Cellie's POV
"He doesn't even let me go to the pool unsupervised," Georgiana said, her voice carrying the specific incredulity of someone reporting a genuine injustice. "Can you imagine?"
I could imagine it with complete clarity. I could picture Georgiana in a bikini, sunglasses on, towel under her arm, and Dante materializing from somewhere with the calm, immovable energy of a man who had already assessed every possible threat within a fifty-meter radius of the pool and had decided the answer was no.
"Maybe he just needs to unclench a little," I said, shifting my phone to my other ear and pulling Demetrio's pillow closer into my lap. It still smelled like his cologne, the expensive spicy one, and I was not going to examine how deeply I had inhaled it approximately four times this morning. "A good night's sleep might help."
