Lilian's POV
My breath caught as Augusto emerged from the bathroom, steam trailing behind him. A white towel hung low around his waist, water droplets still clinging to his skin.
During our marriage, I had never allowed him to undress in my presence. At the reunion, I had been too intoxicated and overwhelmed to truly observe him. Now I could see what I had missed.
His frame was perfectly sculpted. Broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist, every muscle defined without being excessive. His skin held that golden tone that spoke of natural athleticism and careful maintenance.
What was wrong with me? Why was I staring at him like this?
Heat flooded my cheeks and I jerked my gaze away, focusing intently on the silk sheets beneath my fingers.
Augusto moved closer, the warmth radiating from his freshly showered body reaching me across the space between us. The scent of expensive soap and something distinctly masculine filled my senses.
I pressed myself back against the pillows, words tumbling out in a nervous rush. "When did you return? Are you starving? I could prepare something for you."
His laugh was low and cutting. "You? In a kitchen?" Dark amusement flickered in his eyes. "What exactly would you be capable of making?"
Silence stretched between us. He was right, and we both knew it. I was the pampered daughter of wealth, raised with servants to handle every practical need. I could execute a flawless pirouette, discuss art and literature with sophistication, play piano with technical precision. But actual useful skills? The list was embarrassingly short.
He leaned down until his face was inches from mine, his breath warm against my ear. "There are other methods of satisfying me that don't involve cooking." His voice carried a rough edge that made something deep in my stomach clench with nervous anticipation.
As his kept woman, I should understand these games. I should know how to arch into his touch, how to respond with practiced seduction. Instead, my entire body went rigid. The transformation from wife to mistress felt too abrupt, too jarring. Years of cold distance couldn't be erased overnight.
Before I could react, his mouth claimed mine in a kiss that was demanding and possessive. His lips moved against mine with an intensity that left no room for hesitation.
Panic flared through me and I pushed against his chest, trying to create space between us.
He pulled back immediately, his expression shifting to something glacial. "You wouldn't resist if I were Armand, would you?"
The name hit me like a physical blow. Armand. His brother. Why would he bring up ancient history now? Yes, I had harbored feelings for Armand once upon a time. But that was before Augusto and I married, before I severed every connection to that chapter of my life. Years had passed. I barely thought of Armand anymore.
"He's returning to the city soon." Augusto watched me with laser focus, searching for any flicker of reaction. "That must fill you with joy."
I moistened my lips, preparing to explain that he was wrong, that those feelings belonged to the past.
But he continued with bitter satisfaction, "I've always been his inferior in your estimation, haven't I? Even now, when I hold every advantage, you still regard me as beneath you."
That wasn't true at all. Why did he sound so uncertain, so wounded beneath the anger? I opened my mouth to tell him that while Armand was admirable, Augusto himself was—
"Enough." The word cracked like a whip, cutting off my explanation before it could form.
I swallowed the words that might have been "even better than him." His fury was palpable, so I clamped my lips shut and waited.
Augusto moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows, extracting a cigarette from somewhere. The flame of his lighter cast shadows across his face as he inhaled deeply. "Your pride remains untouched, I see." Smoke curled from his lips as he spoke. "You lack the instincts of a proper mistress."
Fear that he might demand immediate repayment of my family's debts made me stumble over my response. "That's not accurate. I simply need time to adjust to this arrangement."
Another soft laugh escaped him, this one edged with mockery.
Biting down on my lower lip, I slipped from beneath the covers and approached him. I had chosen this path. Playing the innocent would be both pointless and insulting to his intelligence.
When I reached him, I placed my palms against his shoulders and pressed awkward kisses to his mouth, then along the column of his throat.
His eyes immediately darkened to almost black.
Encouraged, I let my hands wander across his chest, attempting to mimic the confident touches I had observed women use in upscale lounges. But uncertainty made me freeze, my fingers hovering uselessly against his skin.
A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest as he caught my restless hands in his larger ones. "Uncertain of your next move?" The roughness in his voice sent heat spiraling through me.
Embarrassment kept my gaze fixed on the floor.
In one fluid motion, he extinguished his cigarette, lifted me against him, and captured my mouth with fierce hunger.
Everything blurred together after that. My clothing seemed to disappear without my awareness, and then I was sinking into the luxury of Egyptian cotton sheets.
Sharp pain made me cry out, and through the haze a confused thought emerged: hadn't we been intimate at the reunion? Why did this feel like virgin territory? But rational thought scattered as Augusto proved relentless in his attention.
I lost all sense of time, aware only that his stamina seemed endless. When consciousness returned, golden afternoon light streamed through the windows. The sound of running water indicated Augusto was in the shower again.
I struggled upright despite protesting muscles. A deep, specific ache throbbed between my thighs—the unmistakable soreness of tissues stretched and claimed for the very first time.
Confusion clouded my thoughts. If the reunion had been my first experience with him, why this particular sensation now?
A terrible suspicion began forming just as Augusto reappeared from the bathroom, fully dressed.
I forced myself to ask the question burning in my throat. "That night at the reunion—did we actually become intimate?"
"No." His response was immediate and without hesitation.
Shock stole my breath. "Then why didn't you simply clarify that for the press?"
Augusto fixed me with a dismissive look. "We were discovered unclothed and entangled together. What exactly did you imagine there was to clarify?"
"But you could have explained the truth to me. To my parents," I pressed, my voice rising with frustration. "If nothing happened, they never would have forced this marriage on you. You wouldn't have been obligated to—"
"Obligated to what?" He moved closer suddenly, his gaze sharp as cut glass. "Feel regret?"
I met his stare, my thoughts churning chaotically.
Shouldn't I be the one filled with regret? He had been coerced into matrimony, humiliated by my family's demands, separated from whatever woman truly held his affections.
He tossed a towel in my direction.
I caught it reflexively, confused until he spoke with cool authority. "Dry my hair."
"Of course." I moved quickly, kneeling on the mattress to gently work the towel through his damp locks.
The action triggered a vivid memory: myself emerging from lengthy baths, too lazy to properly tend to my soaking hair. I would wrap it carelessly in a towel and collapse onto the bed.
Augusto would notice and insist on drying it thoroughly. He would retrieve the blow dryer, explaining patiently that sleeping with wet hair would cause headaches.
At the time, his attention annoyed me. I would complain loudly, but he would ignore my protests and complete the task with gentle persistence.
Remembering that tenderness and comparing it to the calculating stranger before me now sent chills down my spine. How many layers did this man possess? He must have despised me throughout our marriage, yet he had endured it all without revealing his true feelings.
Augusto finished adjusting his cufflinks with practiced efficiency. "Remain here. Don't venture out."
I stayed kneeling on the bed and nodded compliantly.
The primary rule of being a kept woman was obedience to your benefactor.
He paused at the threshold and glanced back at me.
Self-consciousness made me pull the sheets more securely around my body.
Something that might have been a smile touched the corner of his mouth, and the expression transformed his entire face.
It struck me then: during years of marriage, he had never smiled at me that way. He had always maintained perfect composure, distant and untouchable as marble. Now I understood. He had simply been concealing everything.
After Augusto departed, exhaustion pulled at me. My body still ached from the intensity of our first encounter, soreness lingering in my legs and deeper.
But the moment I settled against the pillows, my phone rang. Seeing the caller identification, fatigue vanished instantly and I scrambled to answer.