“Good evening, Beatrice,” I murmur. “You look radiant.”
I rise, still holding her hand.
“Shame your date left you standing alone.”
Her breath stutters. “Matteo… don’t.”
She glances around quickly. “Please?—”
“Il frutto proibito,” I murmur. “The forbidden fruit.”
“Don’t. People are staring, and I think you need to let go of my hand and walk away. Please.”
“I’m not worried about them, bella. Eyes on me isn’t anything new. I’m quite used to it.”
“Well, I’m not.” She tries to rip her hand from mine, but I hold on harder. “Matteo, please. My fiancé is?—”
I lean in, cutting her off as I lower my voice. “Dance with me.”
It’s not a question.
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She stiffens and tries to pull her hand away, but again, my grip becomes iron.
“Matteo.”
“One dance, bella, and then I’ll leave you to your perfect little evening.”
She hesitates, but that’s all I need to pull her onto the dance floor and into a slow waltz. I rest my hand just above her waist, and she places her hand in mine and the other on my shoulder in resignation.
Good girl.
The music swells around us, elegant and meaningless, as couples glide in circles under chandeliers that drip crystal like ice. The floor glistens from their reflections. Her heat mixes with mine, and her familiar lavender scent assaults my senses.
She doesn’t meet my eyes, but that doesn’t matter to me. All I care about is that she is in my arms—and the world is watching.
Including him.
Am I trying to prove a point? Yes. Do I love seeing her squirm in my presence? Also yes.
I hear her grind her teeth under the tension in her jaw. “You’re enjoying this far too much. Do you have any idea how this looks? I’m an engaged woman.”
“We are doing nothing wrong, bella.” I lean just close enough that the words glide over her skin without ever touching it.
“We’re two people enjoying a dance together. I’m not fucking you raw in front of everyone, now am I?” I chuckle low under my breath. “Breathe, Beatrice. People are watching because you are beautiful.”
“I’m one of many well-dressed women here, Matteo.” She pulls back, and her eyes meet mine in a heated gaze.
“Not even close, Beatrice. Your beauty far surpasses every woman here.” The truth in my words carries a weight she doesn’t want to hold.
“Matteo,” she says in warning before looking away. “You can’t say things like that to me.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” I turn her in my arms and continue the dance. “That god-awful ring on your finger is a dead giveaway. But the last few times I saw you, you didn’t have it on.”
I try to keep the accusation out of my tone, but it slips through.
