CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LORENZO
A noise.
It was faint, almost too quiet to be heard, but years of instinct had sharpened my senses beyond normal. I turned toward the door, my body tensing.
Footsteps. Quick. Almost rushed. I stood, walking toward the sound, but by the time I stepped into the hallway, it was empty.
I narrowed my eyes. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was something. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood to chase ghosts.
I ran a hand through my hair and turned back to my room, shutting the door behind me. Dante was still on the line.
“If Enrico tries to interfere this time, let me know immediately,” I continued the conversation with him.
“Understood.”
“And don’t hesitate to call me,” I instructed, knowing that Dante was someone who was most likely to jump head-first to a danger without weighing the danger.
“You got it, but seriously, Lorenzo, enjoy the damn gala. You sound like an old man with too many problems.”
“That’s because I am an old man with too many problems.”
Dante laughed, and for a second, the tension in my shoulders eased.
“I’ll handle everything. Just keep your pretty face in front of the cameras tonight, and don’t forget to shake the hands that matter.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you later.”
The call ended, and I tossed the phone onto the bed, exhaling slowly. I should’ve known Enrico would keep testing me.
The man had a habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and I was getting really close to breaking it for him. If it wouldn’t affect Luca and Maria, I would have taken him out a long time ago. But that was a problem for another time.
Tonight, I had a different role to play. I changed into my tux, adjusting the cuffs before slipping on my jacket. The mirror reflected someone who looked exactly like me but felt like a stranger. This wasn’t me.
The suit. The charm. The smiles I would give tonight. It was a mask. A necessary one, but a mask, nonetheless. It is funny that when I became Shade, it felt strange wearing a mask. But now, this felt like the mask. It felt like I didn’t fit in.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I stepped out of my room and went straight to Maria’s door. I knocked twice. The door opened, and for the first time in my life, I forgot how to breathe.
Maria stood there. Her gown was beautifully made and left little to the imagination. My mouth went dry, and I was unable to say anything coherent or even reasonable. She turned slightly, her dark eyes meeting mine, a small, almost shy look crossing her face.
“You clean up nicely,” I muttered, my voice lower than I intended.
She arched her brow. “Are you giving me a compliment, Bianchi?”
“Don’t get used to it,” I teased. I wanted to say more, to tell her how she took my breath away and stole every breath from my lungs at the sight of her. She smirked, but then her expression shifted.
“I need help.” Her voice was quieter now, like she was debating saying the words at all. She turned, exposing more of her bare skin to me, her shoulders tense.
“I can’t tie it myself.” My hands flexed at my sides.
I stepped forward, closing the space between us. Trying to keep my eyes on the task and not wander too far. My fingers found the straps at the nape of her neck, but I didn’t tie them immediately. I shouldn’t have hesitated. But I did.
I could feel the heat of her skin beneath my fingertips. The scent of whatever perfume she wore wrapped around me like a drug I wanted to taste. Like I always said, it was one I was addicted to and intoxicated by: vanilla and a hint of jasmine, something sweet and delicate, like her.
I clenched my jaw. One simple action. That was all this was. I forced my hands to move, tying the straps slowly , too slowly, my fingers grazing the curve of her back. Maria exhaled softly, almost inaudibly, but I felt it. I felt everything. The radiation off her body. The heat. The pull that had been between us since the beginning.
It would be so easy. So damn easy to lean in and press my lips against the skin I knew would be soft. But I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t. I finished tying her dress, stepping back like I hadn’t just considered breaking every rule I had set for myself.
“Done.”
Maria turned to face me, her eyes searching mine for something I wasn’t sure I wanted her to find. Then she moved closer. My breathing slowed.
Her hands reached up, adjusting my tie, her fingers brushing against my neck. It burned. A simple touch, but it set every nerve in my body on fire. I swallowed hard. “I can fix my own tie, Maria.”
“I know.” She didn’t stop.
I clenched my fists, every muscle in my body tightening. There was only so much I could take. And I was dangerously close to breaking.
“All done,” she announced, and I let out a slow, exasperated breath. We headed out without saying a word, but we both knew we were about to break.
The gala was like every other high-profile event—grand chandeliers, expensive wine, and people dressed in the finest fabrics money could buy.
But none of that mattered because the moment I introduced Maria as my fiancée, the whole world faded.
“This is Maria Russo, my fiancée.”
The words rolled off my tongue effortlessly. Too effortlessly, I expected it to feel strange. A lie carefully constructed for the public eye. But it didn’t. It felt right. And that was the problem.
Maria glanced at me, her lips slightly parted like she, too, had felt the shift between us. But she said nothing. She simply smiled for the cameras, her fingers brushing against mine briefly before she slipped her arm through mine as we moved further inside.
I was used to pretending. I had perfected it. But with Maria, I wasn’t sure where the act ended and reality began.
And when they announced the slow dance, I knew I was in trouble, not only because I was a bad dancer but because the cameras were still on us, and we would have to participate.
She hesitated for only a second before stepping into my arms. The music played soft and slow, a melody that forced people to press closer and move as one.
Maria’s hand rested on my shoulder, her other one slipping into mine. My grip tightened around her waist, instinct more than intention. She was so close. I could feel the warmth of her body, the scent of her perfume weaving its way into my mind.
“You were a terrible dancer as a kid,” she murmured, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Remember your eighth birthday?”
A laugh rumbled in my chest. “I try to forget.”
“You stepped on every girl’s toes, Lorenzo. Every single one. They were terrified of dancing with you.”
“Not you,” I pointed out, recalling how she wasn’t scared and how we would dance and she would perfectly avoid my two left feet.
Her lips curved. “I was too stubborn to be scared.”
“You still are.”
She huffed, her fingers flexing slightly against my shoulder. “I was the only one brave enough to teach you, and you nearly broke my foot.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
We laughed, the sound soft and intimate. The rest of the world disappeared.Maria tilted her head slightly, her dark hair cascading over her shoulder. Her lips were close. Too close. I should’ve pulled away. I didn’t.
Her eyes flickered to mine, something unspoken lingering between us. Something we both knew but didn't want to talk about.
I tightened my hold on her waist, my thumb grazing the fabric of her dress. Her breathing hitched. Just a little. Enough for me to notice, and my gaze dropped to her lips.
One move. That was all it would take. One move, and I wouldn’t be able to stop.
The music slowed, but neither of us moved.
“Lorenzo…”
“Maria…”
A beat. A breath. A moment suspended in time. Then applause erupted around us. Reality snapped back into place like a cruel joke.
Maria stepped back first, her hands slipping away from me. I clenched my jaw, ignoring the sharp sting of disappointment. It was just a dance. Nothing more. Nothing more. I repeated, trying to make myself believe that.
We left the gala hours later, the crisp night air greeting us as we stepped outside.
“I’ll call a cab,” I muttered, reaching for my phone.
“No.” Maria’s voice was firm, cutting through the silence.
I turned, arching a brow. “No?”
She lifted her chin slightly, her dark eyes glinting under the streetlights. “The night is still young.”
“That sounds like something someone says before making a terrible decision.”
“Oh, come on, Lorenzo.” She nudged me playfully. “We’ll walk. Just this once.”
I exhaled, shaking my head. “You’re going to regret this.”
“Maybe.” She grinned. “But it’ll be fun.”
I didn’t argue. I should’ve because fifteen minutes later, the sky cracked open, and rain poured down like a damn flood.
“You’re kidding me,” I muttered, already drenched.
Maria yelped, laughing as she tried to shield herself. “Okay, maybe this was a bad idea.”
I tore off my coat without thinking, draping it over her head.
She blinked up at me, her laughter softening.
“Lorenzo…”
“Don’t start.” I ran a hand through my wet hair, sighing. “We need to find shelter before we drown.”
We spotted a small diner up ahead, the dimly lit “OPEN” sign flickering.
“There.” I grabbed her wrist gently, pulling her toward it.
We ducked under the awning, rain dripping from our clothes as we caught our breath. Maria looked at me, then at herself, and then back at me.
And then she burst into laughter.
“We really make the worst decisions.”
I smirked, shaking my head. “Speak for yourself.”
“Oh, please.” She nudged me, her elbow pressing into my side, sending a ripple of warmth through me despite the cold drizzle falling around us. “I remember you making plenty of bad decisions as a kid, too.”
I smirked, shifting slightly closer, the damp air between us carrying the faint scent of her perfume—warm vanilla—delicate, like roses after the rain. “Like what?”
She turned her face up to me, raindrops clinging to her lashes. “Like always trying to be my babysitter, and we ended up almost burning the house because you wouldn’t let me cook.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head. “Someone had to look after you.”
Her eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering behind them. “I didn’t want you to.”
The space between us felt smaller, almost nonexistent. The sound of the rain faded, and the world narrowed down to the soft rise and fall of her breath and the way a droplet slid down her cheek. Without thinking, I reached up, brushing it away with my thumb, but I didn’t move my hand after.
Her skin was warm despite the coolness of the rain, and she inhaled sharply at the touch.
“You always wanted to do everything on your own,” I murmured, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheek.
Maria’s lips parted slightly, but no words came. The pulse at the base of her throat quickened, and I could feel the heat of her body, the way her breath mixed with mine in the damp air.
“Maybe I just didn’t want to need you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pattering rain.
“Too bad.” I crossed my arms. “You were reckless, Maria. I had to step in before you got yourself killed.”
She rolled her eyes. “I already had Luca being the annoying older brother. I didn’t need another one.”
I scoffed. “Luca doesn’t count.”
She grinned. “And you do?”
“I always saw myself as meant to protect you.”
Her expression shifted slightly, the playful air thinning just a little. “What if that isn’t what I wanted?”
I swallowed, my hand sliding lower, fingers brushing the damp strands of hair clinging to her jaw.
Her eyes searched mine. My other hand moved on instinct, wrapping around her wrist, feeling the slight tremble beneath my grip.
My breath slowed. Maria’s eyes held mine, the storm outside nothing compared to the one suddenly brewing between us.
“What did you want?”
She hesitated, just for a second.
Then—“Maybe for you to see me differently and not as your little sister.”
A sharp pull in my chest.
“Maria…”
She stepped closer, the space between us vanishing.
“Did you ever see me differently, Lorenzo?”
My throat went dry. I could lie. I could pretend this was nothing, but I was so tired of pretending. I was tired of the mask. It was suffocating me.
“There was never a time I saw you as a sister.”
The way we were so close was sucking the breath again out of my lungs. It was intoxicating and maddening. But I held my ground. I didn’t want to pull back.
“Then how did you see me?”
I exhaled, my hands clenching at my sides.
“I…”
I couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not when I wasn’t sure if once the words left my mouth, there would be any going back.
But Maria knew. I could see it in her eyes. The understanding.
The rain poured harder outside, but neither of us moved. For the first time, we knew we weren’t pretending anymore.