Stella (Book One of Dark Souls Series)

Panettone

*~*
miliardario- a man with a net worth of over one billion dollars.
*~*

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I had gone with the wild choice of not wearing any makeup. Red and purple handprints colored my skin from my jaw to my ankles. My legs were sore, resulting in me having to limp.

When I heard movement from the bedroom, I peeked in to see if Gio was awake. He never was after sex, and usually slept in later the next day.

"Vieni a letto," he grumbled tiredly.

(Translation: Come to bed.)

I buttoned my flannel and stepped out of the bathroom. "I'm feeling lightheaded," I responded. "I'm going to step out for air."

He mumbled something incoherently as he rolled back over to go back to sleep.

I grabbed the house key from the nightstand and walked outside. At the same time, I saw a sleek, black car roll to a stop in front of our small house. It looked so out of place in my neighborhood.

Adonis got out of the car and walked to the passenger side.

I pushed my hair behind my ear as I approached him. "Grazie millie," I said sheepishly with a small smile.

He nodded in response, and I noticed his observant eyes watching me. My face heated under his gaze, and I nervously pushed more hair behind my ears. I found myself praying that he didn't notice my limp, but by the glint of disappointment in his eyes, I could tell that he did.

His fingers grazed my hip as I passed him and slid into the passenger seat. I shivered at the subtle contact and ignored my erratic heartbeat. Once he closed my door, he walked to his side and got in.

"Where to?" I asked him, looking at him.

"Tu scegli."

(Translation: You choose.)

"You asked me on a date with no plan?" I asked him.

He offered me a small smile. "I planned to get you."

I looked at the house. "Can we go somewhere far enough from here?" I asked quietly.

"Anywhere you want to go, Estella."

I didn't relax until we were minutes away from the house. I figured the silence was incredibly unbearable when Adonis connected his phone at a red light.

"Am I boring you?" I asked him.

He shook his head. "You are uncomfortable," he spoke. "Dovresti imparare a sentirti a tuo agio con l'essere a disagio."

(Translation: You have to get comfortable with being uncomfortable.)

My toxic trait was that I found the way he delivered his subtle insults extremely attractive. He said it in a way that was far too fluent. His voice was so calm and smooth that I couldn't find a way to get offended.

"I perform for a living. I am very comfortable with being uncomfortable," I said in my defense.

He chuckled. "While your voice is extraordinary, there is more to the world than stripping, Ella," he said softly.

Ella.

I was glad it was dark as I turned away from him while a blush crept to my cheeks. He gave me a nickname.

"You listen to Puccini?" I asked to change the subject.

I heard the old music playing in the background.