For a moment, I forgot where we were—and why—giving in to his touch, his scent, the way he guided me so naturally.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” I whispered, trying to regain control, “everyone’s going to think I’m in love with you.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“And you?” he countered immediately. “What do I have to do to convinceyouthat I love you? Because that’s the only thing that matters to me.”
“You just broke one of our rules,” I said, my heart climbing into my throat.
The music slowed even more. My body drifted closer to his, my chest brushing his. His breath hitched. His hand tightened at my waist, burning through the fabric.
“God… I want to kiss you so badly right now,” he murmured, voice thick with desire and frustration. “You’re beautiful—too beautiful for this to be fake.”
My heart exploded.
I should have pulled away. I should have reminded him of the rules.
Instead, I squeezed his hand tighter.
“Don’t do this, Enrico,” I whispered. “Not here. Not with everyone watching. You still have that power over me—and I hate it.”
“You hate it… but you want it.”
His lips hovered millimeters from mine, his breath mingling with mine.
My mind was chaos—desire, anger, regret—until the music ended abruptly and applause erupted around us.
I stepped back with effort, forcing a smile as we bowed to the crowd.
We returned to our table, my heart still racing, my body trembling.
Enrico and I weren’t just pretending.
We were two ticking time bombs.
And explosions like that rarely left survivors.
FIFTY-EIGHT
VALENTINA FERRARA
Back at the table, I tried desperately to regain control of my emotions, but my body was still humming with the electrifying tension of what had just happened on that dance floor.
My heart wouldn’t slow down. My breathing was still uneven as I forced myself to look normal under all those curious, assessing eyes.
Enrico stayed at my side, calm and composed the way he always seemed to be in public. But I could tell—by the way he discreetly squeezed my hand under the table—that he was just as shaken as I was.
The tension between us was palpable, almost physical, and I had no doubt that anyone paying close attention could see it.
“I need to breathe,” I whispered, pulling my hand away. I needed a few seconds alone. I needed distance before we made even more mistakes.
He nodded, keeping his voice low.
“Don’t go too far.”
I answered with a small nod, rising from the table with as much calm as I could gather. I moved through the ballroom with a polite smile, heading toward the women’s restroom.
I needed those minutes to steady myself—to reorganize my thoughts and, most of all, to remember every reason why I couldn’t let my body dictate what my mind chose next.
