As I towel off, a sharp laugh escapes my lips. Sienna’s voice echoes in my head, full of teasing mischief.
We’ll get you laid before New Year’s yet.
I glance at the ceiling and smile.
“Well, I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind,” I say to the empty room, still grinning. “But I’m happy.”
The words taste new, like I’m testing them for truth.
I’m happy.
It’s terrifying to admit, especially aloud. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t be. A million jagged edges to what this is between me and Lorenzo. His age. His world. His fiancée.
And yet…
None of that matters when I think about the way he looked at me last night.
I wrap the towel tighter around me, heart fluttering, and wonder how long I can let myself float in this impossible thing before it crashes. But for now I’ll stay in this moment. Because for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel lost.
I dress in soft clothes and pad downstairs to find Lorenzo already in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t miss a beat when he sees me. Just reaches for a mug and hands it to me like it’s second nature. Like I belong here.
The coffee is hot, the ceramic warm against my palms, and for a second I let myself pretend this is normal. That we’re normal.
When he ends the call, he turns to me with a look I can’t quite read. Serious, maybe. But not cold.
“We need to talk about what happened last night,” he says.
“Oh.” The word leaves me hollow. My stomach dips. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
I stare into my mug like it might fill the sudden ache opening in my chest.
But then he closes the space between us. Gently tips my chin until I’m forced to look at him. His touch is possessive in a way that shouldn't make me feel safe, but somehow does.
“It’s not like that,cara,” he says, his voice low. “We just need to be careful.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out.
“Because of Francesca?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb brushes my jaw, thoughtful.
“Because this isn’t a world that makes room for mistakes. And last night…” He pauses. “Wasn’t one. But it changes things.”
“So what does that mean?”
He leans in, so close his breath warms my cheek.
“It means I’ll protect what’s mine. But we don’t get to be careless.”
What’s mine.
The words shiver through me. I know I should question them, push back, remind him I’m not a thing to be claimed. But instead, my pulse skips in a way that tells me I don’t want to leave this kitchen. Or this man. Not yet.
“So you don’t regret it?”
“Not one second of it.”
“Me either.”
