Venice Nights (His Submissive #4.5)(23)
Author: Ava Claire

I was Allegra.

Chapter Thirteen

Blanka looked down at the envelope I held out, her eyes bulging from her skull.

A flash of guilt rippled over me. Poor girl—she’s probably thinking I am about to get her in trouble. Again.

“All you have to do is hand this to Jacob,” I assured her. “That’s it.”

She peered up at me skeptically. “Why can’t you give it to him?”

It was a good question. Honestly, I doubted he would accept it from me. Every time I tried to have a conversation involving more than a few words strung together, he bolted from the room.

That morning he uttered a few clipped sentences, telling me had a meeting in Venice all day, but would be home around eight. The first step had been taken, and we were talking again, but my smile was met with him leaving the room without another word.

I had slumped in my chair, pushing eggs around my plate, trying to figure out a way to bridge the distance between us when it hit me. I would get the muddled mess in my head down on paper, and wait for him downstairs. He would read my words and know that I was trying, as hard as that was.

Ready to submit to the difficult feelings that I had been avoiding.

But Blanka had an important role to play. He could give me the brush off, but a letter coming from her would be harder to push away without being rude. I knew it was putting her in an awkward position, but it was the best chance I had.

And she looked like she was seconds from bolting herself.

She gulped, a nervous knot rising and falling in her neck. The nerve beneath her eye ticked wildly as she gingerly accepted the envelope. She shifted it from hand to hand like the weight of it was too heavy to bear. “Just give him this…that’s it?”

“That’s it,” I said simply, flashing her a shaky grin. Her nervousness was starting to rub off on me. I had hatched a plan to fix things with Jacob, and had been running on adrenaline ever since. Her hesitation was making me question myself; face to face with the fear that it would blow up in my face.

Lights glittered across the window pane.

Jacob’s car…which meant there was no time to cajole her.

“You know the turning point in chick flicks when one of the lovers does something drastic to fix something that’s broken?” I gestured at the letter she held. “That’s what’s in your hand. I’m trying to make things right with the man I love.”

I was taking a risk, betting that someone who was a fan of Taylor Swift was a hopeless romantic. Hopeless enough that she would help me, in the name of love.

I crossed my fingers.

“All you have to do is hand him that letter and I’ll take care of the rest.”

The sound of car doors opening and closing were magnified by the silence following my last ditch effort.

Blanka took a step backward. My heart sank—then shot back to its rightful place when I saw the conspiratorial gleam in her eye.

“I’ll give him the letter.”

“Thank you so much!” I spun toward the stairs. “Stall him until I get to his office!”

Blood roared in my ears as my feet slapped against the hardwood floor. I threw open the door, rushing to his desk. I bent down behind it, clueless as to what I was looking for. If I expected some button marked ‘Jacob’s Secret Lair’, I was disappointed. There was no button, no lever that would make the bookcase morph into a door that lead down to his playroom. My ears perked as muffled speech flowed through the open door downstairs. He was inside—and I was supposed to be in the room, waiting.

Frantic, I ran my hand along the desk, stopping when I hit a notch in the wood beneath the drawer.

There was a latch.

I pulled it, grinning when the bookcase shuddered, sliding outward. I slid into the darkened stairwell, flying down the stairs.

The playroom was colder than I expected, even from the amber glow of the lights above. The chilly air tickled my skin, and when I took in the items that surrounded me, a shiver of delight rushed through me.

The impressive mantle was lined with candles. The Saint Andrews cross was perched against the wall. The black chest in front of it was unlatched, filled with things that could make me scream out in pleasure and pain. My eyes rested on the bed, the four mahogany colored posts stretching to the ceiling. The iron chains attached to each of the limbs called to me; the swing draping to the pillow top mattress. Waiting.

I moved to the bed with slow, methodical strides, taking off the hoodie and pants that covered my slinky chemise. I gripped a post, leaning mg head against the cool steel as I remembered the words I wrote in the letter. Words Jacob was probably reading at that very moment.

Jacob,

You’d think that someone who carried a 4.0 GPA in every public relations course would know the right things to say. That’s our business, isn’t it? Always saying the right thing. Avoiding scandal..or if we’re dealing with the fallout, using words and actions to dig ourselves out of the hole.

But when I’m around you, words come out wrong. I forget how to speak, how to string sounds together to make any real sense because I’m so in awe of you. So amazed that I’m yours, and you’re mine. So terrified that I’ll do or say the wrong thing and screw everything up.

You asked me if I knew what I signed up for when I said I loved you. I said yes, but that wasn’t true. I had no idea that my whole life would become a headline. That privacy was no longer an option. I know that’s ridiculous. You’re Jacob Whitmore. I’ve seen proof with my own eyes that anyone linked with you has their faces plastered all over blogs and magazines. Hunted and hounded.

But the fact that this could be my life, photographers following me around, asking me questions about you are in bed—I don’t think there is a way to prepare for that.

But I do know that I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you. I know that I’ve never felt so challenged, so much like my true self, as when I’m in your arms.

As scary as the press and a life lived in the spotlight is to me, it doesn’t compare to how scary I know life without you would be. I don’t think saying yes to you was a mistake. I was made to love you, Jacob.

I’m sure I’ll do and say things I don’t mean, but never doubt my love.

Be patient.

The door beside me creaked open.

I stepped back. My heart lurched to my throat as I came face to face with the man I loved.

Would he be patient? Was I worth the headache?

His hair was windswept; the dark locks were tousled and shimmered against his golden skin. His eyes were the color of the brightest sky and when he opened his mouth and closed it, so moved with emotion that he was speechless, I saw the words of the letter swirling across his face.