Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I smirk. “I’m thirty-two. Mama told me I’m ready to get married.”
Luca’s brow lifts. “She did?”
“She told me she’s given up on you two. Said you’re too old.”
Both my brothers snort, their lips twitching despite themselves.
“Anyway,” I continue, waving my hand. “She’s desperate for a grandchild. All we need to do is plant a seed inside Aemelia and she’ll come around.”
“She’s a virgin, and you’re talking about knocking her up.” Antonio shakes his head, just like our papa used to when I was fooling around.
That’s a nice segue into the other issue we still need to discuss.
“Speaking of her cherry…”
Luca straightens, and Antonio’s jaw tightens. I don’t back down. “Come with me,” I bark.
I stride outside to a patch of scrubby weeds and bend at the waist, finding three blades of grass. I pinch off two at the same length, leaving one slightly shorter. Holding them in my fist with only the tips visible, I look between my brothers. “Pick,” I say.
Our crew watches us curiously. They don’t know what we’re deciding, but whatever it is, we make an odd picture. Luca moves first, tugging a blade free. A long one. He nods, accepting the outcome without a word.
Antonio hesitates.
For the first time in my life, Antonio fucking Venturi hesitates.
His fingers hover over my hand, torn. I see it in his eyes—this is bigger than the act itself. It’s about what she means to him.
“You want it that much?” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer.
I pull the next blade for myself—the short one.
A sharp sting settles in my chest, but I hold it out to him, my jaw tight. “Take her, Antonio. She’s yours for tonight.”
His breath shudders, his lips parting slightly in stunned disbelief. He looks down at the blade of grass like it’s something sacred.
“If she wants me,” he whispers.
And I know—without a fucking doubt—that I’ve done the right thing.
25
AEMELIA
A NEW WORLD
The evening is closing around me when the door opens, spilling an arc of yellow light into the room, interrupted by the huge, shadowed shape of Antonio. I remain curled on my mattress, arms wrapped around myself, anger and humiliation warring in my chest. I hate the way he hauled me up the stairs like a misbehaving child. Hate that he locked me inside like I’m something fragile and breakable that he has to keep safe. But most of all, I hate the way I feel shamed and exposed.
I don’t know why I feel ashamed, but I do. There’s a strange sense of loyalty stirring inside me, like Antonio’s kisses and the orgasm he gave me so unselfishly mean more than they should. And he caught me with my mouth around his brother’s fingers. I flush hot.
He steps into the room, the door clicking behind him. The dim light from the hallway fades, casting him as a shadow, an ominous presence filling the space. He’s carrying a bag, which he sets on the floor with deliberate care before leaning back against the door, his broad shoulders making the room feel even smaller.
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “For earlier. I’m sorry.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting him to say at all. “You don’t own me, Antonio,” I say, my tone guarded, my fingers tightening around the blanket pooling around me.
“I know.” He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly. “It was a shock.”
The strain in his features, the shadowed lines bracketing his mouth, make something twist in my chest. Even with the weight of his turmoil, he’s devastatingly handsome. Too much so.
In Maryland, there were no men like Antonio. No men who commanded space the way he does, who exude raw power with every breath. Maybe that’s why I was never interested in the boys back home. Maybe growing up surrounded by men like the Venturis—dangerous, dominant, unyielding—imprinted something deep inside me. Something I can’t erase.
And maybe that’s why my first memory of desire is of Antonio himself.
Antonio watches me, his eyes dark, searching. “Aemelia…” His voice is hesitant, like he’s unsure how to navigate the space between us.
I swallow hard. “So that’s why you lost it downstairs?”
The silence stretches between us, thick and charged. I should be angry at him. Maybe I am. But there’s something deeper beneath my frustration, something I don’t want to name.
“Is that the only reason you’re sorry?” I whisper.
Antonio’s jaw tightens. His gaze flickers to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “No.”
The air shifts, charged and heavy. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between us, his presence consuming. My breath hitches as he reaches out, his knuckles grazing my cheek in a touch so light it barely registers.
“I shouldn’t want you,” he murmurs, his voice thick, rough. “But I do.”
A shiver runs down my spine, my fingers curling into the blanket as if it’s the only thing keeping me tethered. “You make it sound like it’s a terrible thing.”