Chapter 28 #2
“I’m aware.”
“People are coming.”
“I know.”
“You should be downstairs securing things.”
“I did,” he says silkily.
“Then you should go do it again.”
“I will.”
But he does not move.
Neither do I.
He pushes off the doorjamb and steps into the bathroom.
The room suddenly feels much smaller.
I turn to face him fully, crossing my arms mostly so I do not reach for him first. “You are supposed to be making sure everything is ready.”
“It is.”
“Then why are you up here distracting me? You’re going to make me late to my own dinner.’
His eyes move over my face. “Because you’ve been getting ready for forty minutes.”
“So?”
“So I wanted to see the result.”
That answer does something warm and fuzzy to my insides.
His hand lifts, and one finger brushes the edge of my robe where it crosses over my chest.
“You’re not dressed.”
“I am aware.”
His gaze drops to the small strip of skin exposed at my throat. “That seems like a problem.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be too easy to take this off you.”
My breath hitches.
“Adrian.”
He leans down and kisses the side of my neck, just beneath my ear.
My eyes close.
That is all it takes.
One touch of his mouth, and the whole evening spins out of control.
“I have to finish getting ready,” I say, though my hands are already on his arms.
“You look ready to me.”
“I am wearing a robe.”
“I noticed.”
His lips move lower, and I tilt my head before I can stop myself.
“This is not helpful.”
“I’m not trying to be helpful.”
I laugh once, breathless already. “I can tell.”
His hand slides to my waist, then around to my back, pulling me closer. I go easily. I am apparently helpless around this man now.
A couple of months ago, I was annoyed that he stood too close. Now I am annoyed when there is any space between us at all.
His mouth finds mine and takes me slow and deep. His tongue brushes against mine, and I shiver as my whole body answers.
I press closer, fingers curling into his jacket.
He groans softly against my mouth.
That sound goes straight through me.
I think about the dinner downstairs. The flowers. The table. Lucia and Nick and the children arriving soon. Vito and Teresa. Nico and Erica. The whole point of tonight.
Then Adrian’s hand slides lower, gripping my hip, and every practical thought in my head dissolves.
“We should call it off,” I whisper against his mouth.
He goes still for half a second.
Then his mouth moves to my jaw. “The dinner?”
“Yes.”
His lips trail along my skin. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along.”
I laugh, though it comes out weak because he is kissing my neck now, and that makes it very hard to sound reasonable. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I tip my head back, giving him more room. Terrible decision. Excellent decision.
“We can try again another time.”
His mouth is at my throat, and I’m melting in his arms.
“Well,” he says. “Lucia and Nick will be here in about five minutes, but say the word, and I’ll tell my people to reroute them to your father’s place.”
My eyes fly open. “What?”
His hand slides beneath the edge of my robe, palm warm on my bare thigh.
“I’ll say you’d like to reschedule on account of having hot sex.”
I shove at his shoulder. “Adrian.”
He does not move. I feel him smiling against my neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m telling you now,” he teases.
I laugh despite myself. “I mean… You know what I mean.”
He lifts his head, grinning, and the sight of it, so genuine and unguarded, so rare, makes my chest ache.
He is not a man who smiles like this often. I see satisfaction on his face. I see amusement. I see a flash of danger. I see heat, lust, challenge.
But this? This happy light in his eyes? This is a gift.
I want to cherish every second of it. Unfortunately, there’s no time for that right now.
“I was getting to it,” he says, the smile still playing on his lips as he straightens up, though he doesn’t let go of me.
I let out a fake scoff. “Go.” I shove him again, this time managing to get a measly inch of space. “Or we’ll never make it downstairs.”
I see his eyes darken with lust again, before I step out of his arms.
He gives me one last look that promises this is not finished, then finally turns toward the door.
I stand there for three full seconds, trying to remember how to breathe.
By the time I dress and make it downstairs, I look composed.
That is one of my greatest skills.
My hair is down. My makeup is finished. The dress fits exactly the way I want it to, elegant and soft and just dangerous enough to make me feel like myself again. Gold earrings. Gold bracelet. Simple heels. No armor, not exactly, but close enough to pass.
The house is ready.
Mostly.
The dining room glows with warm light, the table set for adults and children together. The kitchen smells incredible. Garlic, herbs, warm bread, roasted vegetables, something rich and tomato-heavy that Bianca would approve of if she were here to inspect it.
The trusted staff moves quietly and efficiently, all of them people who have worked for the family long enough to understand discretion is not a preference. It is a survival skill.
Outside, security is visible only if you know what to look for.
I know what to look for now.
Adrian’s people have done what he does best. They are everywhere and nowhere. One near the front approach. One at the side entrance. Two on the perimeter cameras. Another near the kitchen access. Nick’s security has not arrived yet, but will soon.
I move through the entrance hall just as the front door opens for the flower delivery to be brought inside.
Adrian must have already cleared them because one of his people brings them in. A woman with dark hair pulled back tightly and a calm expression carries the larger arrangement carefully in both hands. A man with a close cut and a stern expression follows with the smaller one.
Yellow roses catch the light immediately.
I stop.
They are beautiful.
Not what I would have chosen for myself, but beautiful nonetheless.
My preference has always been something less obvious. White ranunculus, pale peach garden roses, deep green hellebore, maybe a few stems of blue thistle, and trailing jasmine. Something textured and slightly wild, pretty without trying too hard.
But Sofia and Charlotte love yellow roses.
Lucia’s girls were enamored by the yellow roses growing in the garden at Papà’s house the first time they came over, and I have never forgotten it. Every time they come to my house, I make a point to put them in the arrangement.
So tonight there are yellow roses.
Softened with cream blooms, pale peach, and enough greenery to keep the arrangements from looking too bright or childish. Cheerful, but still elegant. Warm without being loud.
It is a small thing.
But sometimes small things are the only normal things left.
“Dining room table for the larger one,” I tell the woman holding the first arrangement. “Centered, but not too high. I want people to see each other across it.”
She nods. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And the smaller one on the entrance table.”
The second guard moves toward the hall table.
I catch myself noticing that he turns the vase before setting it down so the fullest side faces the door. It surprises me a bit that a man with such a stern expression on his face would think of it.
The front gate notification chimes softly from the wall panel before I can say anything else.
A moment later, Adrian steps in from the hall, all business again, whatever heat was upstairs locked away behind the bodyguard’s mask.
His eyes move over me once.
Only once.
But it is enough.
Then he looks at the panel, then at me.
“The first guests have arrived.”