Page 52 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
Steak with what looks like fresh pesto over a bed of mashed potatoes with a side of roasted asparagus, carrots, and onions.
I suck in deep breath and sigh. “Smells incredible.”
“Tommaso will be happy to hear that. He’s worried you’ve been eating so little because you don’t like his cooking.”
“That’s not true. He’s a great cook.” I pick up my cutlery.
“The trays he’s sent to your room came back barely touched.”
I spear a piece of the asparagus and narrow my eyes at him. “You’ve been checking how much I eat?”
“I have.”
His response is delivered calmly, as if there’s no problem with what he’s just admitted to.
I lean my fork and knife against the edge my plate. “Giorgio, my eating patterns are none of your business.”
A hint of amusement flashes over his lips. “You’re my ward, Martina. Your health is very much my business.”
Hisward. Hearing that word makes me wrinkle my nose in distaste. I don’t know why I hate it so much, but he’ll throw it out randomly, and every time he does, it twists my insides.
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter as I cut into the steak.
“Why not? It’s what you are.”
“Didn’t I tell you I’m turning nineteen next week?”
“You did,” he says smoothly. “But a ward is—”
“A word used to describe a helpless little child.”
“It’s—”
“It’s insulting, that’s what it is. Especially after everything I’ve lived through. When you call me that, it feels like all of it meant nothing.”
My outburst soaks the room like a bucket of ice-cold water.
There’s a quaking deep beneath my ribs. A fault line triggered by my anger. Anger at what happened. At what it exposed in me.
I used to like myself, but I can’t remember what that felt like. Now, all I feel is repulsion at my weaknesses. They seem to dominate the landscape of who I am. No wonder Giorgio was grossed out about lying next to me. He feels it too.
The backs of my eyes prickle, and all I can do is stare at my plate.
In my periphery, Giorgio places his cutlery down.
“It’s a term we use in the clan to mean someone who’s under the sworn protection of a made man,” he says more gently than I thought him capable of.
Oh. I didn’t know that.
“You’re not a child to me, Martina. I apologize if I’ve made you feel like one. You’ve lived through some difficult things, and I’d never attempt to dismiss them. They’re a part of you now.”
My blood slows its trek.
“I know you’ve been struggling, but you’re strong. I know you’ll get through this.”
At this, my suspicious gaze darts to him. Is he just saying what he thinks I want to hear? “If you think I’m strong—”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
