The light in his eyes dimmed. “When you grow up like I did, you learn quickly that survival isn’t guaranteed. You take what you can, when you can. Otherwise, someone else will take it from you.”
“Dark,” I said softly.
He raised his glass, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Welcome to my world.”
The Broadway theaterwas nothing short of magical. Ornate carvings adorned the ceiling, and a massive chandelier glittered above us as we took our seats. I kind of felt like a child seeing something extraordinary for the first time, and I couldn’t help but marvel at it all.
The show itself was amazing. The performers poured their hearts into every word, every movement, and I was swept up in the story, forgetting, for a time, where I was and who I was with.
But there were moments when I caught Raffaele watching me instead of the stage. His intense gaze was unguarded, and it made my stomach dip. It was as though he was trying to see into my soul.
By the end of the performance, tears prickled at my eyes. When the audience stood for a raucous ovation, I clapped harder than I ever had, the emotion still tight in my chest.
“You okay?” Raffaele asked as we made our way out of the theater.
“Yeah,” I said quickly, wiping my eyes. “It was just so beautiful.”
His smile softened, and when it did, he looked like a different man. “It was.”
We drove back to the penthouse in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I stared at the city lights blurring past, my mind working overtime. Tonight had been surreal. Raffaele had been different. Lighter. Human.
When we reached the penthouse, he walked me to the door, his hand brushing lightly against my back. The warmth of his touch seeped through my back, setting my nerves alight.
He reached around me to unlock the door, his body close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, sharp, and entirely him—filled my senses.
For a moment, he paused, his face inches from mine. His gaze dropped to my lips, and my breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I thought he might kiss me. Iwantedhim to kiss me.
But then he pulled back. “Ladies first,” he said, pushing the door open.
Disappointment surged through me, sharp and unexpected. I quickly stepped inside, trying to hide the turmoil swirling in my head. This was the man who had forced me into marriage, who had bound me to him in a painful ceremony without telling me the consequences.
And yet, as I heard the door click shut behind us, I couldn’t shake the memory of his smile or the lingering warmth of his touch.
28
RAFFAELE
Ifollowed the scent of coffee into the kitchen. It felt like I’d been run over by a godsdamn freight train. Last night, I’d slept—or attempted to sleep—on the couch, despite the king-sized bed I’d graciously handed over to Vivian. It was her fault I hadn’t been able to close my eyes for more than a few minutes at a time. That my thoughts had been consumed with the way she’d looked, smelled, and felt. I’d slept on the couch because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her if I spent the night next to her in bed. And I was afraid that if I’d touched her, it wouldn’t have been like the other times. No, sharing a bed with her would have been a disaster waiting to happen.
The worst part? She looked like she’d slept better than ever.
Vivian stood at the counter, humming softly to herself as she poured coffee into two mugs. She was wearing one of my T-shirts, and it was just long enough to graze her thighs. No bra, of course. Of fucking course. The light streaming in through the windows gave her an ethereal glow, as if the universe was actively mocking my resolve to keep my distance.
“Morning,” she said in a sing-song voice. Her bright mood grated against my nerves, but I didn’t have the energy to snap at her.
I rubbed the back of my neck as I took the mug she offered. “You’re chipper.”
“I slept like a baby,” she said with a mischievous smile. “That bed is incredible. You really should try it sometime.”
I grunted in response, sipping the coffee and savoring the bitter warmth as she pulled a plate of leftover pastries and fruit from the fridge. Without a word, she started picking at the food, humming to herself. I tried to focus on the coffee, on the fucking wallpaper, on anything other than the outline of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of my shirt.
I shifted uncomfortably on the barstool, crossing one leg over the other in a vain attempt to disguise the problem she’d created just by existing in the same room. It pissed me off that my body reacted to her like this, that she could get past those walls I’d so carefully constructed around myself.
She kept humming until finally I couldn’t take it anymore.
“We need to get back,” I said.
Vivian set her fork down slowly. She didn’t look at me right away, instead turning her gaze toward the windows. “Back to The Below,” she murmured, her tone devoid of the cheer she’d had moments ago.
