Christmas with the Beast (The Fiore Family Book 1) by C.M. Steele

Author:C.M. Steele [Steele, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Steele Press
Published: 2021-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Isabelle

I look at the fabric in front of me. The expensive tags are still on them, so that’s good to know. I have a million questions, but I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Although I suppose I already did that when I snapped about having a girlfriend. God, how pathetically jealous did I sound? I could kick myself, still I need to get dressed before he comes back.t

Slipping on the lace panties, I love the color mauve and the way it looks against my pale skin. I clasp the bra in the back, slide the straps over my shoulders, and adjust my breasts, which are nearly spilling out. So this is what money feels like? Nice.

I make good money, but not the kind that can buy this kind of underwear. The bra itself is a dream; although it has an underwire, for some reason it doesn’t dig in or feel uncomfortable. I’ll have to Google this brand and see if they make a cheaper knock-off or maybe check one of the outlet stores for last season’s things.

I wince as I slide the pretty sweater blouse over my body. My already sore shoulder is definitely a little tender after my accident. Everything of mine is still in the car, including my cell phone. I wonder if Anabelle’s freaking out because I promised to call or text as soon as I got here.

I get dressed, but there are no socks and shoes—luckily the floor in this room feels heated. Is this one of his guest bedrooms? I pull open one of the drawers, and it strikes me. No, this is his bedroom. I took a bath in his tub and practically sprawled out naked on his bed. Reaching over, I straighten the covers and then bring his pillow to my nose. It’s selfish and weak, but if this is all I get, then I’ll just have to take that moment.

Franco doesn’t want me here. That thought runs through my head, and I toss the pillow back down. I heard what he said to his brother. “She doesn’t belong here.”

There’s no two ways around it: he has no interest in me. Maybe I misunderstood Fabio or something. It’s also possible that he read more into his brother enjoying my cooking. The man has isolated himself for a reason and clearly would have preferred to keep it that way.

I leave the room before I do something stupid, like cry again. I’ve wasted two good years crying over someone who doesn’t see me as anything other than a chef. To him I’m no different than Gordon Ramsey or Bobby Flay.

Once I exit the massive bedroom, I have no idea where I’m going in this grand estate. Taking the stairs, I stop when I see two large dogs wagging their tails at me. I cross over to them and stick out my hands. They lick them and try to jump on me, but I stop them almost immediately with a wag of my fingers.

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