Chapter 19
ROMERO
I get home an hour before the dinner is scheduled to start, and I’m floored to see my fiancée waiting for me at the door, all dressed up.
“What do you think?” She twirls around for me, her hair bouncing with the movement.
“Absolutely ravishing, bellissimo.” And I mean it.
She’s wearing a blue dress that clings to her curves like a second skin, making my mouth water with the urge to trace those lines with my tongue.
Her hair is a masterpiece too—soft, glossy curls cascading past her shoulders.
Without thinking, I reach out and wrap one around my finger, mesmerized by the silky texture.
She steps back, slapping my hand away. “Careful, you’re going to unravel the curls! It took me hours to get them to look this nice.”
My lips curl at her indignation. She’s adorable. “Right.”
“What do you think? Is this enough to meet your family? What are your brothers’ wives like? Will I look underdressed compared to them?” Self-consciousness creeps into her eyes—something I’ve never seen before—and it pisses me off. She has no reason to doubt herself.
For her, I force myself to think critically about the women in my life. Redheaded Elira, brown-haired Emilia, and Gianna with her dark hair. What did they wear to previous dinners?
A dull throb starts in my temples as I try to picture it. Truth is, I’ve never really paid attention to their outfits because I didn’t give a shit what any of them wore. They weren’t mine to notice.
“You're without comparison, Leni. No matter what you wear, you’re going to outshine every woman in that room—and not just in looks.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment she looks genuinely stunned, maybe even a little touched. “Th–thank you. So, you do know my name after all.” A teasing spark lights her eyes.
“What?”
“It’s always bellezza or uccellino. I’m not a little bird, by the way.”
Ah, she’s right. This is maybe the third time I’ve actually used her name instead of an endearment. “Wrong, you’re my little bird,” I correct firmly. She opens her mouth to argue, and I chuckle, cutting her off. “Woman, I need to get changed if we don’t want to be late for dinner.”
On my way upstairs to my bedroom, I text Sandro to make some arrangements for Leni. I hate seeing that flicker of insecurity in her eyes about her appearance, so we’re fixing that shit right now.
SANDRO
We’re buying clothes for women now? I need to meet this fiancée of yours soon.
Just do what I fucking asked you to do.
He replies with a salute emoji, and I drop my phone on the nightstand as I make my way to my ensuite. I’ve been sleeping in the guest bedroom the past two nights because I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by invading her space too soon.
Next weekend is soon enough—no need to spook her before then.
When I walk into my bathroom, I’m caught off guard by the changes.
My soap and shampoo have been pushed aside to make room for what looks like an entire pharmacy of bottles.
I’m not exaggerating—there have to be a dozen different containers crowding my shower.
Just how many different soaps does one woman need?
I squint at the labels, trying to decipher the feminine mysteries: face wash, body wash, shampoo, and what appears to be five types of conditioners.
Regular conditioner, leave-in conditioner, deep-conditioner, and two others I can’t even pronounce… what the hell is the difference?
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pick up her body wash, popping the cap. The fragrance immediately fills the air, and blood rushes straight to my cock. This is what she smells like. I lift the bottle to my nose and inhale deeply, my eyes rolling back. Fuck. What the hell am I doing right now?
Get your shit together, Romero.
I force myself to return the bottle to its spot and crank the water temperature down to arctic. The freezing spray takes care of my arousal problem and I can breathe again without imagining bending her over in this exact fucking spot.
I don’t linger in the shower after that. I scrub my body dry with a fresh towel and make my way to the walk-in closet where I change into a navy suit while eying Leni’s side of the space. Her section looks practically empty compared to mine—something else we need to remedy.
SANDRO
It’s ready.
His text arrives as I’m heading downstairs. Another ping follows with an address, and I smile in satisfaction.
“We’re making a small detour before going to Rafael’s house,” I announce to Leni when I find her in the living room. She stands when she sees me, and I extend my hand towards her. “Come on.”
She slips her hand into mine without hesitation, and warmth spreads up my arm. When did this become so natural? I squeeze gently, anchoring myself to the moment.
“Where are we going?”
“Your dress is beautiful, but you clearly didn’t believe me earlier, and I refuse to let you feel self-conscious during your first meeting with my family.
So, we’re getting you something else to wear.
” A confident woman is a stunning woman.
And you, uccellino, are going to walk in there and rewrite the definition.
She doesn’t argue as I lead her outside and into the SUV. Once she’s settled in the back, I circle around to the driver’s side. “We’re making a quick stop at Otto.” I show Logan the address on my phone, and he puts it into the GPS.
Sliding in beside Leni, I catch her clasping her hands like she’s trying to hold herself back from saying something. But then her eyes flick to mine. “We should just go straight to dinner. I don’t want us to be late, and you really don’t need to buy me a dress. You’ve done so much already.”
I give her a flat look. “No. You want another dress, you’re getting another dress. Don’t argue,” I add when she bites her lower lip—a gesture I’m learning means she’s about to dig in her heels.
She turns to look out of the window, and I relax back into my seat, satisfied that she has given up the fight.
“How was your court appearance today?” The question comes out of nowhere, but she’s still not looking at me, so I can’t tell if she’s genuinely curious or just trying to fill the silence.
“It was great.”
“You won?” Now she looks at me, curiosity swirling in her gaze.
I love that look. My lips tilt up. “It was only the first appearance, but I have no doubt I’ll win.”
She nods thoughtfully. “Can I ask who you represented? Or is that confidential?”
“That part is public. It’s someone you know, actually.” I chuckle when she twists to face me in surprise. “Remember that night at the police station? It’s the guy I came to bail out.”
“The guy who killed his friend. I heard the cops talking,” she adds when I raise a questioning brow, and I nod in acknowledgement. “Did he really do it?”
“Now, that would be breaching client confidentiality, Miss Barlowe.” I keep my tone light, earning the smile I was aiming for.
“Fine, keep your secrets and your client’s. That’s what you're good at anyway. But don’t expect me to share any of mine anymore.”
Before I can ask what she means, the car pulls to a stop in front of the boutique. “Is this where we’re going?” Her voice comes out breathless. “Romero, no. Absolutely not. Their stuff is very very expensive.”
“You’re cute.” I chuckle, getting out of the car.
“I’m serious!” she continues protesting as she exits as well, gesturing frantically at me over the roof of the car to get back in. I ignore her and circle around to where she’s standing, practically vibrating with anxiety in front of the store. “Do you have any idea how much these places charge?”
“Come on.” My hand slips onto her lower back, and I lead her inside.
A bell chimes as we walk in, and a woman behind the front desk immediately stands. Without asking who we are, she steps out. “Welcome, sir and madam. Mrs. Raine is waiting in the back room. Please follow me.” She turns and takes us through the expansive main showroom.
Leni shoots me a wide-eyed look, her mouth twitching before she whispers, “Mrs. Raine? Is she the owner of this store?”
I shrug because I have no fucking idea who she is either. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
When the woman opens a door for us, stepping inside is like entering another world.
Unlike the main store with its racks of hanging garments, this space resembles an elegant living room.
A plush couch, two armchairs facing it, a side table stacked with fashion magazines, and along the walls, closet-like shelves displaying carefully curated pieces.
There’s a woman in the corner sorting through dresses with an assistant, and when she sees us, her face lights up like we’re long-lost relatives.
“Mrs. Lombardi!” She abandons what she’s doing and rushes over, reaching for Leni’s hand. “It’s such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Oh, hi.” Leni’s smile is unsure as she glances up at me and back at the woman. “I’m not Mrs. Lombardi.”
“Yet,” I correct with a smile of my own. Hearing her addressed by my name fucks with my head. I want to hear her called that all day, every day. Mrs. Charlene Lombardi. Fuck yes.
The woman waves it off. “It’s only a matter of time before it becomes official.
” She taps the engagement ring with one manicured finger.
“Now, come, I’ve gone to the lengths of curating some dresses I think you might like.
If you don't like them, we can find others, of course.” Without waiting for a reply, she hooks an arm through Leni’s and steers her towards the seating area, chattering all the way.
“Mrs. Raine?” I question, just to be sure.
“Yes—oh, where are my manners?” She gives a quick, sheepish pat to her forehead before releasing Leni and extending her hand to me. “Penelope Raine. I’m the manager here.”