KATYA
I blink open my eyes.
And instantly, I wonder where the hell I am.
It’s a beautiful room. A huge room. The walls are white and dotted with impeccable artwork. The furniture is sleek and modern. The window coverings are custom, faint strands of light seeping in around the edges of the windows to paint the hardwood in an ethereal glow. The bed I’m in isn’t mine. It’s massive. A king-size. The sheets are sumptuous, and the mattress is the kind of special comfortable that makes me want to stay here forever, under the soft cocoon of the blankets and…
Shit.
Everything comes back to me in a rush. Yesterday, I became Mrs. Lorenzo Andriani. I’m married to the Mafia. Literally. And the room I’m in is one of at least half a dozen bedrooms in Don Andriani’s guesthouse.
Dear God.
What happened last night? What did I do?
I jerk my head around wildly, but I’m alone. There’s no hint of my new husband. Not his clothes, not him. Not even a cuff link or a watch on the nightstand. My gorgeous, ridiculously priceyManolo Blahniks are scattered on the floor, though. And my beautiful wedding dress is pooled in a heap of white silk like it’s a piece of litter rather than a gown worth enough to pay my rent for the next few months.
With a sinking feeling, I grab the covers and pull them up to inspect what’s underneath.
I’m naked.
Completely bare assed. Not wearing a stitch.
Did I sleep with Scorpion last night? The last thing I remember is him coming up to me at the reception and telling me we should head to the guesthouse.
Think, Katya. Think.
I have a fuzzy recollection of a golf cart ride. I vaguely remember him carrying me up here. Was I stumbling? I think I had too much wine. Then I took a shower and…
Nothing.
The rest of the night is a blank canvas.
I would know if I slept with him, wouldn’t I? I’d feel something.
I roll onto the cool spot next to me and bury my face in the pillow. It smells like laundry, not him.
He didn’t stay here.
An indistinct memory of him spanking me returns in that moment, followed by the unwelcome reminder that I liked it. That it made my body react in ways never before imagined, let alone experienced.
My stomach plummets.
Maybe I did have sex with him.
Anything is possible at this point.
My mouth is dry and my head is aching. My phone is on the nightstand, so I grab it and haul it in front of my face. My bleary eyes tell me it’s just after ten o’clock. I never sleep in this late, but yesterday was endless. It was after three a.m. before I left thereception, and then God knows what happened when I got back here to the guesthouse with Scorpion, and I blacked out.
A text pops up from Lorenzo.
For a split second, I wonder who that is, that’s how foreign it all still feels. But then recognition hits me.
Since when is his number programmed into my phone?
I tap on the text, opening it.
Lorenzo: Good morning, wife. I have breakfast waiting whenever you’re ready.