CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARIA
This was ridiculous. It wasn’t even a real date.
Yet, here I was, knee-deep in my closet, throwing dresses around like some lovesick teenager about to pick a prom dress that would help her get laid tonight.
Kayla was perched on my bed, watching me with a smirk. “Maria—”
“No,” I snapped, yanking another dress off the hanger. “Not this one,” I threw a black bodycon dress on the floor.
She laughed. “You like him.”
I froze. “I do not!”
Kayla grinned. “You do. Look at you! You’ve changed outfits four times and nearly strangled yourself with a hanger.”
I huffed, shoving a dress against my body and eyeing it in the mirror. Too much cleavage. Lorenzo would make a comment. I tossed it aside.
“This is just a fake date,” I muttered. “PDA, remember? You know, ‘convince the world we’re madly in love’? That’s all.”
Kayla raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. And that’s why you’re acting like this? You like him. Just admit it and have peace.” She winced at me.
I threw my hands up. “He’s annoying! He’s my brother’s best friend! And—honestly, anyone who voluntarily hangs out with Luca is already a red flag.”
Kayla burst out laughing. “Luca is not that bad.”
I gasped dramatically. “Now, who likes who?”
She rolled her eyes. “Now, don’t shift this to me, and let me help before you show up looking like you just lost a bet.”
An hour later, I walked into the restaurant, and there he was. Lorenzo stood when he saw me. His piercing blue grey-eyes swept over me, slow and assessing, before his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
God, he was handsome. Annoyingly so. He stepped closer, warm hands settling on my back, his scent—woodsy, expensive, alluring—wrapping around me.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
Heat crawled up my spine. Then, just as I started to sink into the moment, his lips brushed my cheek, and he whispered, “The cameras probably got that.”
And just like that, the spell broke. I stiffened. Right. The cameras. The act. There were cameras in every corner of the restaurant, a perfect spot to make headlines tomorrow. Lorenzo pulled back like nothing had happened and like he hadn’t just made my stomach flip. I swallowed the ridiculous lump in my throat and took my seat.
He looked good. Too good. The kind of good that made it easy to forget who he was. His suit was sharp and dark against his tanned skin, and his posture was relaxed but composed. This was the first time I was truly assessing him and all the changes that happened over the years.
He wasn’t the same Lorenzo I used to know. The boy who used to steal my fries when I wasn’t looking and used to tease me relentlessly. This man was colder. Like life had worn him down and rebuilt him into something stronger but not softer.
And yet, he still kept his charm, the one that had always swept me off my feet since I was just a puberty-stricken teenager.
“Why are you staring?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.
I blinked, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” His smirk widened. “I like this dress, by the way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eat your food,” I said, trying to distract him again from the fluster of pink creeping up my cheeks. We placed our orders before a bunch of small talk on what we loved eating and how the food tasted.
Somewhere between the appetizers and main course, the conversation drifted to dating.
Lorenzo tilted his glass toward me. “So, when was your last date?”
I frowned, thinking. “Um…After I had Matteo. I figured I should put myself out there again, so I made a Tinder account.”
Lorenzo nearly choked on his drink. “First mistake.”
I sighed. “Yeah, well, I was optimistic. Anyway, I matched with a guy. He looked great in his pictures—tall, nice smile, normal.”
Lorenzo leaned in, eyes gleaming. “And?”
“He showed up and did not look like his pictures.”
Lorenzo burst out laughing. “You got catfished?”
“I gave him a chance,” I defended. “But then he spent the whole date talking about his goldfish and asked me to lend him money.”
Lorenzo was laughing so hard he had to put his fork down. “Oh my god. How much did he ask for?”
“Fifty bucks!”
“For what?”
“To buy fish food!”
Lorenzo covered his mouth, shaking his head. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
I glared. “Alright. What about you? Since you’re laughing at my misery. When was your last date?”
He shrugged, still grinning. “I don’t do dates.”
I squinted at him. “Then what do you do?”
His expression didn’t change. “I just… don’t.”
“Okay, so you just hook up with random women?”
His smirk faded. “No.”
I tilted my head. “So, what, you’re celibate?”
He scoffed. “No.”
“Then what, Lorenzo?”
He sighed, leaning back. “I just don’t have the time for it. And honestly, I don’t have the patience for meaningless things.”
Something about the way he said it made me pause. It wasn’t just an offhanded statement. It felt…weighted like there was trauma behind it.
I wanted to let it go and change the topic, but the time I had asked him about his father and the business, he had brushed it off with a joke and half-assed answer. But I wanted to know. I needed to know who he was deep down.
“Do you regret it?” I found myself asking,
Lorenzo’s brow furrowed. “Regret what?”
“Leaving when you did.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, “No.”
I waited.
He exhaled, fingers tapping against his glass. “I did what I had to do for my mother. The way I see it, I had two options—stay and be stuck in my father’s mess, or leave and make something of myself.”
He looked at me then, eyes steady. “Kind of like how you left.”
My stomach dropped. I stared at him. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?” His tone was calm, but there was an edge. “You left our wedding, Maria. You put yourself first. That’s what I did, too.”
My heart pounded.
I clenched my hands in my lap. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“You left to get away from your father’s mess when he died. I left because—” I stopped myself. Because I was scared and I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know if I could do it.
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want to be him. Just like you didn’t want to be trapped in a loveless marriage with me.”
I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. “Is that what you think I see this as, a loveless marriage ?”
Lorenzo leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Isn’t that what you agreed to?”
My hands curled into fists at my sides. “You chose to leave. I—I had to. Not because of you, but because of my child.”
His expression darkened. “No, Maria. You chose to leave, too. You didn’t have to do anything. You didn’t even give me a chance to be there for you. You felt I would reject you because you were pregnant. That is how bad you think I am.”
This conversation felt like it had been brewing up since the day I came back. Lorenzo had not said anything. He had acted like my leaving didn’t hurt him, but now I could see he held it at heart.
My chest burned. “You don’t get to tell me what I felt!”
“And you don’t get to act like I didn’t have my own reasons!”
My heart pounded. The room felt too small, and the air too thick. I turned on my heel. “I’m done with this conversation.” I grabbed my purse and stormed toward the exit. I could hear Lorenzo moving behind me, his footsteps quick and determined.
“Maria.”
I didn’t stop. I pushed open the restaurant doors, the cool night air rushing against my face.
“Maria, wait. I am sorry.”
I reached my car, fumbling for my keys. Before I could open the door, Lorenzo was there.
“Don’t touch me,” I snapped, gripping the handle.
“I’m not letting you leave like this.” His voice was steady and controlled—but there was an edge to it. It was unyielding. I spun around, glaring up at him. “Oh? You gonna stop me?”
“If I have to.”
I scoffed. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re impossible.”
“Come inside, please.”
“No.”
His chest rose and fell heavily. His jaw clenched. My own breath came fast, my skin buzzing with frustration. And then, Lorenzo moved.
He stepped closer, eliminating the space between us. Before I could react, before I could throw out another sharp remark, his hands were on me—one gripping my waist, the other cupping the back of my head.
Before I could say another word, the world tilted. His lips crashed into mine, hot and demanding, stealing the breath from my lungs. His hands were everywhere—moving from my back to my waist, gripping, claiming, pulling me closer.
I gasped, and he took advantage, his tongue sweeping over mine.
Heat flooded my body. I grabbed at his hair, twisting my fingers through the soft strands, tugging—just to hear the small, frustrated sound he made. His grip on me tightened in response, pressing me against the car door.
I wanted him to touch me. To do more than just kiss me.
I melted into him, tilting my head and opening myself up to him. His lips were familiar. The taste of them, it wasn’t from the chaste kiss he gave me that night. It wasn’t. It was more than that. It was like I had been there before, kissing him, tasting him, his hands circling my body this way before. Like I had him before.
But that wasn’t possible.
It couldn’t be.
His hands moved carefully—never straying too far, never pushing too much. And somehow, that made it worse because I wanted more. Desperately. I pressed myself against him, arching slightly, and his hand on my waist flexed like he was restraining himself.
I nearly whined. I couldn’t take it. I wanted him to touch me all over my body. What the hell was wrong with me? His fingers traced the curve of my back, up to my shoulder, then back down—slow, teasing, careful, like he was memorizing me.
I cupped his face, my thumbs brushing against his sharp jawline, tracing the heat of his skin. His stubble scratched my palms, grounding me, making this feel real.
It was everything I had imagined it to be. It was as maddening as I knew it would be to be with him. This man right here has always been the object of my deepest desire. And it scared the hell out of me because this wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t fake. This was something else entirely.
When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless. So was he. We stood there, panting, the air against my flushed skin as I struggled to breathe.
I licked my lips, tasting him again. It was familiar, too familiar.
Lorenzo’s blue eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide and slightly dilated. I couldn’t speak. What the hell just happened? Was this part of the PDA?
Lorenzo swallowed, his throat bobbing. “I’m trying here, Maria.” His voice was rough and strained. “But you need to understand something.”
I just stared.
“It’s not me versus you,” he continued, his voice steady but intense. “It’s us versus the issue. Always.”
My heart twisted because that—that was strength. That was the kind of man Lorenzo had become. And maybe that was the kind of man I could have fallen for if things had been different.
But I stared at him, breathless and shaken from something else clawing at my chest. This kiss—his touch and his taste reminded me of something and someone. Shade. That realization disturbed me deeply.
I pulled away completely, gripping the car door handle like it was my only lifeline. Lorenzo didn’t stop me this time. But he didn’t look away either.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. Instead, I got into my car, shut the door, and drove away, my lips still tingling and my heart still pounding, with one thought echoed in my mind.
What have I just done?