Ruthless Monarch

“Now, that makes a lot more sense.”

He leans forward in his chair, his fingers drumming on the surface of the table.

“Why do you not see me as the type of person who can relax?”

Even now as he asks that question, he’s not relaxing. Case in point: the drumming.

“I don’t think you could relax if your life depended on it,” I answer.

“I almost feel like that’s a challenge.”

“Take it any way you want, but you would lose.” He chuckles at my comment, and I think he’s going to accept it when all of a sudden, the lights in the room start to flicker.

“Are we losing power?”

“Probably. The winds are very strong, and this is an old house.”

And then, as if on cue, they go off.

“Shit,” Matteo says as he stands.

“Don’t you have a generator?”

The room around us is pitch-black. There are no lights on anywhere in the large estate.

“I do. But it only has enough power to light up certain parts of this place.”

“The dining room isn’t one of them?”

He lets out a sigh. “No. Unfortunately, not.”

“Then what is?”

“Well, we don’t really need to have the dining room with lights if we have the kitchen lit up. Now do we?”

“You have the kitchen lit?” My voice rises. Clearly, the idea of sitting in the dark with Matteo has my tone rising.

“No.”

“Let me get this straight, you have this big giant generator, and it lights up what? Obviously not the house?”

“The surveillance room. The security system. This place is Fort Knox with or without power.” Now that makes sense. “There’s no generator powerful enough to light up this whole place, but if God forbid something like this happened, the house would be protected, and the people inside the house would be protected.”

“Okay, so we have no lights, but we are safe, but that doesn’t answer the question of what do we do?”

He steps closer to me. It might be dark, but I can feel his presence.

“I’m sure that my staff will light the candles and pass out flashlights.”

“And we wait where?”

“If you're afraid to be alone, you can stay with me.”

“As in your bedroom?” I squeak.

I feel his hand before I see it. He takes mine in his, pulling me up and closer to him.

I can barely see anything. It’s so dark in the room. The giant windows allow very little of the moonlight to stream in and other than that, nothing.

I can see the reflection in his eyes. They appear darker in this light, reminding me of the first time I saw him watching me.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Cold?”

“No,” I respond as he pulls me into his side, wrapping his hands around my waist.

He leads us out of the room. There is no question that if I was by myself in these pitch-black hallways, I would fall headfirst onto the ground. Despite the moonlight streaming in through the windows, there is no visibility.

I can hear the branches snapping against the frame of the house. The storm is crazy, and I can’t imagine it letting up anytime soon.

As he pulls me along, I almost feel like a rag doll. The only difference is, in truth, I don’t hate it. I feel safer this way.

We step foot into a room, and he leads me farther inside, then lets go of me. I’m not sure what he’s doing, but then he pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights a candle. We are in a room that is probably considered his den or, because this is an estate, maybe a parlor.

“Take a seat. I’ll light a few more, and then I’ll start a fire.”

“No.” My voice comes out too forceful, and Matteo stops what he’s doing to turn in my direction. I can’t see him clearly in the dark, but there is no question he’s perplexed by my reaction.

His hand reaches out and touches my shaky limb.

“Shh.” It’s almost like he’s cooing a baby. Soft and strategic, it pools in my chest like warm honey. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

You’d be surprised.

“I-I don’t like fires.” The wobble in my voice is unmistakable, and I hate myself for it.

“Sit on the couch. I won’t light one if you’re scared. But Viviana . . .”

“Yes.”

“There is nothing to be afraid of. It’s merely a spark burst into a flame.”

“It can’t be controlled,” I whisper, my voice raspy and tight.

“And that’s the beautiful part,” he says. “Sit. Nothing will happen.”

I can see the shape of the couch, so I make my way over and take a seat. Once Matteo has lit up two more candles, he sits beside me.

“The candles don’t bother you?” He’s close. Very close.

Too damn close if you ask me. If the candles weren't flickering in the distance, I would think that he robbed the room of oxygen.

“No. Just the—” I can’t go on. I can’t explain it to him without telling him everything. “Now what do we do?” I ask, changing the topic. He turns to face me, the shadows of the light playing across his features.