The next morning, Enrico woke with a throbbing headache, his mind foggy and his body sluggish. For a moment, he lay still, his memory still blank, trying to piece together the fragments of the previous night or why he felt so weak. He placed his hand to his forehead, as the events began to come back to him.
Isabella had drugged him—a surge of anger and disbelief shot through him at the thought of how foolish he had been to be easily manipulated by his desire to have her in his bed.
She had betrayed him in the most personal and intimate way possible, one he didn't see coming.
He shot up from the bed, ignoring the dull ache in his head. His eyes scanned the room, quickly noticing the disarray. The nightgown Isabella had worn was discarded on the floor, but there was no sign of her. It
