24. Dario
24
DARIO
G inny’s arm is intertwined with mine as we step into Maison Luxe , an exclusive designer boutique known for its one-of-a-kind pieces.
The air smells faintly of fresh flowers and new fabric, the sunlight streaming through the tall windows casting a warm glow over the elegant gowns and tailored suits on display.
We already have designers handling our wedding attire, but with upcoming public appearances, Ginny suggested we add a few fresh additions to our wardrobes.
The serene ambiance should be relaxing, but my focus is elsewhere—on Ginny. She’s been tightly clutching my arm and leaning into me ever since we got out of the car. It wouldn’t feel strange if we were a normal couple, but we aren’t. This is still new territory for us both.
“Welcome to Maison Luxe ! I’m Camille, your style consultant for today,” a woman announces as she approaches, extending her hand to me first. Her gaze lingers a little too long, her eyes bold and assessing as if she’s calculating how much I’m worth before even getting to know me.
“Thank you.” My response is curt, not because I’m unfriendly but because I’m not interested in whatever game she’s playing.
Camille’s smile widens a fraction. “We’re thrilled to have you here. I’ve heard you have quite the discerning taste.” she chuckles softly, leaning in as if she’s about to share some inside joke meant only for me.
Ginny’s arm tightens around mine, her hand sliding up to grip my bicep. The engagement ring glints under the boutique’s bright lights, catching Camille’s attention. Only then does she finally glance at Ginny, her smile faltering ever so slightly before she asks, “And you must be the bride?”
“Yeah, that would be me,” Ginny replies, her smile wide, though I can sense the subtle edge beneath it.
Camille’s focus drifts back to me, her polite smile never reaching her eyes. “Right this way.” She gestures toward the fitting area. “We have some stunning pieces for you to try on.”
There’s a flicker of irritation in me at how dismissive Camille is toward Ginny, but I decide to overlook it—for now.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Camille says as we reach a plush seating area. “I’ll bring you some refreshments.”
As she walks away, I barely notice her leaving because Ginny nestles into my side, resting her head against my arm. A rush of warmth spreads through me, a comforting sensation that momentarily eases the tension simmering beneath the surface. Despite everything, having her so close feels... right.
After we had sex three nights ago, I’ve been trying to keep a reasonable distance from Ginny. But it’s almost impossible. Whenever I’m near her, I lose all sense of why I’m doing this in the first place—to punish Lorenzo. This isn’t supposed to feel good. I can’t let it.
I don’t want to get too comfortable with this arrangement, and I don’t want Lorenzo to get too comfortable, either. Either he gets his family business back on track and sacrifices his sister’s happiness in the process or the other way around.
He can’t have both.
But Ginny...fuck. She makes it so difficult to stay distant and maintain my nonchalance around her. And this is my default setting--I’ve always been cold and detached from people. It was deliberate at first. It’s how I’ve survived, especially after my parents died, and in the business I’m in, being emotionally unavailable isn’t just a tactic—it’s essential.
But now, Ginny’s warmth is slowly seeping into my veins, literally and figuratively...it’s getting to me, working its way through my defenses.
She’s changed. She’s been...kinder. Softer. She smiles more, her voice no longer sharp or argumentative, and there’s a look in her eyes—one I can’t afford to fall for.
I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t revel in the sparkle I see in her eyes or the way she feels more comfortable around me.
“You seem to be getting pretty cozy with our arrangement,” I lean in to whisper in her ear. My lips brush her skin, and she gasps softly, so softly that I almost miss it. And that’s all it takes for my dick to get instantly hard.
“Maybe I just want everyone here to think we are the most loving couple on earth,” she breathes, a mischief glint dancing in her eyes as she looks up at me.
I want to kiss her. I want to taste her again, and she knows it.
Her gaze drops to my lips, and I’m holding on by a thread, fighting the urge to pull her into my lap and kiss her until she’s breathless. My mind flashes back to three nights ago, and despite my best efforts, I can’t forget it. I’ve been trying and failing to forget.
“Careful, Princess,” I murmur, brushing the back of my hand over her cheek. “You’re making me hard.”
Her cheeks flush a deep red, and I can’t help but chuckle. It’s like a ripple effect—the color spreading across her face, betraying the cool facade she tries so hard to maintain.
“Ginny?” Camille chooses that exact moment to appear with a clipboard. “It’s time for your fitting.”
She gestures for Ginny to follow, and I watch as she stands, smoothing down her simple dress, a mix of nervousness, excitement, and something else on her face.
“It’s Miss Ginevra to you,” she says sweetly, her voice dripping with mock politeness. My girl smiles sweetly at the consultant before gesturing for her to lead the way.
Camille stiffens, her forced smile barely hiding her annoyance. “Sure, Miss Ginevra ,” she mutters before leading Ginny toward the fitting stalls.
As Ginny follows her, she shoots me one last glance, her lips curving into a secret smile that only I can decipher.
I settle back into the plush sofa in the waiting room for less than a minute before another consultant appears—Jennifer, the same woman who fitted me for my suit at my company’s grand opening ceremony. She’s middle-aged, professional, and one of the few people here I don’t feel like throttling.
“Lovely to see you again, Mr. De Luca,” she greets warmly. “I’ve arranged everything for your fitting.”
I glance over to where Ginny disappeared, hearing faint instructions to take off her clothes.
“I want us to stay here,” I say firmly.
The space is luxurious, with mirrors lining the walls. I hear Ginny’s pleasant gasp and imagine she’s just been shown a dress. Yeah. They could fit me here. I want to hear more of her voice.
“Of course.” Jennifer nods, excusing herself to bring everything into this room. Two assistants return with a rack of suits and tuxedos. They begin their work, adjusting the fit of a dark suit on my frame, but my focus is on Ginny’s voice filtering through the wall—soft, nervous laughter and the sound of fabric shifting.
It’s a sound that fills the space with an odd kind of comfort, and before I can stop myself, I realize I’m smiling.
“Let’s see how this looks on you.” Camille’s voice drips from the fitting stalls, laced with the kind of casual venom you’d almost miss if you weren’t paying attention.
A few beats pass before she adds in mock curiosity, “You know, I couldn’t help but wonder—what’s it like being engaged to such an influential man?”
Excuse me?
“Excuse me?” Ginny’s incredulous laugh mirrors my own thoughts, but it’s brittle, a crack in her usually unshakable confidence.
“Oh, no offense intended. I just meant...first, you were practically Mrs. Rinaldo, right? I mean, that man has connections. Politics, isn’t it?” She pauses as if she's genuinely considering her next words. “And now, you’ve upgraded to De Luca. A billionaire? You must have a knack for landing influential men.”
She delivers the jab casually, as if she’s commenting on the weather.
Rage boils under my skin as I grip the fabric of my suit. Camille is talented, one of the best—that’s why I specifically wanted her to fit Ginny personally. But her lack of basic human decency? That’s a line crossed. I hear Ginny’s laughter falter, and the warmth I felt moments ago evaporates into cold fury.
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
Camille actually has the nerve to laugh. “In today’s world, influence and power...well, they’re everything. Women have to be smart about it, you know? Use what they’ve got to get what they want.”
I ball my fists, willing myself to stay calm. But my patience is razor-thin, hanging by a thread that Camille seems determined to snip.
“Is there something you’re trying to say?” Ginny asks, her voice deceptively calm. Ginny snaps, her voice cracking under the strain. I can hear the hurt she’s trying so hard to swallow.
“Not at all, I was just saying with Rinaldo, you had the politics card. And now with De Luca, well...” She waves a hand in the air as if to encompass all of Dario's wealth and status. “Let’s just say it’s a good move. He’s a very powerful man.”
“I’m not marrying Dario for his money.”
“Of course not,” Camille replies. “Finding someone who’s both incredibly rich and, well, willing to overlook all the...past complications isn’t easy.”
That’s it.
Without hesitation, I rise sharply from my seat. Jennifer and the other designers flinch, clearly startled, but I know they’ve all heard Camille’s cruel words. Fury pulses through me as I stride toward Ginny’s fitting room. Each step seems to throb against the silence of the shop, the air growing heavier with every second.
I reach the door and push it open without knocking. Camille’s face snaps toward me in surprise, while Ginny turns to meet my gaze, her expression torn between disbelief and anger.
“What did you just say to my fiancée ?” My voice is low, threatening. I close the distance between us, stepping into the room, unbothered that it’s a private fitting space. I plant myself protectively in front of Ginny, shielding her.
Camille squares her shoulders, her initial confidence wavering. “Excuse me?”
I lean in slightly, my tone dropping to a dangerous growl. “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”
Ginny tenses beside me, her eyes darting between us. She gently places her hand over my clenched fists, a silent plea for restraint. “Dario, please...”
I pull my hands away from hers, my gaze still fixed on Camille. “Stay back, Ginny.” I can’t—won’t—let anyone tear her down like that. Not now. Not ever.
Camille’s voice shakes, though she tries to maintain her composure. “Y-you think you can just walk in here and threaten me? This is my workplace!”
A bitter laugh escapes me. “I can shut down this whole place with one call.”
The room buzzes with tension, heavy and suffocating. From the corner of my eye, I see the other employees watching from the open doorway, their faces frozen in shock as they witness the escalating confrontation. This could very well mean their jobs, as well.
“Apologize to Ginny,” I growl, venom lacing every word, “or I promise you, your career will be over. I don’t care how high you’ve climbed recently. Nothing will protect you from what comes next. That’s not a warning—it’s a fact.”
Camille’s face flushes, her pride struggling against the fear rising in her eyes as I reach for my phone. The red creeping up her cheeks only sharpens my anger.
“Dario,” Ginny whispers, her hand brushing my arm, desperate to diffuse the situation.
I ignore her plea, my fingers already dialing the number. Camille’s bravado falters instantly, her confidence evaporating as she senses the shift in the room. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammers, her voice wavering. “I wasn’t trying to insult her.”
“The line clicks as Roberto Mancini picks up. “Dario De Luca,” his familiar voice comes through, steady and professional.
“Roberto, I need something handled,” I say, cutting straight to the point, my tone leaving no room for discussion. “Your manager at the Fifth Avenue branch, Camille Waters. She needs to go.”
A pause follows, and Roberto exhales slowly on the other end. “Camille?” he repeats, clearly surprised. “She’s one of our top performers. Is there an issue of which I need to be aware?”
“There is,” I reply coldly. “She insulted my fiancée. That’s all the reason you need.”
Another pause, and then a resigned sigh. “I see. I understand. Consider it done.”
I hang up without another word, turning back to Camille, who’s visibly paling just as the area manager steps into the room. Her name escapes me, but she’s calm, composed—and likely summoned by Roberto himself.
“Camille,” she begins with a carefully measured tone, her gaze steady. “I’m afraid I’ll have to dismiss you. Effective immediately.”
The color drains from Camille’s face as she stares in disbelief. “What?” Her voice cracks. “You can’t be serious. I have qualifications from top fashion schools. I’m the best in this store!”
The manager remain unflinching. “It’s already been decided.”
Whispers ripple through the room, quiet murmurs filling the charged silence. Camille’s eyes dart around, searching for some kind of support, but no one speaks up. No one moves. They know better than to.
“This is an abuse of power,” she hisses at me, her voice trembling as she struggles to regain control. “You can’t just?—”
“I’m sorry, Camille,” the manager says firmly, cutting her off. “Please collect your things.”
Camille’s defiance crumbles, replaced by a stunned silence as the weight of what’s happening fully sinks in. She turns, walking away without another word, her colleagues exchanging uneasy glances.
The murmurs around us grow louder, uncertainty flashing in the eyes of her colleagues as they exchange uneasy glances. But I don’t care about their whispers—I’m still seething, my anger rolling in waves beneath the surface.
I raise my voice, letting it boom across the store with authority. “I’ll be buying out your entire dress collection. Every. Last. Dress.”
A collective gasp sweeps through the staff, their stunned reactions palpable in the thickening air. Disbelief spreads like a ripple, but I ignore it, my gaze locking onto Ginny.
Her eyes meet mine, wide with concern and something else—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe? Her voice, barely a whisper, reaches me. “Dario. This is...a lot.”
I step closer, taking her hand in mine, feeling her warmth ground me. I give it a firm, reassuring squeeze. “No one will ever disrespect you, Ginny. Not while I’m here.”
My words come out like a vow, unshakable and fierce. I feel the possessiveness rise in me, sharp and undeniable. “You are mine now,” I murmur, leaning in, my voice dropping lower. “Mine to protect, mine to worship.”
I see the effect it has on her—the hitch in her breath, the way her lips part ever so slightly as I close the distance. My gaze darkens, focused entirely on her as I utter the final word.
“Mine.”