I lean forward, carefully gathering Isabella into my arms. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake as I carry her to the bedroom at the rear of the plane. After I lay her on the bed, I don’t immediately return to the main cabin. I stand at the foot of the bed, watching her sleep. Her dark lashes rest against her cheeks, her lips slightly parted. Even without trying, she captivates me. I don’t like this power she seems to have over me.
For a moment, I have the urge to join her. To make her succumb to me. To show her I’m the one with all the power here.
But I promised I wouldn’t, at least not on the plane.
No, I can’t force her to give in to me. I have to woo her, make her fall for me.
It's a cold calculation, turning my marriage into espionage. And yet, isn't that exactly what I fear she might be doing to me? Normally, I wouldn’t think such a thing was possible. But that night on the rooftop proved that she has power over me. She could bring me to my knees if I’m not careful.
Every instinct I have tells me to keep my walls up, to never reveal weakness, to view everyone as a potential threat until proven otherwise. It's how I've survived. It's how the Dantes have thrived.
The memory of Isabella's body against mine, the way she looked at me that night on the rooftop pulls at something in my chest. It’s terrifying and yet, I wonder what would it be like to let someone in? My brothers have done it, and they’re as lethal as ever. More so, maybe.
I shake my head. There's too much at stake.
I return to the cabin. I find a seat and after reviewing a few business files, I recline my seat and close my eyes. Tomorrow starts day one in seducing Isabella to become loyal to me and only me.
Nine hours later, the plane descends toward Naples, breaking through cloud cover to reveal the blue waters of the Mediterranean. Isabella has been silent since waking an hour ago, finding herself in the bed with no memory of how she got there. Her quiet "thank you" when I explained was the extent of our conversation.
As we touch down, I roll my shoulders, prepared to put my plan into place and give Isabella a honeymoon any bride would dream off. Yes, this is a strategic plan to use her against her father, but I can’t deny that the task doesn’t feel onerous. I enjoy Isabella’s company.
"The car's waiting," I tell her as we disembark onto the tarmac. "We'll take the ferry from Naples to Capri."
She nods, holding on to her emotional distance.
“Have you been here? Is this old hat to you?” I poke at her, wanting to see the fire in her eyes over this dull, withdrawn appearance.
“I haven’t been anywhere outside of New York.”
“Well, you’re in for an adventure, then.”
We ride to the port in silence, but as we board the ferry, something in Isabella changes. She moves to the railing, drawn to the view as we pull away from shore. The wind catches herhair, pulling strands free from her pulled back style. She makes no move to fix it.
The Bay of Naples opens before us, Vesuvius looming in the background, the coastline curving in a perfect arc. When Isabella tilts her face toward the sun, I catch a genuine smile playing at the corners of her mouth. It’s the first smile I've seen since that night on the rooftop.
"It's beautiful," she says, almost to herself.
I move beside her, maintaining a careful distance. "Wait until you see the Blue Grotto."
Her eyes meet mine, bright with interest despite her obvious attempt to remain aloof. "I've read about it. The water glows blue from the sunlight passing through underwater caverns."
"Like nothing you've seen before," I confirm, taken in by how stunningly beautiful she is when she lights up. There's something captivating about watching her discover this place.
As we approach the island, Isabella leans forward, drinking in every detail. The rigid posture she's maintained all day softens. Her eyes track the colorful buildings clustered along Marina Grande.
I realize I'm staring and look away. This appreciation is dangerous, precisely the weakness I've vowed to avoid. But as the ferry nears the dock, I can't help but glance at her again, at the spark of genuine wonder in her eyes.
As we step from the ferry, Isabella's eyes continue to take in everything.
"We'll check in at the villa later," I decide impulsively. "Let's explore first."
Surprise flickers across her face. "Now? In my travel clothes?"
"You look perfect."
I guide her through narrow streets where bougainvillea spills over stone walls. Each time her expression opens with delight at some new discovery, I’m entranced by her. I keep having to remind myself of my mission. Win her trust. Make her loyal to me, not her father.
Yet as we pause at a vista overlooking the Faraglioni, massive rock formations jutting from the sea, and I see wonder in her eyes, my mission slips to the background.
