Chapter 96 96
Sofía stopped one of the staff members to ask for directions to the ladies’ restroom. When she stepped inside, the space was empty and quiet.
Isabelle must still be in one of the stalls.
Sofía moved toward the mirror and froze.
Her lipstick was slightly smudged.
Horror washed over her as realization dawned. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was obvious enough to hint at what she and her husband had been doing before arriving.
She muttered a curse under her breath for not checking properly earlier and another for her infuriatingly possessive husband who had clearly noticed and said nothing. Of course he hadn’t. He probably enjoyed the idea of everyone knowing just how much his woman desired him.
Evil man.
With a sigh, she wiped her lips clean with a tissue and carefully applied a fresh coat of gloss. Much better.
One of the stall doors opened.
Isabelle stepped out and startled visibly when she noticed Sofía standing there.
“Oh! I’m sorry. You surprised me,” Isabelle said softly as she moved toward the sink. She set something down on the marble counter before washing her hands.
“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sofía replied gently.
Isabelle offered a small smile, then grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the sheen of sweat on her forehead. She stared at her reflection for a moment, her breathing steadier now.
“Are you feeling alright?” Sofía asked, unable to ignore the way Isabelle had been panting earlier.
Isabelle nodded sweetly. “Yes. I’m okay now.”
Sofía hesitated, then spoke with a light chuckle. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but Mr. Rousseau is a little… intimidating. Handsome but intimidating.”
Isabelle lowered her gaze.
“Intimidating?” she repeated quietly. Then she glanced toward the closed door before leaning closer to Sofía, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“He’s a devil.”
Sofía laughed softly, assuming it was playful exaggeration until her eyes drifted to the object Isabelle had placed on the counter.
Her breath caught.
It was a small, oval-shaped vibrator.
Recognition struck immediately. Fernando had used one like it on her more than once usually during his so-called “punishments,” which had consisted of relentless pleasure until she was left trembling and senseless.
Her mind snapped into place.
Isabelle’s uneven breathing. The sheen of sweat. Pierre’s warning glare.
Oh.
Heat flooded Sofía’s cheeks. Embarrassment mixed with understanding.
“How old are you?” Sofía asked gently.
“Eighteen,” Isabelle answered softly.
Pierre looked far older. Where Isabelle appeared angelic and delicate, Pierre radiated darkness and control.
Sofía understood what forbidden love felt like. She had lived it. And from the outside, Isabelle and Pierre’s relationship carried that same forbidden edge.
A girl as innocent as Isabelle might have dreamed of a gentle, affectionate partner.
Pierre did not strike her as gentle.
“Are you his girlfriend?” Sofía asked carefully, aware she might be overstepping.
Isabelle’s fingers fidgeted nervously. She lowered her eyes.
“I’m his wife,” she murmured so quietly Sofía barely caught it.
Don’t judge, Sofía reminded herself instantly.
“Do you love him?” she asked, her tone softer now.
Isabelle exhaled slowly. “He was written into my fate.”
The answer told Sofía enough. She chose not to push further.
“You know,” Sofía began thoughtfully, “Fernando used to be my teacher at the academy. He was drawn to me, and I kept running from him. It was forbidden. And he terrified me.”
Isabelle’s eyes widened. “You’re joking,” she whispered.
Sofía shook her head with a quiet laugh.
“He was fierce. I was frightened. But I started noticing the little things the way he looked after me, the quiet ways he showed he cared. Those small efforts warmed my heart. And before I knew it, I had fallen in love with my teacher.” She smiled at the memory. “It was forbidden… but thrilling in the most beautiful way.”
“Does he love you?” Isabelle asked innocently. “Your husband?”
Sofía’s cheeks turned pink.
“Oh, sweetheart. He’s hopelessly in love with me. Our three children are proof enough.”
Isabelle gasped, covering her mouth. “You have three children?”
Sofía nodded.
“But you don’t look like a mother of three!”
They both giggled.
“Don’t flatter me,” Sofía muttered playfully.
Their laughter was abruptly interrupted by a sharp knock on the restroom door.
They exchanged confused looks. Who knocked before entering a ladies’ restroom?
Sofía walked over and opened it.
Pierre stood there, a tight, controlled smile on his face.
“Fernando is waiting for you,” he said curtly.
She frowned slightly. Fernando would never send another man to fetch her from the restroom.
“If you want to claim your wife, you could simply say so,” Sofía replied lightly. “No need to lie.”
She gave Isabelle a small wave. The girl looked pale.
“Wife,” Pierre muttered under his breath, but Sofía caught it. His eyes darkened.
Before she could say anything else, Pierre stepped inside. Sofía instinctively moved out of the doorway. As he passed, she heard him murmur something low.
“Like husband, like wife.”
The door shut firmly in her face.
Bastard.
The word nearly slipped out loud.
As she walked back toward the main hall, her thoughts lingered on Isabelle. If Pierre was hurting her truly hurting her he would regret it someday.
“I hate that insufferable man,” Sofía muttered once she reached Fernando’s side.
Fernando smiled faintly and pressed a kiss to her nose. “That insufferable man happens to be Italy’s mafia boss.”
Her eyes widened slightly as the pieces fell into place. Of course.
Silently, she sent a prayer into the universe for Isabelle’s happiness.
“We should leave,” Fernando said suddenly.
She blinked. “But we just got here.”
His gaze darkened with unmistakable intent.
“I want you,” he murmured roughly. “And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
A blush spread across her cheeks, and she laughed softly as he guided her toward the exit.
The party could wait.
His wife could not.