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“The signature page for your bank account.You can transfer your money into it, or leave it in the old bank.Whatever you prefer.If you keep it where it is, I’ll have my accountant contact you for tax information.”
She froze.“I…don’t have a bank account,” she admitted, her voice cracking.
His brows drew together.“Where do you keep your money?”
Catarina lowered her lashes, then turned and looked out the window.The day mocked her with its brightness—sunlight pouring over the blooming peonies, roses about to burst into color along the driveway.A perfect spring day.A day that should have felt like hope.Instead, it felt like humiliation.
“I don’t have any money,” she finally choked out.The words scraped her throat raw.“My father didn’t think it was…necessary for me to have money.”The muscles in her neck strained as if forcing out every syllable.Saying it aloud was worse than living it.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unyielding.Finally, she lifted her eyes to his.
“You’ll have money with me, Cata,” he said firmly.His voice carried the certainty of a man who expected to be obeyed, but there was something gentler beneath it.“I’ll give you a monthly amount.And if you ever need more, just ask.”
“Oh.”It was all she could manage.Her mind went blank.“Um…aren’t you afraid I’ll run away?”
He shook his head.“No.Like I said, if I can’t gain your loyalty, then you have every right to run.”He leaned casually against the desk, folding his arms, his gaze steady on her.“I only hope you’ll give me time to earn that trust before you disappear.”
Then he reached for her hand, his fingers sliding against her palm.The warmth of his touch sent sparks racing up her arm, burning into her stomach.She couldn’t breathe.Why did something as simple as his thumb rubbing over her palm feel so…intimate?
“You’re a beautiful woman, Cata.”
She nearly laughed.Beautiful?She hadn’t brushed her hair.She hadn’t touched up her makeup.Before flying here, she changed back into the wrinkled pink dress she’d been drunk in the other night.Next to him—dark slacks, crisp white shirt, skin bronzed and glowing—she felt like a crumpled paper doll.
“Credit cards will be delivered this afternoon for you.”
The words shattered her daze.She jerked her hand back as though burned, tucking it behind her.
His eyes narrowed.“You have a problem with credit cards?”
The heat was gone from his gaze now, replaced with something cooler, sharper.
Catarina flinched.Her body reacted before her mind caught up—jerking, eyes closing, braced for the sting of a slap.
But the blow never came.
When she dared to look again, Salvatore’s expression wasn’t anger.It was concern.His brows drew together as though trying to piece her apart, understand the damage she didn’t want him to see.
“No, I’m not going to hit you, Cata,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it rattled her.He reached out, reclaiming her hand with surprising patience.“Would you like to learn some self-defense moves?”
Her startled laugh slipped out before she could stop it, sharp and bitter.She caught herself and tried to smooth it away.“I don’t think self-defense will help me much in a fight against someone your size,” she said.It was meant to be light, even complimentary, but resentment edged the words, sour and sharp.
He only patted her hand where it rested against his arm.“You’d be surprised.”
He led her toward the stairs.
Her feet slowed, dread coiling inside her.Her breath turned shallow.This was it.Payment time.She knew the routine.Matteo had explained it in detail, smirking as he’d told her what would be expected of her as a wife.She was “his,” to be used when and how he wanted.
Salvatore glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyebrow arching.He saw her hesitation for what it was—stalling.Fear.
“Trust, Cata,” he said quietly.
Her hand had curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching as though she could anchor herself.His thumb drifted over her knuckles, grounding, not restraining.
Trust.
The word was poison to her.She’d only ever trusted a few people in her life—her closest friend from boarding school and the housekeeper who used to sneak her cookies when her father wasn’t looking.
Everyone else had taught her trust was a mistake.She’d trusted her father, once, until the first slap stung her cheek.She’d trusted her mother to protect her, only to discover the woman never even tried.She’d trusted her first date, until he’d grabbed at her and gone silent with icy disdain after she’d pushed him away.
