as well be seven feet tall by the way she makes me feel without saying a damn word.
My hands grip the counter on either side of my hips as I try to lean away from her. She turns away for a moment, only to reach into the bowl of fruit from the counter behind her. She plucks a strawberry from the bowl and moves impossibly closer to me. She presses in so close that her body holds me in place, and I feel more trapped here than I did in the cage.
She lifts the strawberry between us and taps the tip of it against my lips. I keep them pressed shut.
“Eat,” she says.
“I’m not that hungry,” I lie.
I’m fucking starving.
“You won’t be given another opportunity to eat until lunchtime, so I suggest you take the opportunity now. I intend to keep you healthy. I expect you to take care of my needs and that simply won’t be possible if I don’t keep you,” she pauses, her eyes skimming across my chest and down my torso, “strong and healthy.”
My jaw sets and my muscles clench. “Might have been nice if your brother had adopted that same philosophy for his girls.”
Her face drops and she shoves the strawberry hard where my lips meet until I’m forced to open. I take a quick bite and slam my lips shut again so she doesn’t choke me with it. “Don’t ever speak about my brother again. He was more man than you could ever hope to become, Ezra.”
Movement off to the left steals our attention. A man clears his throat. “I’ve completed Mrs. Mikhailov’s health screening and ultrasound.”
Mrs. Mikhailov. Jesus.
Renata takes a step back, walking around Luca to approach the man on the opposite side of the kitchen island. He’s an older gentleman. His jet-black hair has touches of gray, hinting at his age, and his presence doesn’t immediately put me off, which seems unusual here in the Vittori home.
Then, there’s that punch to the gut awareness as Anya slowly moves into the room, looking lost yet hopeful at the same time. I stare her down until she registers that I’m there and her eyes meet mine. Her eyebrows bend to frame her beautiful blue eyes before she grants me a small, secret smile.
My heart leaps out of control. I forget how to breathe when she puts her hand on her stomach and looks at me with love in her eyes. For a moment, I forget where I am, who I am, why I’m here. For a moment, it’s just me looking at my girl, dreaming about a future we might never get to have.
Renata starts to say something to the man in Italian, but he lifts a hand.
“Please, Signora Vittori. I’ve told you before. I’m very happy to care for your family and…the others, but we must speak in the language the patient understands.”
Her nostrils flare and her chest rises as she takes in a sharp breath, but then she concedes, which is shocking. This man must have a long-standing relationship with the family to be able to speak so boldly.
Renata forces herself to calmness, then she switches to English. “Anything notable I need to be aware of?”
“The baby is measuring around twelve weeks, five days, so she’s just about into her second trimester. A miracle if you ask me. She’s malnourished and weak. Frankly, I’m shocked the baby’s heartbeat is as strong as it is. I’m going to recommend a nutritionist—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Renata says. “I’ll ensure she receives a healthy diet moving forward. Her life circumstances have recently changed. When can a DNA test be performed?”
“A DNA test?”
“To determine paternity. The board would like this done as soon as possible.”
