Page 41 of When She Tempts (The Fallen)
CHAPTER11
MARTINA
That night,I fall asleep quickly, my body exhausted from the day.
I dream of Giorgio.
We meet in a dark hallway somewhere inside the house, and he takes my hand, confidently lacing our fingers together as if he’s done it a million times before. I glance down at where we’re linked, and his tattoo, the crest of the Casalesi, winks at me. He’s in a midnight-blue suit, I’m in a sheer nightgown. He leads me down the hall, our footsteps and the rustle of our clothing the only sounds in the air.
A door opens, and we step into the library. Giorgio leads me to a leather armchair and takes a seat in the one across. On the table between us is a book. He picks it up and starts reading to me.
Jane Eyre. The scene where Jane and Rochester kiss in front of Mrs. Fairfax after they’re caught in the rain. Giorgio’s voice is expressive. Hypnotic, even. I can almost hear the pattering of the rain against the windows of the library as he reads. The sound of the rain grows and grows in intensity until it’s like a cascade of bullets, and I can no longer make out his voice.
Quiet, I whisper.Quiet.
But the rain won’t listen, and Giorgio soon disappears like an apparition, leaving me alone amongst the bookshelves.
A chill drags over my skin.
I don’t like rainstorms. I need to wake up.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
My consciousness claws its way out of the dream. I blink into the darkness of my bedroom, but the rain persists.
The mattress squeaks as I sit up against the pillows, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. When my bleary gaze lands on the window, my heart sinks.
Rain pours down the glass in rivulets. The wind howls loudly, like a wild animal in heat.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid with fear, and I’m teleported right back to New York.
Glittering hotel lobby.
Imogen’s red lipstick.
The rain coming down in sheets.
We marveled at the weather as we waited in the lobby for the car that was supposed to pick us up. Our umbrellas were comically inadequate. We giggled about it. There was a good chance they would fly right out of our hands as soon as we stepped outside, but we were desperate not to get wet before the main event of the trip. Lunch at Eleven Madison Park, the best restaurant in the world. I wanted to eat there so that I would understand what the pinnacle of culinary success looked like. I thought it would help me decide if it was what I wanted to do. It was the whole reason I convinced Imogen to come to New York.
When the car arrived, we lunged outside, screeching loudly as water slapped against our bodies. The back door swung open, and we slid inside.
A minute later, Imogen was dead, and all I could hear was rain pummeling against the car. The soundtrack to the worst moment of my life.
My chin bumps against my knees, and I claw at the sheets. Panic spreads through my lungs.
There was a man in the back seat of the limo. Lazaro.
We only noticed him after we already started moving, while we were wiping our wet hands on our clothes. He was sitting in the corner, his legs spread wide, his leather shoes shiny. Imogen stiffened beside me. Somehow, he noticed that minuscule movement. It made him smile and ask for our names.
Why did I answer him without thinking?
Naive.
Stupid.
I press my face into my palms and weep.
This is what happens whenever I allow myself to remember how quickly things can fall apart.
