He notices when he no longer feels me beside him. He turns. “Leoni?”
“I’ll find my own way back,” I call over my shoulder. “Have a good afternoon.”
He catches up within seconds. “Leoni.”
“I want to look around. Explore.”
“You can’t be out here alone,” he mutters, scanning the street like it’s full of snipers.
I frown. “In case a tiny Italian grandmother overpowers me with a baguette?”
He doesn’t smile. He actually looks around, as if checking for danger, before sighing. “Fine. Where do you want to go? I’ll take you.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh no. Definitely not. Please go back to the villa. I’ll make my own way.”
“Leoni,” he hisses, his voice tight with frustration. “I don’t have time for this.”
I stop dead and spin, glaring at him. “Why did you bring me here?”
“Because I wanted you with me,” he mutters, eyes skirting away. “And because you’re my secretary.”
“And because you didn’t want me left in London with your brother sniffing around?” He stiffens. “I’m not here to dress up in fancy underwear and fuck you whenever you demand like you’re own personal whore,” I say sharply. “And I’m not spending the entire day in that villa while you ignore me.”
His expression softens instantly. “I’m not ignoring you.”
“Warren, you’ve barely said two words since you got back. Except to remind me not to mess up your precious meeting.”
I turn on my heel and walk toward the market.
I hear him fall into step behind me but don’t bother arguing. I’m not giving him the satisfaction of another scene.
I browse the stalls slowly. Fresh fruit, handmade jewellery, a fish stand that smells aggressively authentic, colourful dresses blowing in the warm breeze—and itwouldbe lovely.
If not for the six-foot brooding shadow trailing me everywhere I go. But I continue to move from stall to stall, pretending I’m alone, pretending I don’t feel his glare burning between my shoulder blades every time a man so much as looks in my direction.
He stays a few steps behind, close enough to be protective, far enough to pretend he’s giving me space.
I reach a little stall draped in soft pastel scarves and delicate jewellery, all handmade pieces in different shapes and colours. It’s the first thing I’ve seen that's me. Simple. Cute. Probably within a normal price bracket.
I pause to look at a delicate silver bracelet, a few tiny charms dangling from it. Before I can pick it up, Warren’s large handreaches past me and closes over it. He studies it for half a second, then glances at the seller. They exchange a few words in Italian. The seller nods, taking it from me and bagging it.
I blink. “You don’t even know if I like it.”
He hands over some cash. “You looked at it for longer than three seconds. That usually means you like it.”
“That’s not how it works.”
His jaw shifts. “It is with you.” There’s a softness there as he hands me the little paper bag. I hesitate. “Take it, Leoni.” His voice is quieter now. Less clipped. “Please.”
Thepleasedoes something to me, and so I take the bag and open it slightly. The bracelet is simple, pretty, not too flashy and nothing like the lace underwear he just bought me.
I slip it onto my wrist, admiring it as it glints in the sun.
“It suits you,” he says, still not meeting my eyes.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
He nods, his hands sliding into his pockets. The wind lifts his shirt slightly, and he takes a small step closer. For a few seconds, the tension between us loosens as he stares down at me. And then, as if he senses something, he steps back, smiling tightly. “We should head back.”
