Twisted Bond by SR Jones
Chapter Eight
Amelia
My first day back in Italy was wonderful. I had imagined myself strolling the beautiful gardens of the villa and maybe taking a dip in the pool, but in the end, all I did was spend the day in bed with Giovanni. It was perfect.
Despite my happiness about being here, the place I feel I truly belong these days, there's a dark cloud of sadness hanging over me, and every now and again it washes up inside me dark and dirty. I need to know exactly what my grandmother did and why. And I need to know about my mother. I feel like such a coward, though, because right now, I just can't face it. I'd like to have a day or two to get my equilibrium back before I sit and talk with Giovanni about such matters.
He's in his study working, and I've had a small snack in the kitchen, and now the library is calling to me.
I want to see Maya and apologize to her for what I did, but first I really do need to go to the one place in this house that I feel is my spiritual home. Giovanni told me he loved me, but I'm still not sure what that means for me moving forward. Will he want me to stay here with him permanently? Would I want to stay permanently? I think I would, and not just because I'm, for all intents and purposes, an orphan with nowhere else to go. I own a property worth a lot of money, and I have many ideas for the house in Maine. I just don't want to be there. I do want to be here.
All along, I told myself that wanting this was wrong because of how it began. Now, though, I know that denying myself something that makes me feel happy and whole is flat out crazy. Giovanni knows he did the wrong thing, and he basically rescued me, so I think he's more than made up for it.
I push open the doors of the library, and for the first time in weeks I feel as if I can breathe again. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, loving the smell of the lemon-scented wax cleaner that is used on some of the woodwork in the library and the polish that's used on the tiles, and floating above all of it the glittering layer of the scent of books.
I walk past shelf after shelf, trailing my fingers over the beloved spines of the familiar texts. Truth be told, I sometimes think that I love this library as much as I would if it were a person. It is extremely precious to me. It fills my heart with joy and a calmness that is beyond priceless.
As I reach the back of the room, I notice that underneath one of the beautiful windows is a large box. There's a square of paper sticky-taped to it with writing on it. As I near, I can read it. The note clearly says, in familiar, elegant cursive: Dear Amelia, open me.
Intrigued, I step right up to the box and notice that there's a box cutter next to it. With a smile, I pick up the box cutter and carefully open the cardboard. As I peel back the layers of cardboard, and white tissue, as if peeling back layers of an onion, my excitement builds. I can make out the shape of what can only be books underneath the final layer of thin tissue.
When the first of the contents comes into sight, I gasp and take two steps back in shock. Beautiful and fragile in its cradle of parchment and tissue, is nestled a first edition of Wuthering Heights. I stare at the book, too scared to even touch it. I need proper equipment to look at the contents of this box. Giovanni must have done this; there's no other explanation for it.
There's nothing more wonderful that he could have bought me. All the jewels in the world wouldn't beat this box of books. I'm dying to know what else is in here, but I'm scared I might go about it the wrong way and harm the books. I'm not fully trained in handling things as rare as this.
I guess it will have to wait until the restorer gets here, whenever that is. I’m not even sure if Gio has hired the man yet.
There's a knock on the door, and it opens as a young woman who looks to be in her early thirties, wearing bright red glasses, and matching lipstick pokes her head around the door.
“Are you Amelia?” she asks.
“Yes, that's me.”
She smiles at me and steps into the room. “I'm your new assistant, Veronica,” she says.
I stare at her for a long moment. My assistant?
“Mr. Bianchi hired me as I'm a specialist restorer of rare and fragile books.”
Hurt slams into me. I know it's wrong of me because I'm quite clearly not qualified to be handling books that are practically falling apart, and I knew he would hire somebody specialized in these sorts of things, but stupidly I feel as if my nose has been pushed out slightly. I was expecting an old man, not a young woman. Like a tigress who has staked out her territory, I resent this new female in my space.
“He says that I am to report to you twice a week, and you will tell me which books to begin to clean and care for to ensure that they can stay here for a long time.”
The hurt transforms into a warm glow of love. He's hired someone, but is leaving me in charge. In reality, there is no way I should be in charge of this woman. She will be highly qualified if she can safely handle such rare treasures. In fact, I should go to Giovanni and tell him that Veronica should be the one in charge of the library. It is the grown-up thing to do. The right thing to do.
“It's nice to meet you Veronica,” I say truthfully. “There's actually a box of books that arrived while I was gone. It would be great to have some help going through them because, frankly, I don’t dare touch the first one.”
“Yes, Mr. Bianchi told me that there would be a consignment of books arriving for you. He informed me that I'm to help you catalogue them. There are some other books here, though, as well, that he says you have noted and left to one side to be cleaned and restored safely. So it's up to you where we begin.”
I give her a smile and cross the library toward the door. “Can you give me five minutes, and I'll be back.”
As I leave the room, I remember my manners and put my head back around the door. “Oh, and would you like a coffee?”
“A coffee would be lovely; thank you. I can't stay for too long, but I got a message that you were back and that I could come and meet you this evening.”
Curious suddenly, I wonder how she can afford to live around here but only work two days a week. “Where are you staying?” I ask her.
“I live here,” she says. “I was actually working in Venice. Unfortunately, my mother had to have hip surgery, and I need to stay with her for at least the next few months. Mr. Bianchi heard that I was back, and he sent Matteo to ask me if I would be willing to help in the library a couple days a week. It works well for me because I can leave Mama for only short periods of time, and it means I get to do something that I enjoy and earn a little bit of money until I can get back to my work.”
“I'm glad that this can help,” I say, a little unsure of myself.
I give her a wave and feeling like a stupid idiot for waving at her a like a child, I close the door softly behind me, my cheeks burning as I hasten to find Giovanni. I'm really not the sort of person who is used to being in charge of people. I've never managed anyone in my life. Of course, we had the staff back in America. I always saw them as father’s and grandmother’s staff, though, not mine.
When I reach Gio’s study, I knock on the door.
“Enter,” his deep voice says in Italian.
It is one of the few words that I've learned since being here.
I open his door and step inside. This room always strikes me as so him. It is deeply masculine, and unlike the rest of the house it isn't decorated in beautiful frescoes, or amazing patterned tiles. No, instead, this place is decorated for comfort. There's a thick carpet, deep leather sofas, and chairs dotted around the large space, and then Giovanni himself seated at a desk with a huge recliner chair behind it. There's a tumbler on the desk by him, and from the look of the amber liquid, I think he's drinking either whiskey or brandy.
He glances up from the paperwork he's looking at, and his brows raise. “You don't have to knock.”
“I want to talk to you about the new lady you've hired ... for the library, I mean.”
“Good, you've met Veronica.”
“Yes, I have, and she seems very nice from the brief conversation we had. Her English is fantastic. But, Giovanni, I can't be her manager. She's way more qualified than I. It's not right. I think you should make her the one in charge the days that she's in.”
He leans back in his chair, puts his hands behind his head, and laces his fingers together as he eyes me speculatively.
“Amelia, you are the mistress of this house. I can't put her in charge of you. Yes, she knows more about restoring books and cleaning fragile manuscripts, which is why when I heard that she was back in the village I hired her immediately. It’s your library though, Dolcezza.”
I'm staring at him, and I guess I must resemble some sort of stunned fish because my mouth is open, and I can't seem to close it. What does he mean I'm the mistress of the house? I'm not his wife. The mistress of the house is ... well, I guess it is Nonna. Perhaps Greta?
“I'm not the mistress of the house, Gio,” I say with a soft laugh.
“You're with me, aren't you?” His dark gaze regards me, and I think there's something akin to disappointment in his eyes.
Have I let him down? Not stepped up to the role he envisages for me? The thing is, I don't know what's happening here. He brought me back, but for what?
“Gio, I understand that I'm your girlfriend ... I guess you could call it. That doesn't make me mistress of the house.”
He pushes back his chair and stands from behind his desk, walking around to stand before me. He takes both my hands in his and brushes his thumbs over the back of my hands.
“Amelia, you are much more than my girlfriend. I've had girlfriends before, and they never had a say in how things were run. I want you to have that say. I want you to make this place your home.”
My heart leaps and flutters around like an overexcited bird in my breast, but then the cage slams shut as fear grips me. What he’s saying is so wonderful it terrifies me. What if he's playing a game with me? What if he changes his mind?
I'm so vulnerable right now with everything that I have learned about my mother, and all the things I haven't yet learned. I have no one really, and if I let myself fall into this and it doesn't work out, I think it will break me completely.
“What is it?” he asks me. “You look so sad.”
“You're saying everything that I've ever wanted to hear from you, Giovanni. It scares me, though. It's as if I let myself fall into this, and then a month down the road, if you fall in love with someone else, I'll just break apart. I don't know if I can take any more heartache. And I'm not putting that on you. I'm not saying you have to stay with me. I'm just asking that you don't make promises and vows you can't keep. I'm more than happy to be here, for us to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and have the great, amazing sexy times we have.” I bite my lip as I feel my cheeks heat. Sexy times? What's with me and acting like a child all of a sudden? “That came out a bit wrong, but what I mean to say is, I love being here with you. I can't believe it's more than it is, though. I’ll get let down later because I honestly think that would be the final straw for my heart.”
“You still don't get it, do you?” He shakes his head and laughs, but it's a bitter sound. “Christ, Amelia, what would I have to do? Cut my fucking heart out and put it on the desk for you? I love you. I told you I love you.”
“I know, and I love you too, but people can fall in and out of love.”
He lets go of my hands and walks to the desk where he sits perched on the edge, his fingers wrapping over the bevel and foot tapping as he regards me for a moment.
“Amelia, from the first moment I saw you, you wormed your way in. Frankly, it was probably quite insane the way I reacted to you. I saw you and wanted you, and I don't just mean that I wanted you for one night—I mean that I wanted you for so much more. It was wrong, though. You were too young and naive. But I left your house and came back here, and all I could think about was you. It was screwed up, and I kind of hated myself for it, but you were on my mind all the time. I'd be somewhere trying to work, or possibly talk to the guys, and my mind would drift back to that library and the first moment I saw you. Or the meal we had together. Or I would think about your father and the way he kept you locked away. You know, when I was in your house, I looked at every single photograph of you that was out. I studied them. I knew every single line, depth, and plane of your face as if it were my own. I didn't understand that, and I suppose I still don't. Frankly, I stopped caring. It is what it is. You were like one of those songs you hear, and you can't get out of your head; what is it you Americans call it?”
“An earworm?” I ask him.
“Yeah, that's it. You were like an earworm, but for my heart.”
I laugh at that because it's so unromantic, but at the same time so damn romantic.
“I couldn't stop replaying moments I had with you. Then I did what I did. I'm not proud of it, and I know now it was really screwed up. I don't think I could admit to myself just how deep the connection was that I felt with you, so I had to make it about vengeance, and maintaining my reputation. But Jesus Christ, Amelia, I'm laying on the line for you now. It was all just to have you here with me. So you said that you're scared? Maybe I'm scared too. And maybe these things you're saying aren't purely because you're scared of me falling out of love with you. Maybe you say them because you're scared of this commitment, scared of what you know deep down that I want.”
I think he might be right. God, Giovanni is so much more perceptive than you think at first. I am scared of what I think he wants. I'm scared of what I want. It all feels so crazy, insane, and far too intense to be real.
“You overthink and overanalyze everything.” He shakes his head at me. “I wouldn't have you any other way, though, my sensitive sweetness. So, tell me—are you scared of what I want from you?”
Oh, I'm scared all right. I'm scared of what he wants from my body. He gave me a hint of it in the shower today, with his finger in my ass and his thick cock deep in my pussy. One day, I know he'll probably put that massive cock of his where his finger was today. I know he'll punish me at some point, and I'll probably love it. I'm also scared about what someone like Giovanni would need from the woman at his side. I'm so stupid and clumsy around people. I don't know how to read them, and I always say the wrong thing. That's not the sort of woman Gio needs. I guess I feel as if by choosing me, he's making a massive mistake.
“I guess I feel that I'm not good enough.” I give him honesty, and in doing so I bear my heart for him to crush if he so wishes.
He pushes off from the desk and stalks to me, before dropping gracefully to his knees. He kisses my stomach through my clothes, holding my hips with his hands as he looks up at me through thick, dark lashes. His eyes are so beautiful from this angle, looking up at me all dark and soulful.
“Amelia, I'm the one who could never be good enough. I’d fucking slay dragons for you if that's what you wanted. You don't even know your own worth. I don't want you because of how you look, or at least I don't only want you because of how you look.” He gives me a cheeky wink, and it breaks some of the tension. “You have to know, though, that when you came to the fight club, everyone in there wanted you. Your body is enough to drive mere mortal men to war to claim it. I honestly think I'd fight every man in that place to the death just have a taste of you.”
“So other than laying siege to my body, and fighting off any man who looks at me the wrong way, what exactly is it you want from me?” Now I'm the one who gives him a wink, breaking some of the tension. Oh my God, I thought I was laying my heart on the line, but Giovanni has just metaphorically cut his out of his chest and placed it on the desk the way he said he would.
“I want you to be my wife.”