19. Ginevra
19
GINEVRA
I wake up to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains, a groan slipping past my lips as the rays hits my face. It’s day four of living in the enemy’s house, and I’m already dreading it.
Enemy who made you come all over his kitchen counter, my inner voice mocks.
“Shut up!” I retort aloud, pushing that memory back into the dark, forgotten recesses of my mind.
The past three days have followed the same tedious routine—waking up, showering, having breakfast delivered to my room, meeting with the wedding planner, having lunch, napping until dinner time, and then either watching a movie or playing games on my phone.
Rinse and fucking repeat.
I didn’t have many friends. The ones I did have were mostly for social events—school, extended family functions (which Lorenzo and I haven’t really kept up with since our parents passed), and the occasional acquaintances from social media groups and mutual connections.
Being part of high society meant I wasn’t allowed to go out much, invite friends over, or have casual meet-ups.
It was difficult to maintain friendships when those who tried to get close were assessed for their family background and their future inheritance. The friends I did make under such conditions were often snobs with communication issues, flaunting their wealth to solve every problem.
I couldn’t deal with it, so I became more of a loner.
Today, I want to do something different. Maybe I’ll take a swim in the lavish pool out back, or perhaps I’ll go shopping—not for the wedding, but for myself. After all, there’s no rule that says I can’t leave the house. Besides, it’s high time I take advantage of the unlimited card Dario left me three days ago before he completely vanished.
As I sit up, my eyes are drawn to the bedside table, and a breath leaves my lips when I spot it—an engagement ring, glinting like a betrayal under the streak of sunlight. Beside it, I see a white piece of paper. I bring it up to read the two words written on it.
Wear it.
Anger wells up inside me. His actions shouldn’t shock me, given how despicable he is. But I can’t help but be furious. How rude of him to leave the ring like this, without even a word in person. I know our engagement is arranged, and we’re not truly in love. Heck, I don’t expect him to get down on one knee and slip the ring onto my finger. But after everything that happened between us, I expected at least a proper acknowledgment.
One thing I should remind myself consistently is to never have any expectations when it comes to Dario.
I pick up the ring, feeling its weight in my palm as I swallow thickly. It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen. The band is crafted from lustrous gold, intricately woven into an elegant design. It’s a far cry from any conventional engagement ring.
But it’s the stone that captures my breath. It’s a stunning shade of diamond, swirling with rich browns and hints of green that shimmer under the soft sunlight. Each movement catches the light, and the gem seems to glow from within, casting a warm hue that dances across my skin.
A part of me wants to put it on to see how it would look on my finger. But another part of me recoils the thought. Wearing this ring would mean embracing this facade. I don’t want to be a pawn in Dario’s little game.
Yet, as I sit there, I can’t help but wish things were different. That night in the kitchen, with the heat of our argument turning into unrestrained passion. I close my eyes, recalling the way he looked at me, the way he kissed me, touched me as if I was the only woman in the world, the way he carried me to his room and put me to bed.
And the way he disappeared the next morning, my inner voice reminds me dryly.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts.
Dario has been avoiding me since then, and maybe that’s for the best. I left his room and avoided being anywhere that I could mistakenly bump into him, even though I know he hasn’t been home for three days.
I’ve also been planning our wedding, and it has kept me a bit busy, but it feels more as if I’m organizing a show for an audience. He’s hired the best planner, making arrangements as if this isn’t all a sham. I sigh, pushing the ring aside.
Earlier, I decided to do something different today. I’ll start by having breakfast in the dining room instead of my room. After a shower, I slip into a fitted white tank top that hugs my skin and a pair of denim shorts with frayed edges. I want to look good, not for him, but because I want to feel good for the rest of the day.
Okay, that’s a lie. With the ring he left beside my bed, I suspect Dario came back late last night. I’m dressed like this in the hopes that I’ll see him, that I’ll make it impossible for him to pretend I don’t exist.
As I head downstairs, a rebellious spark ignites within me.
“Ginny,” Rosa greets with a pleasant gasp as she sees me enter the kitchen. I return her smile with a genuine one, and when I offer to help her make breakfast, she tells me it’s already done.
I insist on serving myself, and after a bit of back-and-forth, she shakes her head and heads toward the exit.
“Is Dario home?” I ask her before she leaves.
A knowing glint appears in her eyes as she turns to look at me.
“Yes, he is, thankfully. I wonder why that boy insists on putting his work above everything else? What man leaves his beautiful fiancée alone at home for three days?” She tuts in disapproval.
From the way she speaks about Dario, it’s clear they have a long history, and she’s like a mother figure to him.
“So terrible of him,” I mutter, feigning anger.
“I’ll go call him down.”
“Don’t tell him I’m here,” I say, and she chuckles and nods as if she knows something I don’t.
“As you wish, ma’am,” she says before walking away.
Beaming, I pour myself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air. I set a plate of toast in front of me, the crisp sound of bread crunching as I slice it. I take a moment to relish the breakfast, savoring the idea of riling him up before work. I can already picture the look on his face when he sees me here.
Just as I take a bite, I hear his heavy footsteps. Dario enters the room, and even though I expect his arrival, my breath hitches at the sudden shift in the room’s energy. I raise my gaze to him, maintaining a nonchalant expression on my face.
He looks sharp in a tailored suit, the fabric hugging his frame just right. The scent of his cologne—a mix of cedar and something spicy—fills the room, making my heart pound against my chest. His face. Fuck! It’s so unfair for one person to look this sexy.
His dark hair looks longer than usual, falling over his forehead in messy waves. His emerald green eyes are narrowed into slits as he approaches me. His jaw is clenched, and I resist the urge to lick my lips at the sexy stubble sprinkled over his cheeks. I imagine what the roughness would feel like against my skin when his head is between my...
“You’re eating in here today?” he asks, his voice snapping me out of my reverie.
His voice is laced with irritation, eyes narrowing as they flicker over my sitting frame.
“Thought I’d change things up,” I reply, keeping my tone light, though my heart races. I enjoy the way his jaw tightens, the way he shifts his weight as he stands there like a lion ready to pounce.
“Right,” he drawls, stepping closer, invading my personal space. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt you to act a little more...engaged. I have housekeepers and domestic staff. These people observe everything.”
I roll my eyes, feigning innocence. “What exactly are you talking about?” I take another bite of my toast.
“Don’t play games, Ginny. Why aren’t you wearing your ring?” His voice deepens, and I can feel the heat of his stare boring into me, igniting a fire in my chest.
I guess the first thing he looked at when he saw me was my left ring finger. Controlling prick.
“What ring?” I ask, my voice steady, though inside I’m churning. “I don’t know what you’re...”
“I’m not in the mood,” he snaps, his jaw clenching as he steps closer, his body towering over my sitting frame.
I hum, taking my time to sip of my coffee. When I place the cup gently on the table, I look up at him.
“Did you suddenly remember you have a fiancée after three days?” I ask coolly.
“Why? Did you miss me?”
His voice doesn’t have its usual teasing lilt to it. Instead, it’s hard and mocking. I bristle, but even though I want to return the energy, I decide to keep up with my facade, knowing it will infuriate him further.
“Never. I’m just...concerned. We don’t want the housekeepers gossiping about us to others, now do we?” I say, fake concern dripping from my voice.
I know that isn’t a possibility. Dario, like many other influential people, has his domestic staff sign nondisclosure contracts before they begin working for him. But even without the contract, I’m sure they would be terrified to run their mouths about him elsewhere, knowing how terrifying he can be.
Harshly, he drops his sleek briefcase on the dining table before planting his palms against the surface and leaning further into me. My breath hitches, but I refuse to let him intimidate me.
“I don’t have time for games.”
“And who says I’m playing games?” I shoot back, staring right into his eyes.
Our faces are a few inches apart, and my eyes suddenly flicker to his lips, remembering the way he kissed me that night. My body burns with a wanton heat, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pretend that he isn’t the one getting under my skin rather than the other way around.
Feeling cornered, I abruptly get up and try to return my now empty dishes to the kitchen. I carry them in one hand, but before I move past him and reach the sink, Dario chases after me, grabs my free hand, and tugs me backward.
The ceramic plate and cup slip from my hand, shattering against the tiled floor.
“What is wrong with--”
A sharp breath leaves my lips as he swiftly lifts me up by my waist, the movement causing me to grip his shoulders for support. He takes three long steps away from the broken dishes before dropping me right in front of the kitchen counter. My head fogs up as the memory of that night hits me like a wrecking ball. We are in a similar position, the equally similar sexual tension thick in the air.
“We have an event tonight,” Dario snaps, and the coldness of his harsh voice hits me. “You need to wear it.”
“Gold isn’t my color.”
“You will wear the fucking ring, Ginny,” he hisses, his eyes darkening with barely restrained fury.
I meet his gaze, my deep-seated hatred for him flaring up again.
“And what if I don’t?” I challenge, lifting my chin up in defiance.
“The consequences of disobeying me are severe. You won’t like them,” he growls, his words sinking into me like poison. “I can end this contract whenever I want. It would be nothing for me, but for you? Your family will fall to ruin. It wouldn’t cost me a damned thing.”
His threat hits me square in the chest, squeezing out any breath I had left.
I feel my hatred for him intensify, clawing at my insides. My mind replays that night in the kitchen—every heated glance, every stolen breath, the undeniable chemistry that crackled between us. A stupid, foolish part of me thought that night had changed something between us.
Stupid, stupid girl.
“I fucking hate you, Dario,” I spit, my voice trembling with raw emotion.
“The feeling is mutual, Ginevra,” he says coldly, his emerald eyes hard as stone. “Just do what you’re asked, and stop acting like a spoiled child. I won’t be as tolerant the next time you defy my orders.”
I want to scream, to push him away, to rip him apart with every insult I can think of, but deep down, I know that’s what he wants. He’s still the cold, ruthless Dario De Luca, and he’s waiting for me to break, to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.
I try to sidestep him, but his body blocks my path, the tension between us thick enough to choke on. “Move,” I demand, my voice low, but the firmness of it barely conceals the storm of emotions swirling inside me.
A sliver of dark satisfaction flickers in his eyes, and he finally steps back, giving me just enough space to breathe.
“I’ll pick you up at seven, Princess,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “Be ready when I return. And, oh—wear something red.”
With those parting words, he turns and walks out, leaving me standing there with a racing heart.