Traffic moves in fits and starts, the kind of late rush that stacks up near the lights and clears for a block before it clots again. I keep my hands at ten and two and try not to white-knuckle the wheel.
I should blow it off. I should text him and say I’m wiped and reschedule. Two nights in a row would be a pattern, though, and patterns get noticed. I can’t give him a reason to look harder at me.
I think about this morning, about him in my doorway with a paper bag and two coffees like it was any other day. The way he watched me. The way I had to put my face on and act like breakfast was the only thing on my mind. I can still feel the heat of that kiss—familiar, warm, easy. My body answered as if nothing were wrong. That scared me more than anything I read last night.
I breathe out through my nose and check my mirrors. No one behind me. Just a rideshare and a delivery van. I tell myself to stop being dramatic and grip the wheel a little tighter anyway.
He stood in my office and made normal casual conversation with me, offered to help with any problems. He would have fixed whatever I named. That’s who he is when you’re his: generous, decisive, warm.
Also, who he is: a Conti. Counsel. Loyal to his family first. I can hold both truths, but I don’t have to like the way they rub together.
All day I had waited for a knock that didn’t come. No one from Security. No Caterina with a too-bright smile. No quiet request to come upstairs. I kept my head down, sent my emails, checked my lists twice. When 5:00 rolled around, and I still had a pulse and a job, I decided I’d passed whatever test today was. If there even was one. Maybe I’m the only one testing anything.
Maybe I’m overthinking this whole thing.
The light changes. I roll forward, turn right, and merge. My phone buzzes in the cup holder with his address pinned from last time. I know the route by now. I know which lane to be in before the exit and which side street is faster if the main road backs up. I wish I didn’t know any of it.
What am I going to do if he touches me tonight? The question sits like a weight in my lap. I want him. That’s not in dispute. Every time I close my eyes, I see his hands on me, remember the way his voice goes low and rough when he’s close to losing control.
I also see Luca walking out of a courthouse while Roberto puts a hand on his shoulder. I see the word “reputed”stamped across a decade of headlines. I see comp codes with initials that shouldn’t have been there.
He’ll know something is wrong if I flinch. He’ll know something is wrong if I don’t. There isn’t a move that doesn’t cost me something.
First dinner. That’s the plan. Sit, eat, talk about work in a casual way. Eat dinner, enjoy it. Be warm enough that he doesn’t feel shut out, careful enough that I’m not swept up in the moment.
After dinner, I can plead exhaustion and an early morning. That’s not a lie. My body feels wrung out from no sleep and too many thoughts.
If he presses? If he kisses me the way he did upstairs at the ball? Runs his hands over me, under my clothes. I clench, the desire automatic. No doubt I still want him. I don’t know how I could after everything I read last night.
But I do. And it scares me.
I picture stepping back, palms on his chest, and saying I want him, but I need a night to reset after the weekend. That’s believable. He’s a reasonable man when it comes to me, at least so far. He’ll take the promise in it and let me go. I hope.
The exit approaches. I signal, shift over, and watch the needle drop as the speed limit dips. The neighborhood changes from strip malls to quieter streets and taller trees. I don’t let myself think about how much I liked waking up in his bed. How safe I felt in the circle of hisarms.
Would he hurt me?
The fear is real and bitter in my throat.
I shake the thought away. I can’t think of that tonight.
I rehearse the small talk I can live with. “How’s Caterina?” “What’s on your schedule tomorrow?” “Did Bianca sign off on the lounge menu rotation?” Keep it boring. Keep it real. No questions that open doors I can’t close. If he asks about my day, I’ll give him the sanitized version: emails, calls, wrap-ups from the weekend. No mention of my laptop and the spiral I went down.
A car drifts into my lane without signaling and I ease off, let it in, let it go. My heart ticks up and settles. That’s the rhythm tonight: up, down, up, down. Stay level on the outside.
I should tell someone what I found. I should at least write it down somewhere that isn’t my head. Not yet. Not until I know how much he suspects I know. If I move too fast, I’ll spook him. If I do nothing, I’ll drown in it. Dinner, then tomorrow I can make a plan that isn’t just about breathing through the panic.
I turn onto his street and check the time. I’m not early. I’m not late. I’m exactly on time. I don’t need to give him a reason to question me.
I pull in a breath as I wait for the gates to open and let me in. I let the breath go as I make my way up the drive. One step at a time. Park. Walk to the door.
Park. Walk to the door.
I make myself do it and, before I realize it, I’m staring at the solid wood of his door.
I knock before I can change my mind. Not that I can. The gate has shut behind me.
The door opens almost at once. Roberto fills the frame in shirtsleeves, tie off, top button undone. Heat and the faint bite of tomato and basil drift out to me.
