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“Then it’ll be even more satisfying when I walk away with your cash,” Sal replied smoothly, his arm tightening around Catarina’s waist.
Luca winked at Catarina, then sauntered out, his laughter echoing down the hall.
Chapter 8
Afteraquick,butluxurious flight back to Chicago in Sal’s private jet, Catarina found herself standing in the middle of a house that looked like something out of a glossy magazine.
The place was breathtaking—contemporary design, walls of windows, ceilings that soared, pale hardwood floors polished to perfection.And the kitchen…oh, the kitchen!A massive island with a gleaming sink, a six-burner stove that looked like it belonged in a restaurant, and a Sub-Zero fridge that probably cost more than a car.Everything looked pristine, as if no one had ever dared to cook in it.
Not that Catarina knew how to cook.Her father had banned her from kitchens.Not dignified,he’d sneered, shooing her away while the housekeeper or caterers prepared every meal.She’d watched them whenever she could, fascinated by the smells and sizzles, but she’d never been allowed to lift a spoon herself.
With a sigh, she turned away from the kitchen, hurrying to catch up with her new husband.Salvatore was giving her a tour of the house, something she hadn’t expected from a man like him, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful by lingering.
She turned too quickly and ran smack into something hard and immovable.“Oof!”she gasped.
Sal’s hands closed firmly around her upper arms.“Do you like to cook?”he asked.
Her eyes flew up to his.“I’m so sorry!”she blurted, then realized what she’d said and bit her lip.“Sorry,” she added, apologizing for her apology.
“Sorry for what?”His hands dropped as if she’d burned him.
“Sorry for not following you.”She braced, tense again, waiting for a reprimand.
But all he said was, “Do you like to cook?”
Catarina hesitated, then admitted, “I don’t know how.”
Silence stretched between them.Heat pooled in her cheeks.Yes, she wanted to learn.Yes, she wanted to chop, stir, and bake just like the women she’d watched from afar.But she didn’t even know how to boil water.Pathetic.
No,she corrected fiercely.She wasn’t pathetic.She would learn.She would teach herself.She would not let ignorance hold her prisoner anymore.
Her chin lifted unconsciously, a small, defiant glare sparking in her eyes.
When Sal smiled at her, slow and startling, Catarina’s breath caught.She didn’t know what to make of him—this man who could be hard as steel one moment and unexpectedly gentle the next.
“This way, wife,” he grumbled, resting a hand against the small of her back as he led her out of the white-and-gold kitchen.
They moved through a breakfast nook, a formal dining room with a table that could seat fourteen, and a library lined with books from floor to ceiling.Through the arched windows, she glimpsed a pool, a terrace, and—was that an orchard?
Her mind wandered, imagining what it might be like to live here, to breathe freely without her father’s constant anger.
A touch on her arm startled her back to the present.She blinked up at him.“Excuse me?”
“I was saying you’ll need to come to my office to sign some papers.”
“What papers?”
“Documents to open a bank account in your name.”
Her heart stumbled.A bank account?For her?
“This way,” he said, taking her hand in his and leading her across the hall.His office was dark and commanding, with a massive desk and carefully curated art.
When he let go of her hand, her palm went cold.She wanted to beg him to take it again, to warm her whole body with just that simple touch.
Instead, he handed her a pen.“Here.”
Automatically, she took it, staring down at the papers.“What is this?”
