She hated a change of venue, hated petty games of control, but if she wanted her staff to believe in this marriage as much as she wanted the public to, the acting had to start now. She had to move forward with every step, believing that she would get him to agree with her plan.
Andshewould be in control.
She tried to come up with a simple excuse for driving herself, but in the end it just seemed the easiest and less suspicious thing to take the ride offered by Luciano.
She told Andrea that her meeting with Luciano was most important and that she was not to be interrupted, then left her father’s—no,her—office building and slid into the car waiting for her.
The drive would not take long, so Serena did not get out her phone or try to do business. She closed her eyes and went over her mantra.
I am strong. I am sure. I am in charge.
The car pulled to a stop at a private entrance in the back of Le Marin, where a staff member, if the crisp black suit was anything to go by, waited.
Even with this backdoor entrance, people would see her. See them. She did not care for the fact they would have an audience of businesspeople and socialites. People who knew them or of them. People who wouldtalk. She did not trust that this was a move made in her best interest.
Or maybe those were the excuses she made for herself so she didn’t have to admit she was just mad he’d changed the venue on her, because she’d had a battle plan drawn for a meeting onherturf, inheroffice.
And now, she had to adjust.
“You will sway it your own way if need be,” she reminded herself. Just as she’d done with the club. She was good on her feet when the situation demanded it.
Now it did.
She got out of the car, was greeted by the staff member, then led through a small, narrow hallway and into a room with a beautiful view of the marina. Not everyone’s version of beauty, she knew, but symbolic. Because Ascione and Valli boats, shipping containers and the like were all out there.
And in front of the window was Luciano himself. Dressed on the side ofcasualthat normally she would have criticized, but he somehow made it look sophisticated and regal, even without a suit jacket or tie.
He made a striking picture there, with such a background, and his own undeniable beauty. What a shame he should be such a cad.
He stood as she approached. She held out her hand as she would in any business meeting. “Mr. Ascione.”
“Serena,” he greeted, taking her hand, and then instead of shaking it, turning it to be brought to his mouth. He brushed a kiss over her knuckles, his gaze meeting hers as he did so.
The use of her name, and his mouth, was unwelcome. That was all the strange pressure in her chest was. Irritation and frustration with the situation. Even if that had never made her feel breathless and overwarm, like her heart had decided to run a marathon there in her chest.
“I have gotten us a private table, so we may talk without worry of being overheard,” he said, gesturing at it now as he dropped her hand. “Please. Sit.”
Serena did not allow herself to move stiffly to the table, even though that is what she felt. She did not allow herself to wipe her hand on her skirt, even though it felt as though that would be the only way to rid the strange warmth from her palm.
She all but had to pry her other hand off her purse once seated, but she did not allow him to read anything uncomfortable in her demeanor.
He might have chosen the venue, but she would remain relaxed and in control. At least on the outside.
A waiter appeared, presenting a bottle of wine. When Luciano approved, he began to pour.
Serena put her hand in front of her glass. “None for me. I will stick with water. Thank you.”
“Leave the bottle,” Luciano told the waiter, who nodded, then melted away. “Come,cara. We might be celebrating by the end of this conversation.”
She smiled sweetly at him but spoke between her teeth. “And we might end up tossing the wine at each other.”
His mouth quirked at one side, and something in her chest seemed to mimic the movement. A quick, upturned flutter.
“I would almost like to see it, Serena,” he said, his gaze moving over her face. “The ice princess losing her temper.”
She held his gaze, but something was tying itself in knots in her stomach. Because losing her temper was never an issue, never much of a challenge. She was excellent at control, but the man across from her was the only man who ever tested that.
She hated that it washim, but what could be done? She could not control her insides, but she could control her outsides. Even when it was hard. To lose sight of her controlnowwould destroy everything.
