Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
S ERENA DID THE laundry herself once he was gone. It was cathartic to strip the bed he’d defiled with his long, rangy body, to heft the entire basket of bedding down to the washer and dryer and handle it with her own two hands.
An exorcism of sorts. She would wash away the memory of waking up to him in her bed, sprawled out in her sheets, her duvet, her s. He had looked fierce, even in sleep, like some ancient conqueror. And she had sat there in her window seat, staring for far longer than she’d like to admit, wondering what it would have been like to have woken up next to him. To feel his body heat, his skin and all the ways her body reacted to those things.
She’d had to leave her own room, just to find her usually firmly in place common sense. She’d avoided any good-bye because she knew embarrassment would swamp her.
But now she’d washed him away and all would be well. She’d make sure of it.
Because the sheets had put her behind schedule, she’d decided to work from home. She had a few calls, lots of e-mails to respond to, but no meetings that required her in the office today, thank goodness.
During her lunch, she’d gone ahead and written out her ridiculous and petty list as a fun little break. Maybe it was pointless as they were not rules she would enforce, or even show him, but it felt therapeutic to put all her wishes into the written word. Complete with stickers depicting donkeys in flower crowns.
Do not utter my name.
Do not touch me.
Do not look at me.
Do not enter my room, let alone even look at my bed.
* * *
It frustrated her that just writing down these things brought images to her mind. Remembered bodily reactions. A jump in her stomach, a throb too low to have a great excuse for. The way her skin seemed to flush at certain looks he gave her.
It frustrated her that even knowing what an absolute reprobate he was, he was handsome as a devil and knew how to use it against her. She liked to think herself better than such base reactions, but she supposed she could not fully fault her brain for what was simply a physical reaction.
Besides, he was a man who knew how to use the physical, and she was just not…used to that. She did not engage in such behaviors and gave a wide berth to anyone who did. The few men she’d gone on dates with had not made physical overtures. The last one had even asked permission before kissing her cheek good night.
She’d hated it. And hated herself for hating it. Because it had simply made it clear that she would have to settle for a future where she was truly and utterly alone. That even someone who might be like her didn’t…match. Didn’t allow herself any comfort.
Or worse, any excitement. Which she didn’t think she was looking for. Didn’t want to be looking for.
For the best, she often assured herself. Perhaps the castle could get a little lonely, particularly during long winter months when even work couldn’t distract her from the fact there was not one person in the whole world who cared about her beyond what she could do for a company.
But it was better to be alone, to do exactly as she pleased without having to don all the masks required of trying to make someone like her. Or pretending to be swept away by someone who asked permission to kiss a cheek .
Luckily, she did not need to make Luciano like her. This wasn’t a business deal that required dancing to the tune of the male ego. In public, perhaps she would have to pretend more than she’d ever pretended before, but at least behind closed doors she could let loose with what she really thought of him. It was…refreshing, actually. To just say what she thought. To just be herself and not worry .
She could be herself in every way, at least in private. So long as she did not let the strange physical reaction somehow win. So long as she found a way to stop him from playing these power games that left her feeling unsettled. So long as she did not engage in that so much that she forgot to keep an eye on whatever his counterplay would turn out to be. Because if she was thinking about what happened after they vanquished their common enemy, no doubt so was he.
She considered, yet again, the fact that he was allegedly posing as his own man of business. She was not shocked he might hide a keener mind than she’d like to give him credit for, but she did not understand why he’d hide it away. She’d refused to ask or even acknowledge it, because she thought that’s what he expected of her.
Still, it sat there in her mind like an unsolvable puzzle. It made her wonder what else he might be hiding away. She had to be careful. Even if she’d underestimated him in the beginning, maybe , she’d known that she had to be careful. That this would not be straightforward or easy, and the upper hand would require constant vigilance.
Still, she worried she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. She flipped pages back to the front of the notebook and went over her plan. Considered what she now knew about him and how he worked.
How had he built that club to the height of popularity?
Money, of course. No doubt using some of his father’s contacts. But there had to be some business sense there. She’d watched him engage with people at the dinner party last night. He used charm . Compliments and smiles and easy jokes. He used the way he looked to dazzle.
But with her, he’d taken an opposite approach. He tried to make her uncomfortable. Innuendos about her bed. The way he’d said the word bite , when saying she acted afraid he might.
He wanted her flustered. Blushing and uncomfortable. And he undoubtedly thought it some special power he had, not just the fact that she was uncomfortable with the idea of…intimacy. He thought she was flustered by his handsomeness and insinuations.
He was most certainly wrong. Her discomfort last night had nothing to do with him personally. Nothing at all. She just wasn’t used to a man in her space. That was all.
Confident with that interpretation of last night’s events, Serena gave herself a little nod and carefully put her notebook away. The plan that was taking shape was not one she could commit to paper now that he knew she liked to write things out.
No, this would have to stay in her head. Because she knew he’d proceed with her as he had last night. Charming smiles, feigned innocence in his touches and threaded innuendo in everything.
This was how he would attempt to get some upper hand, no doubt. Continue to push her boundaries. Not just in the personal space of her home, but farther. Into her actual personal space.
Yes, he would certainly try to seduce her, and going into this, she hadn’t really considered he might seriously. It was such a bizarre way to handle business, and she knew she was not the type he usually lent himself to. But it wasn’t about what he liked . It would be about what he wanted.
Her knee-jerk reaction to this was obvious denial. If he so much as tried it, she’d cut him off at the knees. She would resist. Forever.
She could resist, if she wanted to. Curiosity wasn’t the same as being unable to resist. Her imagination sometimes drifting his way didn’t mean she wasn’t smart enough to remember who and what she was.
And what he was.
But rejection was expected. What kind of power might she wield if she didn’t react the way she usually did? What if she gave him the illusion of the upper hand? What if she let him seduce her?
The idea was appalling of course—that was the only thing the feeling in her stomach could be, because it certainly wasn’t a jump of anticipation. That pulse scramble, that woozy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like when they’d locked eyes last night. Intrigue and interest as to what all that might lead to.
Nothing, Serena .
But he would assume he had all the control if she let him believe she was dazzled by his…physical prowess. If she let him believe she was foolish enough to be swept away by him, physically and maybe even romantically, he would think he had all the upper hands.
But really she would. If she went in with her eyes wide open. It would leave him open for a mistake—for lots of mistakes.
If she saw this as a business move, it wasn’t lowering or embarrassing. It was simply what must be done to save her legacy. If she focused on business , she wouldn’t worry that it might feel like…more.
Besides, maybe she wouldn’t have to give in completely. Would he really try to take her to bed when he found her dull and frumpy compared to the beautiful women he surrounded himself with? That was a line even he wouldn’t cross.
Besides, that was a problem for later. A cross-that-bridge-if-they-come-to-it situation. For now, she had to set up the first steps. The fake-falling-for-his-charm steps.
She pulled out her phone. Brought up a text to him and typed it out.
Dinner at seven, here at my castle.
She would couch it as a business dinner. She’d made some progress with the D’Angelo account, and she would apprise him of this. Along with a plan for him to dazzle the Franco team next week.
When her phone dinged, his response was obnoxious. Of course.
Where is the “please”, amore mio?
She didn’t bother to respond to that.
He would show up. And they would have a romantic dinner, discuss business and then she would let him flirt and push the boundaries and this time, she might respond. At least a little.
So the trap would be laid.
And if there was a little flutter of anticipation—no, not that. Nerves— well, she would master those as well.
* * *
Luciano was full of good humor as he drove up the twisting road to Serena’s castle once again.
His assistant had dutifully collected all the stories about him and Serena this afternoon, and Luciano planned to go over them with her and discuss next steps in their “relationship” department.
He did not know what she had planned, but he had plans of his own beyond business. No doubt that would be the story of their strange partnership. A constant battle. Skirmishes lost and won. It was oddly…exciting. The prospect of clashing with a worthy adversary.
As long as he came out on top more than she did, he had a positive feeling about how this could end up.
She had definitely brought him a brilliant idea. He would enact it even better than she could possibly imagine. Though whether she gave him any credit was doubtful.
Most of his challenges were done in private, where no one ever knew. It was best, always, for no one to truly know him. It allowed him to always accomplish what he set out to do. And while everyone attributed his success to luck , he knew the truth. How hard he’d worked. How much he’d overcome. And that no obstacle was too big for Luciano Ascione.
The knowledge had him whistling on his way up her staircase. He was let inside by the disapproving butler Luciano had yet to charm. He’d get there though. He always did.
“Ms. Valli has dinner waiting on the sea balcony,” the man said stiffly, and then led him through the house. The back of the house, as Serena had last night. It amused him, these silly little slights.
Up a winding staircase and into a different hallway than last night, Luciano was led out a door and into the warm, breezy evening on a large balcony. Vibrant plants spilled from colorful pots. More strangely fanciful decoration popped out here. Wind chimes and all sorts of sculptures of animals in different mediums.
What was her obsession with animals? She made no sense. That feeling did not diminish when his gaze finally found her where she was standing at the curve of the railing, surveying him with those cool eyes.
Her expression was guarded, but the way she stood at the edge of the balcony was relaxed. And still… There was something about the way she held herself that made him wary. Was this the same woman who’d been frustrated to let him into her home last night? Smiling at him welcomingly now?
“Good evening, Luciano,” she greeted.
He did not like the way she said his name. Something about it scraped along the back of his neck like a terrible portent melding with goose bumps. He had to fight off a scowl. What man got goose bumps ? Certainly not him .
“Good evening,” he offered, forcing himself to smile at her in the way that usually had her frowning.
She didn’t frown today, though he did see the way her hand tightened briefly on the railing she rested it on before she relaxed it again. She gestured at the table. “I know this isn’t visible like a restaurant might be, but the press was eating up your car leaving the hill this morning.”
“Are you inviting me for another sleepover?”
Her mouth flattened, but she didn’t scowl. She seemed to be making a great effort not to. She inhaled, then the corners of her mouth turned ever so slightly upward. “Whatever furthers our purpose,” she said, with a kind of knowing that was almost…sultry.
Except this was Serena, so he was imagining things, surely. Still, it was clear something was off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the difference. She was dressed casually enough. The pants she wore looked soft and gave little hint at shape. She was not covered to the chin, he supposed, instead wearing a tank top the color of the sky at dawn, a pearly kind of blue. It was formfitting, but hardly skimpy. Still, he could see the shape of her arms, the freckles that dotted her shoulders as if she spent considerable time in the sun, which didn’t seem true to the woman she was at all.
And now he knew that these details, like the long, lovely shape of her legs, would be lodged uncomfortably in his brain.
He tried to look at it as a positive. Being attracted to her might be a bit of an affront considering she had always been his enemy, but it would make seduction enjoyable. Still, there was an uncomfortable tug of war going on inside of him, like there was a complication threading through all of this. It wasn’t just business. It wasn’t just seduction. It was layers—who they were because of their fathers, what they’d built themselves into, all the strange ways she fascinated him.
He did not care for layers . He preferred things to be…straightforward.
So he looked at the table between them, set for dinner. A bottle of wine in a bucket of ice, bruschetta displayed prettily on a colorful serving platter. It had every detail of a romantic, private dinner for two.
“I thought we should eat outside, then we can take a walk down to the beach. It’s private, but an intrepid photographer with an excellent zoom lens should be able to catch sight of us from there.”
“Smart.”
“Besides, being outdoors means the stench of rat doesn’t infect my dining room.” She offered that sweet smile meant to slice a man to ribbons.
Ah, there was the Serena he expected. With a fiery orange sunset lighting her from behind, she looked a bit like a painting…
Vengeful Goddess at Sunset .
She only needed a bow and arrow or spear of some kind. Instead, she moved forward and lowered herself into a chair at the table. She lifted the bottle of wine and began to pour. When he did not immediately take a seat, she raised her gaze and an eyebrow at him.
He wasn’t sure what was causing him pause, so he moved forward and took the seat across from her.
“Have you seen the stories?” she asked.
“Yes. They have bought into us hook, line and sinker.”
Serena nodded, a wine glass in her hand as she gazed out at the water beyond the balcony. Her expression was thoughtful, and she did not sip from her glass. “I think we’ll want to move quickly. No long, drawn out courtships. We don’t want the excitement to ebb. Just one story after the next.”
He agreed with her, which shouldn’t frustrate him as much as it did. He should be happy when they agreed. It would no doubt be rare, even with a common goal. But he hated the idea of her congratulating herself for her good ideas when he had them as well.
So he said nothing—not agreement or disagreement—as they ate in strangely peaceful silence. Like people who’d known each other long enough not to need to fill in those spaces.
When dessert was served, darkness had fallen except for fairy lights hung expertly, illuminating the balcony in something that felt like candlelight.
The millefoglie was delicious, the night lovely, the company…oddly comfortable. But realizing how thoroughly he’d enjoyed an essentially silent dinner bothered him on a cellular level.
He stood. “Shall we take that walk?” he offered.
She sighed heavily. “Yes, of course.” Reluctantly, she got to her feet. “I suppose we should talk about something.”
She sounded genuinely and amusingly disappointed that they might actually have to have a conversation.
“I don’t mind a silence now and again.”
She snorted. “Come, Luciano. You have built a life in which you never have to live in the silence of your own thoughts. It is much talked about how much time you spend at that club of yours.”
She was not completely wrong. Up until his father’s death, he had always sought to drown out the thoughts, the feelings by throwing himself headlong into his club, into the women there.
But something happened when his father died. He supposed it was a kind of natural understanding that he himself would not live forever. He too could do something stupid tomorrow and end up a mangled mess on a cliffside.
Luciano wanted to be something more than his father had ever allowed him to be. So, in an effort to reacquaint himself with Ascione and deal with the fallout of everything, he’d begun to insulate himself. Against his club, his old, loud friends. The women, the music, the booze.
Oh, he still went out. He could not let his reputation suffer completely. But he also spent a lot of time alone and in silence, rewriting the prophecy his father had left for him.
The balcony led to a staircase down to the gardens below, and Luciano met Serena at the top. He held up his palm—an invitation to link hands.
The slight sneer she failed at hiding amused him. So much about her amused him. Perhaps because while she kept that perfect icy mask impeccable in public, when they were alone together she could not seem to help resorting to her true self. Even if that true self hated him, it was amusing.
But she also did what needed doing, and as much as he’d like to hate that about her, he could only respect it.
He felt that she had to respect something about him as well to be here. To be doing this. For all her little barbs, she did treat him like an equal partner in this. She did not ridicule his ideas. She had not once treated him as his father often had, as if everything he did was the wrong step.
Besides, he had no doubt there was at least some small part of her that wanted him. Maybe she didn’t like it any better than he did, but it was there. Vibrating underneath the surface. They could both ignore it, they could both use it. It didn’t matter. It was there . An entity and a being he didn’t think either of them knew how to fully parse.
Her hands were soft, fingers long and slender like her legs as they linked with his. For a completely incomprehensible moment, he found himself wondering if so much would be different if they had not been raised as rivals, raised to hate one another. Would there be mutual attraction and respect without all the complicated thorns of being a Valli and an Ascione?
Because if she treated him like an equal, she saw him as one, and that was very rare in his life indeed. He made sure of it.
And why the hell should that matter? It didn’t.
There was the faint scent of lavender that seemed to cling to her or the air. He wanted it to be the air, but he’d been in her bed and knew what her sheets smelled of.
He had to fight off a scowl as they descended the staircase. She led him through a pathway through the unlit garden. He only had the general feeling of lots of growth, but the darkness did not give away any detail.
She opened a gate, and out they stepped onto the beach. It was a small slice of sand, mostly barricaded by big rocks. But not too far down the waterline there were lights. Some resorts, along with other houses and estates along the water.
“Do you really think someone would be watching?” Luciano asked.
“What I know is at least two cars followed you up to my gate. My security team will be determining their identity, but I would imagine it was press of some kind. If they know you’re here, they know air and sea is the only other way to get a glimpse. I’m not sure we’ve reached helicopter or drone levels of interest yet.”
“ Yet , being the operative word.”
“One hopes. No doubt anyone in Genoa will be intrigued, and the way social media can make a story of anything might give us some global reach, but one never knows what will catch the public’s imagination.”
“Indeed not.”
“So, do I think someone is out there watching?” She gestured out along the shoreline. “I think we have a fifty-fifty chance, so we might as well take it. It’s about the only way I’d let your hand hold mine, naturally.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Naturally,” he agreed. “But hand holding is so…childish, is it not?” He dropped her hand, lifted his to her back, then slid it down the curve of her spine as they walked. “There are far more intimate touches a man and woman might engage in on a moonlit walk on the beach.” He ran his hand back up, curled his fingers around the nape of her neck and felt the shudder there, the soft escape of her breath.
He did not care for how much his own body seemed to shudder in response, but it was all for the end goal. All of it.
“I have some ideas on how to handle the Francos next week,” she said after a moment. She did not try to dislodge his hand from her neck. She did not angle herself so that they were not essentially hip to hip as they walked. She even seemed to be trying to relax into his touch, rather than stiffen against it.
But the change of topic was clear. She was accepting the touch on the fifty-fifty chance they were being photographed, but she would not engage in innuendo.
Yet.
So, he responded to her change in topic in kind. “As do I. In fact, I think we should approach this meeting as a team. Go into it together.”
“We are not officially a partnership yet,” Serena said, a faint frown on her face. “We will need everything in place legally before we start muddying up those waters.”
“Then, let us move forward with that.”
Starlight dappled the sand. The quiet sounds of waves echoed gently as they walked. If there was any romance in the world, it was in this setting. So, it was time to get on with the show.
He pulled the box from his pocket, fingering the velvet as he watched her.
She looked remote in profile. An untouchable goddess with her hair down and her face upturned to the moon so she seemed to glint silver as she considered his suggestion. For all her strength and determination and hate towards him, the moonlight made her seem ethereal. Lit from within. Someone else entirely—like the perfect Serena could be soft and romantic somewhere underneath all those sharp glaciers.
And maybe she could. To someone else. Not to him.
The strange pang in his chest at that thought was…nonsensical. Ridiculous.
The tightness in his chest wasn’t nerves, because he’d long since vanquished those from his life. It wasn’t lust—he knew what that felt like, and while he could not deny the strange appeal Serena had, here in this moment it wasn’t a bolt, a sharp need that wound through him.
It was something else altogether. Something he wasn’t familiar with. He didn’t like it or trust it, so he shoved it away and focused on the plan. He released her neck, stepped back and then dropped to one knee.
And waited for her to turn to him.