23. Ginevra
23
GINEVRA
T he air around us is thick with a different kind of tension as Dario pulls the car out of the quiet compound. The cold breeze from the AC vent bites my skin, making me shiver.
I sit in the passenger seat, stealing glances at Dario. His jaw is tight, and his hands grip the steering wheel with so much force that I fear he’ll break it.
We are both fully dressed now—sans my ripped panties that he slipped into his pocket—but the evidence of the past ravenous minutes is very much evident in his wild hair and flushed skin.
The night outside is dark and heavy, the streetlights casting bright lights that illuminate the winding streets. The car ride home feels like an eternity wrapped in silence. Each second stretches painfully long.
An unpleasant feeling pools in my stomach, and a heavy weight, thick and suffocating, hangs in my throat.
Memories of our heated moment in the garage flood my mind, and I wonder if he’s replaying it, too. I wonder if he liked it. Or if he’s filled with regret. I steal another glance at him—his brow is furrowed, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his mind.
I pull my gaze away from him, my stomach tightening again. My gaze remains outside the window until we approach the familiar, luxurious street of his house. As we pull into the driveway, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the awkwardness that’s sure to follow. The car stops, and the silence feels deafening.
He opens the door and steps out, the sharp movement sending a jolt through me. I quickly follow suit before he crosses over to the passenger side, my heart pounding as we walk side by side toward the entrance.
The night is still and cold, the only sound being the crunch of gravel beneath our feet. I want to say something, anything to break the silence, but my words hang thick in my throat.
Dario unlocks the door and steps aside for me to walk past. As I move in, the faint scent of his expensive cologne hits me, and I’m reminded of how I kissed and licked his neck earlier.
The atmosphere seems even more tense and awkward as we both make our way up the stairs with Dario behind me. I feel his hot gaze slither down my exposed back, and my whole body is up in flames.
When we get to the top corridor, I’m reminded that we don’t share the same bedroom, and exactly why I left his room on the first day. The irony isn’t lost on me. I didn’t want to share a bed with him, but now I’ve done even more than that.
I’ve had sex with the man.
I hesitate for a moment, searching for the right words, the right line of action. After the first night I spent on his bed, he basically hadn’t spent the night here until late last night while I was already asleep.
I wonder if he expects me to follow him to his bedroom since I’ve spent a night there before. Does he expect me to sleep in his room regularly now because we’ve had sex? But if he doesn’t, it would be weird to just ignore the man I’ve just had sex with, right? But why do I have to be the one to say something?
Exhaling a short, frustrated breath, I manage to mumble a whisper of a greeting.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he says firmly.
His eyes meet my gaze for just a moment, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—frustration, perhaps? Reluctance, maybe? Heat...yes.
Then he turns away, walking toward his room. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me standing alone in the hallway feeling a mix of disappointment and confusion.
What the hell just happened?
Shaking my head, I head over to the opposite wall, push the door open, and enter my room and lock it shut behind me. I take a shower, scrubbing my body to wash his touch and smell from my body.
It’s all pointless. And when I eventually fall asleep moments later, I slip into the dream world where the events of earlier repeat over and over again.
Bright sunlight streams through my window as I rise from bed the next morning. It warms my skin, but it does little to chase away the unease lingering in my chest. I remain in bed for a few minutes, just gazing at the ceiling. When I’m sure Dario must have left for work, I take a shower, change into fresh clothes, and head to the dining room. Hopefully, a good breakfast will clear my head.
I step into the kitchen and make my way toward the dining room. The table is set in preparation for the meal, but the sight of Dario already seated at the far end catches me off guard. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and his clean-shaven jaw is sharp and clenched. He is dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders with his usual black pants and black leather shoes. He looks impossibly handsome, and my heart skips a beat at the sight of him.
“Morning,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, suddenly aware of the flimsy, short romper I’m wearing.
“Morning.” Dario doesn’t look up from his coffee, his expression as cold and unreadable as it was last night. I feel a rush of embarrassment flood my cheeks.
Rosa enters the room, her bright smile cutting through the tension. “Good morning, you two. I hope you’re ready for a delicious breakfast!” She chirps, bustling around the kitchen.
I take my seat, trying to ignore the quiet intensity in the air. Dario remains focused on his coffee, his demeanor unchanged, and I’m getting more pissed by the minute. I’m thrown back to two days ago when he acted exactly like this. His hot and cold attitude is giving me a fucking headache.
“Did you sleep well?” Rosa asks no one in particular, as if she can sense the tension in the room.
“Yes, I did,” I reply with a forced smile, trying to keep the warmth in my voice.
But my stomach squeezes painfully again, and I fear I’ve lost my appetite.
Rosa sets down a plate of fresh fruit and a basket of bagels at the center of the table. She leaves and returns almost immediately again with a kettle and a teacup for me. This time around, my smile is genuine, as I find it so sweet that she remembers I don’t like coffee.
“You both should eat. It’s important to start the day right.”
Her voice is overly cheerful, and I know it’s a deliberate attempt to dispel some of the tension in the room. I try to engage in a casual conversation with her as she places more plates before me.
The weight of Dario’s silence is still heavy opposite me. As I take a single grape into my mouth, he stands to his feet. I crush the grape with my teeth as I catch his gaze briefly, and there’s an intensity in his eyes that makes my heart race. It’s a mix of frustration and something else I can’t quite place.
I focus my attention back on the food before me just as he steps away from the table. Just when I think he’ll walk away without saying a word, Dario surprises me by leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. My breath catches, and warmth rushes to my cheeks. The gesture is so unexpected and tender that I forget about the tension for a moment.
“See you later,” he says, his voice low and rough, like a promise, before heading toward the door.
I sit there, stunned and blushing, and I feel Rosa’s eyes on me.
“Well, that was cute,” she teases, a playful smile on her face. “You should see your face, Ginny!”
“Rosa, stop it,” I murmur, trying to hide my blushing face, but I can’t help the smile creeping onto my lips.
“That’s how he is,” she continues in a breathy voice as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “The don has a tough exterior, but he’s a softie underneath. He treats all his workers well. Paolo, the gardener, had a sick mother. Before she died, the don paid off all their debts and paid all her hospital bills up until the moment she died. He let Paolo keep his job even though Paolo missed work on many days due to taking care of her.”
I feel a strong pull in my chest at her words. It’s almost as if she’s talking about another man, but I’ve seen the way she acts comfortable around him, and I know she might be telling the truth.
“When he learned that I lost my only son on my birthday, he started bringing me flowers and gifts every year,” she says, her voice thick with emotion.
A soft gasp leaves my lips, and I blink repeatedly, suddenly feeling teary-eyed.
“I’m sorry about your son.”
“It’s okay. It happened several years ago.” She chuckles, but for the first time, I notice the pain in her eyes. “He would have been around don’s age now.”
Leaning in, her voice softens as she tells me, “Your fiancé has had a hard life. He lost his parents young, and he doesn’t talk about it much. All I know is that they died when he was young, leaving him all alone. He can seem so closed off, but he’s had to fend for himself his whole life. That’s all he knows.”
A pang of sorrow strikes me at the thought of him being alone in the world. “What about his family? Does he have anyone?”
“As far as I know, no,” Rosa replies, shaking her head. “It’s just him. That’s why he carries himself the way he does. Imagine being all alone, Ginny. It’s a heavy burden.”
The revelation tugs at my heartstrings. I try to know if I can recall his parents from the hazy memory I have of him, but I don’t remember a thing. It was mostly just him and Lorenzo. I can’t help but feel an overwhelming desire to understand him better, to know what shaped him into the man he is today.
To know what exactly happened between him and my brother.
“Just be patient,” Rosa advises gently, as if she can read my thoughts. “He’ll open up when he’s ready.”
And just like that, I have a new assignment—to unravel the mystery that is Dario.