She was real. Soft where Bianca was hard. Genuine where Bianca performed. Vulnerable where Bianca was armored.
And I was starting to want her in ways that had nothing to do with strategy. It was dangerous, a weakness. I should stop this before it went too far.
But I didn't let go of her hand.
Eventually Paola's breathing slowed—she was nearly asleep.
Then suddenly she moved and shifted closer. Her head found my shoulder.
I froze.
"I'm cold," she murmured, half-asleep.
I should move her back to her side. Maintain boundaries and keep control. I could adjust the A/C to a more reasonable temperature. Instead, my arm wrapped around her. Pulled her against my chest.
She fit perfectly—small, soft, warm. Her cheek rested over my heart.
"Just for warmth," she whispered. "That's all."
"Just for warmth," I agreed.
Both of us were lying.
She fell asleep in my arms, too trusting and vulnerable for the world I’d pulled her into. I stared at the ceiling, holding my wife, and realized: I was in trouble.
Deep, complicated, dangerous trouble.
I didn't sleep, too aware of Paola's body against mine. The best I could manage was drifting off now and then, letting myself slip into the comfort of her warmth and just beingnearsomeone. She shifted in her sleep—her leg slid between mine, her hand splayed across my chest. An innocent, thoughtless movement, but my body didn't care about intentions. I was hard, aching, wanting.
Dawn broke and light filtered through the windows. I should move. Get up. Go to my meetings. Maintain distance.
Instead I stayed and held her, watching her sleep. Her face was peaceful—the fear and defiance smoothed away. She looked younger. Softer.
Beautiful.
The thought came unbidden:Mine.
Not in the possessive, ownership way I meant before. This was something deeper, more dangerous.
Mine to protect. Mine to... care for?
No. That wasn't the arrangement. Couldn't be the arrangement.
But lying here with her in my arms, her trust given unconsciously in sleep—it felt like something more.
Paola woke slowly, awareness returning in layers. Warmth. Safety. Strong arms around her. Her eyes opened—met my gaze already watching her.
The air between us shifted.
My hand slid into her hair. "Paola."
Just her name. A question. A warning. A plea.
She should have moved away. Should remember she wasn't ready.Four more days now that morning had come.
But something in her expression changed.
"I choose," she whispered, not in surrender. This was her choice–she was choosingme.
