Contrary to all that she’d feared about sharing a space with him and his overbearing personality, the man went out of his way to make sure her every need was attended to, before even she realized she had it.
For someone who had looked after herself most of her life, it was…disconcerting to be such a focal point of someone else’s attention. Not that she was very different from an important project, and Renzo was managing her with his usual ruthless expertise.
It bothered her more with each passing day. She didn’t know what she wanted—and how she hated not knowing herself—but the very polite, very rational shape their relationship had taken grated on her, day and night. As did the increasingly static nature of her day.
Each morning, a hot breakfast—optimized for her maximum well-being—would be waiting for her the exact moment she came into the kitchen, after a shower and a round of stretches with her coach.
The latter was honestly a luxury she wished she could afford the rest of her life. She didn’t care so much about losing her mommy pooch, as she’d taken to calling it, but she loved how light and less sore her body felt after the stretches.
Dressed in a designer suit, jet-black hair slicked back, Renzo would be chugging some disgusting protein shake. He never left for work without greeting her in the morning. Usually, she pushed her breakfast around the plate, trying to think of something witty or funny to say.
Then they went to the clinic together, where he asked the specialist for updates on Luca and then translated every word to her with the patience of a saint. He then kissed her on the cheek before leaving for work, the exact same place every day.
As if X marked the spot. As if the world might cave in if he deviated or lingered a second too long.
Then somewhere around noon, she drifted to the guest suite reserved specifically for her at the clinic, ate lunch half-heartedly, napped as if she’d run a full marathon, then went to see Luca and hold him for a little while.
Just as the sun began to set, the chauffeur brought her home. She showered, stretched, ate dinner, caught up on her favorite murder mysteries on TV and then went to bed. And somehow, every night, Renzo showed up right as she struggled to fall asleep.
He uncuffed his shirt sleeves, undid his tie, and crawled into bed with her, but never held her fully. As if someone had stuck a huge rod in his back that stopped him from bending it.
Some nights, he looked haggard and disheveled, like last night. Other nights, he would be brimming with energy, having secured some deal or achieved a milestone, and Mimi would fall asleep to the gravelly tone of his voice.
As if he had crafted her very own lullaby with that deep, chocolate-melting voice.
That he kept his promise to her soothed some neglected part of her soul, but it was limited to his one hand in her hair and his hard, corded form next to her if she needed it.
Just last night, she had nuzzled her face into the outside of his thigh, after a particularly nasty nightmare about Luca. Of course, he had pulled her up into his arms, whispered words she didn’t understand in that musical lilt, pressed soft kisses to her forehead until she calmed down and drifted back to sleep.
It was as if he had turned into her personal sleeping drug, and she was already addicted to him. Mimi’s cheeks heated. The hard clench of his sleek thigh muscle as she nearly tried to climb him was imprinted on her forever.
These were her thoughts as she stepped into the spacious breakfast nook another same, slow morning.
The nook was her favorite space in the massive penthouse. From her perch on the leather seat, she could see the canals’ shimmering waters reflecting the pastel facades of historic buildings. Gondolas glided by, their rhythmic strokes a quiet counterpoint to the distant toll of church bells and beyond, the horizon opened to the sparkling expanse of the Adriatic Sea.
The history lover in her was dying to explore all the corners of the city. It struck her, as if she were walking out of a mist, that she was free to explore. While it soothed some elemental part of her to be at the clinic all hours, to be close to Luca in case he needed her, she was also slowly going mad. It was the reason her sleep was so fitful, for she simply drifted from one day to the next.
She’d always worked, even when she’d been finishing her bachelor’s in filmmaking. Wary of spending a minute more than necessary at her parents’ house, caught amid Pia’s or her mom’s drama, she had filled her days with work, studies and friends. If nothing else, she’d pack up her camera equipment any given weekend and wander around new cities and towns, shooting everyday places and people. She had to do that now.
If she hoped to remain sane over the next few weeks, it was important to retain and nurture those parts of herself. God, she adored her son with a breathless wonder that would never dim, but she needed to look after her own well-being too. Much as it was nice to be coddled by Renzo, that wasn’t his job.
“I want to explore the city. Can you find me a map?” she blurted out, refusing to overthink it. She had to start something today, to break the rigid monotony stretching endlessly ahead of her.
Across the marble-topped table with its vase of rust-colored chrysanthemums and golden sunflowers, Renzo, in his stark black suit, looked stark and uncompromising. And all the more beautiful for it. And her libido, a sneaky, snaky thing, uncoiled and took notice.
He straightened in the leather seat, a line forming between his brows.
It was one of those little details about him that seemed to elevate the man from merely good-looking to something otherworldly. Like that misplaced little dimple near his upper lip and the little scar that bifurcated his left eyebrow just so.
A host of imperfections crafting him into a perfectly stunning man.
One of those devilish brows hitched up at her leisurely perusal of his face. Cheeks burning, Mimi took a hasty sip of her coffee and nearly hissed when the hot brew hit her throat.
“Is there something particular you want to see?” he said after long, suffocating minutes of staring at her.
“Do you have only one boat?” she snapped, reacting to that high-handedness like a child.
His frown deepened. “No. I own six boats,cara, and they are all at your disposal. Transportation, as you should know, is not the problem.”
