It was opulent, yet starkly functional. There were no frivolous decorations, no family portraits. It reflected the man himself: controlled, powerful, intensely private.
"Not one for decorating, are you?" she said, looking at the bare walls.
"I didn't want Gabriella to know what I liked. It seemed like a good way for her to use it against me somehow," he replied.
"What about the rest of the house? There are spaces everywhere now," she pointed out, the artist in her bothered by the gaps.
"Don't worry. I have plans to fill them. I just haven't had a chance to acquire the pieces I want from my favorite artist."
The heavy door clicked shut behind them, and Giana tensed as the sudden intimacy of the space wrapped around her. Santa Maria, she was locked up with Rodrigo Colleoni.
He went straight to the fireplace, crouching to stack logs and kindling.
"Make yourself comfortable," he said, not looking at her. His tone was carefully neutral, the voice of a host, not a jailer or a lover. "The clothes you had in your hotel in Turkey have been moved here, as well as some extras I took the liberty of ordering for you."
"I didn't need more clothes," she replied, feeling awkward that he had bought her things. "Not unless you want me dressing like a bimbo for our stalker."
Rodrigo didn't turn around. "You had packed for an unseasonably warm Turkish autumn, not one in Tuscany in an old stone villa. It's not a control thing, Giana. It's a practicality."
And now she looked like an asshole. Giana cleared her throat. "Thank you, I didn't… I assumed…"
"I know. It's okay," he replied and lit a long match.
Giana hovered near the center of the room, feeling awkwardly out of place. This had been such a bad idea.
How was she ever going to feel comfortable in Rodrigo's inner sanctum with the feeling of his weight pinning her down still vivid on her skin? She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly aware of the thin silk of her blouse.
The fire caught quickly under Rodrigo's skilled hands, flames licking hungrily at the dry wood, casting flickering, dancing shadows across the room. The warmth began to seep into the cool air, and he stood, brushing his hands together.
The firelight painted his face in stark relief, deepening the hollows under his cheekbones, gilding the dark stubble along his jaw. His eyes, reflecting the flames, were unreadable pools of shadow.
"The bed in there is yours," he said, nodding toward the archway leading to the bedroom.
Giana blinked. "Mine?"
"For the duration of this performance, I'll be on the couch," he clarified, his voice still carefully controlled as he gestured toward a large sofa positioned near the fire.
Rodrigo was giving her the bed.Hisbed. The unexpected consideration threw her.
"The couch?" she echoed, skepticism lacing her voice. It looked comfortable enough, but it was still a couch. For a man his size? Would he even fit?
A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone so fast, she might have imagined it. "It's served me well enough plenty of times before."
He moved toward a tall cabinet near the bookshelves, pulling out a stack of crisp white sheets and a dark gray blanket.
"Separate rooms aren't really an option given our audience's expectations, but I'll try not to snore." He carried the linens to the sofa and began making up the couch.
Giana watched him, a strange tightness in her chest. Seeing the feared and dangerous Rodrigo Colleoni meticulously tucking in hospital corners on a couch was surreal. It was so mundane and human. It chipped away at the image of the cold, controlling monster she had carried for so long.
He worked in silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the rustle of fabric. When he finished, the couch looked surprisingly inviting, piled with pillows and the thick blanket. He straightened, surveying his handiwork.
"There. Suitable enough for a condemned man," he said, his tone dry. "The bathroom is through there." He pointed to a door near the bedroom archway. "Towels are stocked. You can help yourself to anything you need, and if you want something in particular, just ask."
He was giving her as much space as he could within the confines of their shared cage. The gesture was small, but potent.It felt like a tangible step toward the partnership he had promised.
"Thank you," Giana said, the words feeling inadequate.
Rodrigo nodded once and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I need a shower, but I'll be quick."
