Gilded Princess: A Dark Mafia Romance (Five Families Book 1) by Penelope Black

Author:Penelope Black [Black, Penelope]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

MADDIE

“What’s . . . all this? Are you expecting company?” My eyes widen as I take in the breakfast spread laid out on the island in the middle of the kitchen. A platter with bagels and different flavored cream cheeses, all the ingredients to build your own yogurt parfait, Belgian waffles, fresh fruit, and omelets.

“Espresso, latte, freshly squeezed orange juice, or tea?” Matteo asks as he brings a red espresso cup to his lips.

My hair is still damp, curling wildly at the ends, but my body feels a little less achy after the steaming-hot shower I took. The bathroom was large and luxurious—and surprisingly stocked with products similar to the ones I use.

I avoided my reflection, the aches and tender skin enough of a reminder. I don’t want to see myself like that, and if I just pretend hard enough that I’m okay, maybe I’ll actually start to feel okay.

It’s a weak plan, but it’s all I have right now, so I’m going with it.

I found a stack of new clothes on the vanity, and oddly enough, I didn’t even think to question why he had women’s clothes in my sizes with the tags still on. Until now. I cock my head to the side, looking at him in a new light. Something’s not adding up here, and I know I don’t have all the information to figure it out.

“Matteo, what’s going on?”

He sets his cup down on the counter behind him, the fabric of his charcoal-gray shirt stretching tight across his chest. His shirt sleeves are rolled twice—just enough to glimpse the tattoos inked to his wrists.

Without a word, he pours the tea over ice and adds a dash of sweetener.

Exactly how I like my tea.

A shiver of something foreign rolls through me.

He adds a paper straw and slides the glass across the counter before leaning back against the sink and taking another sip.

The glass is cool against my fingers, and I take a drink to quench my thirst.

Mango Ceylon. One of my favorites.

“While you’re here, I want you to treat my home as if it were yours—”

“Your home?” I can feel my eyes widen, and I turn my head from side to side, taking everything in with fresh eyes.

It’s an open floor plan, not even big archways to separate the rooms like you find in so many penthouses. The kitchen bleeds into a dining room. A wrought-iron chandelier with dimly lit Edison bulbs hangs above a blonde, wooden eight-chair dining room table. It gives the room subtle warmth.

The table is bare except for a laptop at one end. I imagine Matteo sitting there, sipping espresso with the rising sun and working on . . . whatever it is he does.

The dining room transitions into a living room that sort of wraps around the outer perimeter in a U shape. One entire wall is floor-to-ceiling windows, as is the fashion for so many apartments like these.

I always thought the word apartment felt too small, too plain for homes like these.

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