Tonight is the first gala where I walk in as Nico Sartori's girlfriend.
The Moretti Foundation's winter charity event glitters before us. Same venue as the night I performed the Heimlich on Aria while wearing a cheap catering uniform.
Different entrance this time.
Nico's hand presses against the bare skin of my lower back as we pause at the top of the stairs.
"Every man in this room is going to want you," he murmurs against my ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. "And every single one of them will know you're mine."
Heat pools low in my belly. "Nico?—"
"I'm going to spend the entire night thinking about peeling this dress off you." His voice drops lower, darker. "About spreading you across our bed and making you scream until you forget your own name."
My thighs clench together involuntarily. Bastard.
"You're going to regret this," I whisper back, turning my head slightly so my lips graze his jaw. "Making me wet before we even walk in there."
Nico laughs. "Love, I'm counting on it."
We descend the staircase together, his hand never leaving my back. I catch glimpses of us in the mirrored walls.
I've spent years making myself small. Tonight, I take up space.
Nico guides me through the crowd, nodding at business associates, exchanging brief words with men whose names I don't catch. His fingers trace small circles on my bare skin, a constant reminder of his presence.
When we reach Vittoria near the bar, Nico leans down to kiss my temple. "I need to find Pietro. Stay with Vittoria—I'll be back in ten minutes."
"I think I can survive ten minutes without you."
"The question is whether I can survive ten minutes without you." He gives Vittoria a look that clearly says watch her, then disappears into the crowd.
Vittoria hands me a champagne flute. "You two are disgusting."
"Thank you."
"Seriously. The eye-fucking is out of control."
I take a sip of champagne to hide my smile. "Says the woman who made me try on forty-seven dresses."
"Forty-three. And I was right about the blue." She gestures at me with her glass. "You look incredible."
"So do you."
We clink glasses, watching the glittering crowd swirl around us.
"Vittoria Sartori." Someone calls. The man's voice is too loud, his movements slightly uncoordinated. Loosened tie, the flush of someone who's been hitting the open bar hard. "Been a long time."
I don't recognize him, but Vittoria clearly does. Her jaw tightens. "James."
"You look amazing." He steps closer, invading her space. "I've been thinking about you. About us."
"There was no 'us.'" Vittoria shifts away, but James follows. "We had one date three years ago."
"Best date of my life." His hand reaches for her arm.
Vittoria's voice sharpens. "Don't touch me."
He doesn't move.
