“Thank you,” I force a smile. The same one I’ve been rehearsing for days to make it look natural. “Dinner was lovely; I had a good time.”
No, I didn’t.
I felt like I was walking on eggshells the entire time.
But I try not to let it show.
Giacomo’s hand rests lightly on my lower back, his touch possessive without looking it.
He smiles, still warm from the afterglow of dinner, but there’s a tension simmering beneath his polished surface. I can feel it, sense the buzz rolling off him in the air.
The doors open, and I step out of the elevator, my heart dropping into my stomach as we pass Matteo’s door.
I still can’t believe he lives next door to me.
This man—the one who bulldozed into my life and rearranged my entire brain chemistry.
I sneak a glance at the wooden door and quickly look away, afraid he might open it and see me.
But why should I worry if he sees me?
I’m not doing anything wrong.
And yet… I don’t want him to know about Giacomo, at least not yet. Not now.
Giacomo and I step into the apartment, and the door clicks shut behind us. I release a breath I didn’t even know I was holding and walk toward the kitchen countertop.
Giacomo shrugs off his coat and places it near the grand piano, next to the brand-new bouquet of the week. He makes a habit of ensuring there are fresh flowers every Monday. Then he heads toward the bar cart.
“Why let the night end early?” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Some wine? I think a good Merlot will suffice.”
“Sure,” I smile. “Maybe some music, to set the mood?”
“Yes, please,cara.”
I walk over to the stereo system and pick some smooth music to play in the background. When I turn back, I settle into the plush white leather couch, tucking my legs under me as I watch him walk over with two glasses filled with Merlot.
He hands me one.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.” He sits beside me and drapes his arm along the back of the couch.
My mind keeps drifting—back tohim—and that instant jolt I felt when I?—
No.
I am not allowedto think about that man. Matteo is forbidden.
Giacomo lifts his glass. “To our ever-blooming union. May we continue to go from strength to strength.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “To making this work.”
Giacomo’s smile widens. “I’ll drink to that, cara.”
We clink our glasses and take a sip. The wine is expensive, smooth, and hits harder the longer it settles in your stomach.
Much like my fiancé.
