“It’s horrible,” she said flatly, and then glared at me. “He stole her.”
“He loved her.”
“He brought famine on the world for the sin of taking her.”
I just shrugged. “That was her mother. Anyway, why would Hades care what happened to the world, as long as he had her?”
She shook her head. “If you find Hades relatable... you are beyond saving.”
“I don’t need salvation, angel. I have you.”
“Angel?” she repeated, her head tipping to the side. She tested the word, as if she remembered being called it before.
For an endless moment, heat and memories collided. I could see her start to remember me, the drug finally wearing off, when a knock at the door broke that precious moment to shards.
“Mass, do you want breakfast?”
“Cazzo, Paolo, you have the most fucking annoying timing! Come in,” I called out to him irritably.
Katarina fled to the bed and hid most of herself behind a velvet curtain.
The door opened, and Paolo came in, looking curiously for a sign of the woman I’d unexpectedly brought home. I didn’t bring women here, to my home. I didn’t bring women anywhere, really, as a rule. Relationships, even one-night stands, were a distraction, and one I hadn’t allowed myself in years.
Paolo beamed as soon as he saw her.
“Miss Dmitrova.” He held a silver tray with a tea set worthy of the Queen of England rattling on it.
Mrs. Lucciano. I ignored the possessive, dark growl inside me.
“Would you care for tea? I didn’t know how you took it, with cream, or milk, sugar, lemon... the options are endless,” he prattled on.
I was about to send him away when Katarina advanced toward him a little, her shoulders less tense. So, old Paolo was making her feel more relaxed? Then he could stay.
“Paolo, see to Katarina, whatever she wants or needs. I’m going out. I’ll be back shortly.” I nodded meaningfully to my housekeeper.
While I might be giving the appearance of ease, Paolo was under strict instructions not to let Katarina out of the room and to keep her locked in. I couldn’t have her getting away before she remembered herself, and me.
I took one last glimpse at my stolen bride. The angel I planned to keep in the dark beside me. Even seeing her standing there in the glorious morning light, the painting of Persephone right behind her, I couldn’t bring myself to regret it.
I left my new bride in peace, and she watched me go.
32
KATARINA
Paolo, the kind old man with the creased face and perfect tea, refilled my cup for the tenth time.
“But I just don’t understand why I’m here,” I told him earnestly.
He simply nodded, full of understanding.
“I should get home. My mother’s house is near Cavoretto, if you know that area.”
He shook his head. “I’m not overly familiar.”
“Still, she’ll be worried about me,” I said. The words sounded like they must be true, even if I had holes in my memory the size of chasms.
“Massimo will take good care of you, Katarina. I promise you this,” Paolo said.