Chapter 18
Birdie
I wake up in Lorenzo’s arms, sunlight spilling through the curtains in soft gold. For a long moment, I don’t move. His chest rises and falls against my cheek, steady and warm. The world outside feels miles away.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
I smile. “Good morning.”
“Well, I see getting dicked down took some of that attitude away.”
I laugh, pushing at his chest.
“I could say the same about you. Why, you were practically purring like a cat last night.”
“The cat who got the cream,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. Finally, he shifts. “We should get up before Rosa arrives.”
I nod, but I don’t move right away. “Lorenzo? Does this change anything?”
For a heartbeat, I think he might answer honestly. Instead, he says, “Everything changes eventually,” and leaves me sitting there with the echo of his words.
He’s right about one thing. I’m in a much better mood.
I can’t stop smiling in the shower. The hot water beats down on me, steam curling around my shoulders, but it’s the leftover warmth of him that lingers the longest.
As I towel off, a sharp laugh escapes my lips. Sienna’s voice echoes in my head, full of teasing mischief.
We’ll get you laid before New Year’s yet.
I glance at the ceiling and smile.
“Well, I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind,” I say to the empty room, still grinning. “But I’m happy.”
The words taste new, like I’m testing them for truth.
I’m happy.
It’s terrifying to admit, especially aloud. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t be. A million jagged edges to what this is between me and Lorenzo. His age. His world. His fiancée.
And yet…
None of that matters when I think about the way he looked at me last night.
I wrap the towel tighter around me, heart fluttering, and wonder how long I can let myself float in this impossible thing before it crashes. But for now I’ll stay in this moment. Because for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel lost.
I dress in soft clothes and pad downstairs to find Lorenzo already in the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t miss a beat when he sees me. Just reaches for a mug and hands it to me like it’s second nature. Like I belong here.
The coffee is hot, the ceramic warm against my palms, and for a second I let myself pretend this is normal. That we’re normal.
When he ends the call, he turns to me with a look I can’t quite read. Serious, maybe. But not cold.
“We need to talk about what happened last night,” he says.
“Oh.” The word leaves me hollow. My stomach dips. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
I stare into my mug like it might fill the sudden ache opening in my chest.
But then he closes the space between us. Gently tips my chin until I’m forced to look at him. His touch is possessive in a way that shouldn't make me feel safe, but somehow does.
“It’s not like that, cara,” he says, his voice low. “We just need to be careful.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out.
“Because of Francesca?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb brushes my jaw, thoughtful.
“Because this isn’t a world that makes room for mistakes. And last night…” He pauses. “Wasn’t one. But it changes things.”
“So what does that mean?”
He leans in, so close his breath warms my cheek.
“It means I’ll protect what’s mine. But we don’t get to be careless.”
What’s mine.
The words shiver through me. I know I should question them, push back, remind him I’m not a thing to be claimed. But instead, my pulse skips in a way that tells me I don’t want to leave this kitchen. Or this man. Not yet.
“So you don’t regret it?”
“Not one second of it.”
“Me either.”
Before I can say anything else, the front door creaks open and Rosa enters with her usual quiet efficiency, arms full of brown paper grocery bags. I step away from Lorenzo before she sees how close we were.
“Good morning, Mr. Conti. Ms. Miller.” She sets the bags on the kitchen island and dusts her hands off on her pants before grabbing an apron. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Lorenzo doesn’t miss a beat. He throws me a wicked wink before replying, “Something filling. I had quite the workout this morning.”
Heat floods my face so fast I nearly burn myself on the coffee. I glance down, mortified and thrilled.
Rosa, ever professional, doesn’t even blink. “Very well, sir.”
She starts unpacking the groceries, humming to herself, and just when I think the tension might settle, she pauses.
“Will Ms. Marino be joining you for Christmas dinner?” she asks.
I freeze. The question shouldn’t sting but it does.
Lorenzo, however, doesn’t hesitate. “She’ll be with her family,” he says smoothly. “It’ll just be me and Miss Miller tonight.”
His eyes flick to mine as he says it, and the implication is unmistakable.
Just us.
A private holiday.
Something deeper than convenience, and far more dangerous.
Rosa nods, still unfazed. “Very well. Do either of you have requests for dinner?”
We both shake our heads.
Then Lorenzo reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a cream-colored envelope, extending it to her with a rare softness in his eyes. “Merry Christmas, Rosa.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she accepts it with a bow of her head. “Thank you, Mr. Conti.”
As she moves back into the kitchen, I take another sip of coffee to hide the sudden lump in my throat.
One night. Just the two of us. It should feel simple. But nothing with Lorenzo ever is.
After we eat breakfast, I slip back to my room under the excuse of needing to rest, but really, I just need space to breathe. Only the moment I step inside, I freeze when I see the bed.
The bedding is a mess—twisted sheets, pillows on the floor, the faintest indentation where he slept beside me. My cheeks flush as I hurry to fix it, smoothing the comforter with shaky hands.
But no matter how neatly I make the bed, his scent is still there. That sharp, smoky blend of cologne and skin that wraps around me like an invisible tether. I inhale before I can stop myself.
And that’s when a soft knock comes at the door.
I spin around, heart leaping into my throat.
Lorenzo stands in the hallway, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other holding a small, wrapped box. There’s a small smile on his face.
“I got you something,” he says.
I blink. “You did?”
“For Christmas.” He steps forward and places the box in my hands.
It’s heavier than I expect. Wrapped in dark green paper, simple and elegant. I hesitate.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.”
I lower myself to the edge of the bed and begin to unwrap the gift carefully, peeling back the tape. Inside the box is a journal—soft, leatherbound, a shade of dusky rose. When I open it, I find the first page already inscribed in bold, slanted handwriting:
You don’t have to write it all down. But I hope you’ll try.
I look up at him, eyes stinging.
“Sienna said once that you liked to write. I thought it might help,” he murmurs. “With everything.”
My voice is barely a whisper. “Thank you.”
He shrugs one shoulder, suddenly looking anywhere but at me. “Don’t read too much into it.”
Too late.
I close the journal, running my fingers over the smooth leather one last time before I set it gently on the bed.
“I… I got you something, too,” I say quietly.
Lorenzo raises an eyebrow, caught off guard. “You did?”
I nod, rising from the bed and crossing to the dresser.
I definitely don’t tell him that I used his card last night when I was trying to teach him a lesson.
But the moment I saw it, I knew he needed to have it.
From the top drawer, I pull out a small square package wrapped in deep blue paper and tied with twine.
It’s not fancy. It doesn’t sparkle. But my heart is in it.
I hold it out to him with both hands. “It’s not much. But it’s from me. And it’s sort of from Sienna, too.”
That makes him pause. His expression shifts—softening, bracing, grieving—all in the span of a second.
He takes the package with care and unwraps it slowly. Inside is a brass keychain. The kind that’s weighty and warm to the touch. Attached to the ring is a round token stamped with the phrase Drive like someone loves you.
He stares at it for a moment. “This was hers?”
“No,” I say. “But she had one just like it hanging from her rearview mirror. She found it in a gas station one night when we were road-tripping. Said it was ugly as sin, but it reminded her to slow down. Because someone was waiting for her.”
He swallows hard, fingers closing around it.
“I thought…” I clear my throat. “I thought maybe you could carry it. Just to remember that someone cares. That someone’s waiting on you to come home.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then he nods, jaw tight. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
I try to smile, but emotion is thick in my chest. “Merry Christmas, Lorenzo.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just pulls me into his arms and holds me like I’m something fragile and precious. Like he’s afraid letting go might break us both.
After a bit he says, “Rest. I’ve got big plans for us this evening.”
Unable to help myself, I lift on my toes and brush my lips against his.
“I can’t wait.”
At seven, a knock on the door pulls me from the edge of sleep. I rub my eyes and shuffle over. When I open it, Rosa stands there holding a long white box tied with a red satin ribbon.
“This is from Mr. Conti,” she says with a smile. “He’s always loved dressing up for Christmas dinner.”
She passes me the box and adds, “Merry Christmas, Miss Miller. Dinner’s at eight.”
“Merry Christmas, Rosa,” I murmur, cradling the box like it’s made of glass.
Once I’m alone again, I carry it to the bed and untie the ribbon with trembling fingers. Lifting the lid, I gasp softly.