Chapter 9 Valentina
VALENTINA
Let myself go in Cristian’s arms even as I know nothing changes by blubbering.
But for a moment, I don’t feel alone. I realize that while I’d like to have a man’s gentle touch, his comfort now is as much needed, if not more, than pleasure.
“I’m sorry I’m falling apart.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one that’s sorry. You’re in an impossible situation and I made it worse.”
Except he didn’t. Not really. I put him in an impossible situation.
When I hatched this plan, it was straightforward in my mind.
Find a man.
Give up my virginity.
Exert a little autonomy before being handed over like property.
Cristian was the obvious choice.
Handsome.
Strong.
Decent.
Loyal.
I figured he would be kind, would make it good for me.
What I never accounted for was the way my heart thunders as he holds me.
The comfort I feel in his embrace that goes beyond physical attraction.
The way his promise to protect me makes me want to cry all over again.
I close my eyes, trying to collect myself.
This was supposed to be simple, a transaction of sorts.
Pleasure exchanged, virginity disposed of, a small victory claimed before my surrender.
When did it become something else?
When did Cristian become something more than a means to an end?
"I don't know what to do," I admit, feeling lost. "Although, there is nothing I can do.”
His arms tighten around me. "I know," he murmurs against my hair. "I’ve tried to come up with a plan but… It’s fucking frustrating."
And just like that, I realize I'm in serious danger of falling for Cristian Bonetti.
I step back, suddenly aware of my state of undress beneath the thin silk robe.
Not that it matters now.
He’s already touched me intimately.
"I'm sorry for putting you in this position," I say, pulling the robe tighter around me so he doesn’t think I’m going to throw myself at him again. "For teasing you, making things impossible for you. That wasn't fair."
A hint of a smile touches his lips. "If we're being honest, I didn't entirely mind the teasing."
Heat floods my cheeks. "Yes, you did.”
He shrugs. “Only because of the situation.”
I nod. “I was selfish. I was thinking about what I wanted without considering what it would cost you."
Cristian tilts his head, studying me. "You know, before I was assigned to protect you, my life was all duty and routine.” He runs a hand through his black hair, leaving it mussed in a sexy sort of way. "There wasn't much excitement."
"And now?" I can't help but ask.
His smile widens. "Now I'm sneaking around with the boss's sister, risking life and limb every time you wear one of those dresses."
A laugh escapes me. It’s unexpected, but liberating. "You think they're that bad?"
"They're that good," he corrects, and the heat in his gaze makes my skin tingle.
"I'll have to wear it more often, then,” I tease.
"God help me, you're trying to get me killed."
For a moment, I forget the wedding, forget Maksim, forget everything but the way Cristian is looking at me like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
In this small bubble of space between us, I can almost believe we have options.
Choices.
I wish we could stay in this moment forever.
The silence stretches between us.
His eyes drop to my lips, and I know he's remembering our kiss.
How it felt when his fingers…
I ache to kiss him again, to feel that connection, that spark of something real.
But I force myself to step back.
One more touch and I'll never stop.
Several days later, I'm standing in the most luxurious florist shop in Manhattan, surrounded by exotic blooms in every color imaginable.
The shop owner, a small Italian woman with elegant silver hair, hovers nearby, eager to please.
"These white roses would make a stunning centerpiece, Miss Dante," she suggests, gesturing to a pristine arrangement.
I nod absently, my gaze drifting to Cristian who stands by the door, vigilant as always.
Since our conversation in my bedroom, things between us have shifted.
Not sexually, of course.
But there’s a deeper connection.
My phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts.
Maksim's name flashes on the screen.
"Valentina," he says without greeting when I answer. "I'm delayed with business. Choose whatever flowers you want and bring the samples to my estate afterward. I trust your taste." He hangs up before I can respond.
I slip my phone back into my purse, catching Cristian's questioning look.
"Maksim's running late. We're supposed to go to his estate after this."
Cristian’s expression is suspicious. "Alone?"
"You'll be with me," I remind him.
“His territory. His men.”
I understand that he’s saying as much as he can protect me, we’ll be outnumbered going into Maksim’s turf.
We'll be at Maksim's mercy once inside.
Still, this is my reality now.
I need to get used to it.
"We don't have a choice," I say, then add with forced lightness, "At least I get to pick whatever flowers I want without his input."
Cristian's jaw tightens. "I need to clear this change with your brother first."
I nod. "Go ahead. I'll look around while you make the call."
As he steps away to contact Alessandro, I wander deeper into the shop. I pause before a display of dark burgundy dahlias.
"These are gorgeous.”
"They represent dignity and strength," she says, "although in other parts of the world, it’s thought to represent instability and even danger.”
My hand freezes above the bloom.
How fitting for a marriage built on political alliance rather than love.
"I'll take these for my bouquet," I decide impulsively.
I glance toward Cristian as he speaks with Alessandro.
He catches me watching and our eyes lock.
The connection causes a welling of yearning followed by frustration.
Cristian approaches me, tucking his phone away. "Alessandro says it's fine." His words are clipped, telling me he’s not happy about my brother’s approval.
"You don't agree." I move to another display of flowers.
"It doesn't matter what I think." He falls into step beside me.
I pick up a pretty white lily. "Since when has that stopped you from having an opinion?"
The corner of his mouth twitches. "I don't like it," he admits quietly. "Maksim's territory means his rules."
"Let's worry about that later," I suggest, setting the lily down. "For now, help me choose some flowers that don't scream 'sacrificial bride'."
He shakes his head. "I'm not sure flowers are my area of expertise."
"Humor me." I lead him toward the shop's attached greenhouse garden.
As we walk between rows of vibrant flowers, our hands brush accidentally.
The contact sends electricity racing up my arm, and I resist the urge to intertwine my fingers with his.
After what happened in the car, I'm not eager for another rejection.
Still, I can't help noticing how his eyes linger on me when I bend to smell a cluster of gardenias.
The air between us feels charged, different from before.
"What about these?" I point to some pale blue hydrangeas, needing something to focus on besides the warmth radiating from his body so close to mine.
"They're nice," he says, but he's not looking at the flowers.
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
His gaze drops to my lips before quickly returning to my eyes.
I wonder if he's remembering how I tasted, because that’s what I’m remembering.
The florist finds us tucked away among exotic orchids, her face brightening with delight.
"Such a handsome couple," she says, clasping her hands together. "I've been arranging wedding flowers for forty years, and I can always tell when a marriage will last. You two have that special look."
Cristian stiffens beside me. "Actually—"
"Thank you," I interrupt, slipping my arm through his and pressing against his side. "We're very happy."
Cristian's eyes widen in surprise, but I lean close to whisper, "Just go with it." I don’t know what I’m doing.
Why I’m doing it.
I’m sure he’s thinking I’m back to my old tricks.
He hesitates, then something shifts in his expression. "I'm the luckiest man alive."
The elderly woman beams at us. "Now, let me show you our selection of centerpieces. I have some lovely arrangements that would complement your coloring perfectly." She gestures for us to follow her to another section of the greenhouse.
As soon as she turns away, I glance up at Cristian, expecting to see discomfort or regret.
Instead, his eyes hold mine with startling intensity.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," he says softly. "Just playing my part."
But it doesn't feel like playing when he laces his fingers through mine, his thumb brushing across my knuckles sending shivers up my spine.
We follow the florist through a maze of blooms, stopping occasionally to admire particularly stunning flowers.
"What do you think of these, Cara Mia?" he asks, indicating a cluster of pale pink peonies.
The endearment falls from his lips so naturally, it steals my breath away.
At this moment, I allow myself to imagine this is real.
That Cristian is truly mine, that we're planning our future together.
I lean my head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. "They're perfect.”
"Just like you.” His arm tightens around my waist.
My heart stutters in my chest. This dangerous game we're playing feels too real, too right. When his hand slides to the small of my back, guiding me toward another display, I can almost believe we belong to each other.
For these stolen moments, surrounded by beauty, I let myself forget what awaits me.
I forget Maksim, forget duty, forget everything but the warmth of Cristian's hand and the tender way he looks at me.
I fall completely into this fantasy.
I laugh at Cristian's whispered jokes about extravagant flower arrangements, lean into his touch when he guides me through narrow paths between tropical plants, and blush genuinely when the florist comments on how attentive he is.
"He never takes his eyes off you," she says with a knowing smile.
And it's true, although what she doesn’t know is he’s paid to watch me. He’s my bodyguard.
But I go along with our charade. "You'd think after all this time, he'd grow tired of looking.”
“Not possible.” Cristian’s intense gaze holds mine, and I swear I feel his words hold a truth, not this game we’re playing.
I know this moment is fleeting.
Soon, we'll leave this paradise of flowers, drive to Maksim's estate, and step back into our proper roles. Guard and pawn.
Yet I can't bring myself to regret this dangerous game. If these stolen moments are all we'll ever have, I'll hoard them like treasures.
I’ll keep this memory and conjure it up when my days are dark, when I need an escape, if only in my mind.