CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MARIA
The night had ended with nothing. He never said what he saw me as. I ached for him to tell me that it wasn’t just some childhood silly crush, but all I got was nothing.
I had waited for something—anything. A word. A touch. A look that confirmed that what we had felt under that rainstorm wasn’t just in my head. But when Lorenzo simply pointed out that the rain had stopped, as if that was the only thing that mattered, and walked me back to the hotel in silence, I knew.
I had expected more.
Not a confession, not some grand romantic gesture, but something. At least a hug when we said goodnight. A lingering moment where I could pretend that whatever tension had sparked between us wasn’t just an illusion. Instead, he left me at my door with a simple “goodnight” and walked away, not once looking back.
It broke me.
I wouldn’t admit it, of course. But it did in so many ways.
I had barely slept, tossing and turning, the ache in my chest making it impossible to rest. By morning, it was more than just emotional exhaustion weighing me down—my whole body ached. My head felt stuffed with cotton, my throat was dry and sore, and every movement was an epistle of fatigue crashing over me.
“Great,” I mumbled, dragging myself out of bed. “Just perfect.”
I had caught a cold.
Because, of course, I had. Standing in the rain like a fool, letting myself get swept up in emotions, hoping for something that never came—of course, this was my reward. This was my payment for believing in the delusion of fairy tales that I would get some grand proclamation of love under the rain.
I am such an idiot. I deserve this.
I sniffled, wobbling slightly as I walked to the mirror. My reflection was a disaster. My skin was pale, my nose was red, my hair was a mess, and my eyes had that glassy, fevered look. I looked like an epic fail after an iconic walk of shame. I felt worse.
Lovely. Just the image of health and grace. A knock sounded at the door, and I groaned.
“Maria? You up?”
Lorenzo. Just the person responsible for all my misery. To be fair, he didn’t want to walk home. I was the one who had talked him into it. I wanted to ignore him. But I also didn’t.
For a second, I considered forcing my voice into something remotely normal, but when I opened my mouth to respond, what came out was a hoarse, pathetic croak.
Another knock, firmer this time. “Maria?” I sighed and shuffled over to open the door.
The moment he saw me, his brows shot up. “Dio, you look terrible. What’s going on?”
I wished I could roll my eyes because he was back to treating me as he used to when he was just my brother’s best friend.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” I rasped, glaring up at him.
He didn’t even bother with a snarky comeback. His gaze swept over me, assessing me, and the next thing I knew, he was pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. I didn’t know what burned me more, the fever or the sensation I felt when his hands rested on my face, and I could smell the rich smell of his cologne because he was that close to me.
“Lorenzo, I’m fine.” I tried to lie through my teeth, but my croaked voice and sweaty forehead were a dead giveaway. “Let me grab my clothes so we can go home,”
“You’re burning up.” His hand dropped, and his eyes narrowed. “You’re not going anywhere like this.”
“I can make it home.” My legs were shaky, trying to signal me that I knew I couldn’t, but I didn’t mind crawling out of there if it would prevent me from staying one more day with Lorenzo and everything I was trying to bury.
“No, you can’t.” His tone was firm but soft, and I could see the genuine concern in his eyes.
“I have to get back to Matteo.” I needed to snuggle with my little bundle of joy.
“At this rate, Matteo might be the one taking care of you.” His hands rested on his hips as he stared me down, daring me to argue.
I wanted to. I really did. But my body betrayed me with another wave of exhaustion, and I slumped against the chair, leaning on it, sighing. “Fine. But if I die here, I’m haunting you.”
“Haunting me,” he scoffed, “You will be such a cute ghost.”
I opened my mouth to give him a comeback, but a sudden cough racked through me, doubling me over. Lorenzo sighed, stepping past me into the room as if I had given him permission. He grabbed the room phone.
“What are you doing?” I croaked.
“Calling the front desk to extend our stay.” He was not asking, already dialing the number as I protested.
I scowled. “You can’t just—” I paused mid-sentence, realizing whatever I was saying was useless.
“Done.” He set the phone down. “We’re not leaving until you feel better, and I will make sure of that, so quit being stubborn,”
I folded my arms, or at least tried to. They felt like lead. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, you need rest. And medication. And probably tea. Do you even drink tea?”
I blinked. “What?”
“Tea. I feel like you’re more of a coffee person, which, by the way, is the worst thing for a sore throat.”
“I hate that you know that.” I rolled my eyes. How could I stay this mad at him when he knows the most minute details about my life, the insignificant details?
“I know a lot of things about you, Maria.”
That shouldn’t have made my heart stutter. But it did. And I hated that, too.
He pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Kayla and let her know what’s going on so that she can take care of Matteo and inform Luca.”
I flopped back onto the bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin. I felt miserable. Not just physically but emotionally because, despite how much Lorenzo annoyed me and despite how much I wanted to deny it, I liked him being here. I liked the way he took charge without hesitation. I liked the way he knew what I needed even when I wouldn’t admit it. I liked how he already took control of the situation and prioritized me before everything because I am sure he also had business to get back to. That wasn’t even in the equation now. All he was thinking about was me and my well-being. That is always who he has been.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
He spoke to Kayla in a low voice, reassuring her and making a joke about how he had to deal with a “grumpy, fevered Maria” and told her that she should pray for him. I would’ve thrown a pillow at him if I had the energy, but at this point, it would be my hand lifting me, not the other way around.
“Kayla says Matteo is fine,” Lorenzo said when he hung up. “And that I should sedate you if necessary.”
“She’s a traitor,” I snarled, hating that she didn’t even have my back.
“She’s smart.”
I groaned, curling up into the sheets. “I just want to sleep.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
I peeked at him through tired eyes. “You’re bossy.”
He smirked. “You’re stubborn.”
I sniffled. “Touché.”
He moved toward the door but hesitated. “If you need anything, I’m right next door. I will also step out a little to get some things we need and drugs from the pharmacy, so you can just call me.”
My chest tightened. “I know.”
For a moment, he just looked at me. Then, before I could even think too much about it, he reached down, brushing a loose strand of hair from my forehead. The touch was light and barely there. But it lingered, and my heart betrayed me with a weak, stuttering beat.
“Get some rest, Maria.”
Then he was gone, and I was left lying in bed, feeling entirely too warm for someone who was supposed to be freezing.
Almost an hour later, my body still felt like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. Every inch ached, my throat burned, and my head pounded like a drum at a festival. I pulled the duvet tighter around me, sinking deeper into the chair as if it could somehow absorb my sickness. The worst part? Lorenzo had come back, and he was watching me like a hawk, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, his usual scowl deepened with something dangerously close to concern. He had also gotten me drugs, which I had taken.
“You still look so terrible,” he teased, a smirk forming on his lips. Lorenzo can be such a pain in the ass when he wants to be.
“Thanks. That’s exactly what a sick person wants to hear.” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. Talking felt like scraping my throat with sandpaper.
“I know. I am glad I can be there for you.”
“I can’t wait for you to fall sick too, so I can give you a taste of your medicine, but I am so much better now. I think we can go,” I muttered, trying to stand up to prove a point. My body had other plans. The room tilted, my knees buckled, and before I could faceplant into the floor, Lorenzo caught me. His arms were strong and steady—too steady.
“Yeah, that was convincing,” he said, half amused, half exasperated. He lowered me back into the chair gently. “You’re not going anywhere. Quit being stubborn, Maria, and let me take care of you.”
“You can start by being nice to me,” I croaked.
“I am the nicest person you know,” he smirked. “Now, stay put. I’m making you something to eat.”
Lorenzo cooking? That was something I had to see. I managed to crack an eye open as he disappeared into the small kitchenette in the hotel room suite. The sound of cabinets opening and closing followed, then the sizzle of a pan. The smell of something—butter? Garlic?—drifted through the air, making my stomach grumble despite the sickness.
Minutes later, he returned with a steaming bowl of soup. “Eat.”
I blinked at it. “You didn’t just order this?”
“No, Maria. I can actually cook. Did you forget I am the son of Isabella Bianchi? That woman would drag you by the ear to the kitchen.” He pulled a chair up in front of me as I chuckled. Isabella Bianchi was that kind of woman, no doubt.
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
“Excuse me?” I glanced at him, perplexed.
“You’re barely holding your head up. If I leave you to eat on your own, you’ll probably drown in the soup.”
“I am not a child,” I protested weakly.
“Then stop acting like one and eat.”
Before I could argue, he lifted the spoon to my lips. I hesitated, glaring at him, but he didn’t back down. With a dramatic sigh, I let him feed me. The warm broth slid down my throat, soothing the ache.
“Good?” he asked.
I grumbled something incoherent but kept eating. He continued feeding me, his movements surprisingly gentle, his gaze focused. It was oddly intimate. Too intimate. I looked away, pretending I didn’t notice the way my chest felt too tight.
When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
“You just like bossing me around,” I muttered, sinking deeper into my chair.
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “But it’s for your own good.”
The room fell into a comfortable silence. Outside, the rain had started again, soft against the window. Lorenzo stayed, sitting across from me, his presence oddly grounding. I pulled my duvet tighter around myself, watching him. The thought about his conversation from last night still lingered in my mind, especially after seeing this soft and caring side of Lorenzo. Maybe I had misunderstood him, but I needed to know. Talking about his father was one conversation I have tried to have so many times. The last time was during the date at the restaurant, and it didn’t end up well.
“You never talked about your mother’s illness,” I murmured, testing the water. His expression didn’t change, so I added, “Especially after your dad’s death and the role it played in it.”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. He looked at me for a long moment, then exhaled slowly. “Because there’s not much to say.”
“You always say his death hit you hard. But you never say how hard it was, especially with your mom being sick. It has always had me wondering what you had to go through.”
His fingers tapped against his knee, a sign that he was debating whether to answer. Finally, he spoke. “After he died, everything changed. People thought my mother would be easy to push around and that I was too young and too weak to do anything about it. They underestimated her. And they underestimated me.” His voice was low and rough.
I swallowed. “So, you had to fight.”
“Fight?” He let out a dry chuckle. “More like survive. When dealing with beasts, Maria, you become one. Otherwise, they tear you apart.”
His words sent a chill through me. There was something in his eyes—not just pain, but steel. A man who had learned too early that kindness wasn’t enough.
“If you could go back,” I whispered, “would you change anything?”
His gaze locked onto mine. “No.”
The room went still. I knew better than to press because I had already gotten the answer I wanted. It wasn’t the direct one I was looking for, but him saying you have to become a beast to deal with one told me enough.
Then, after a moment, he turned the question back on me. “You never talk about your father, either. What was he like after I left? Did he change?”
I let out a slow breath. “Distant. Business always came first. He didn’t really change from the man we all knew him to be. He wanted me to be a certain type of woman—quiet and submissive. That was never going to happen.”
Lorenzo smirked. “No, it wasn’t.”
“He loved me in his own way,” I admitted. “But his way of showing it was control. Hence, the whole marriage clause.”
“And your mother, I know she died, but do you think that affected you in more ways than you admit?”
My fingers curled into the duvet. “She died right after I was born. I never knew her. So, I never really grew up with the soft kind of love. I always had men around who wanted to control me.”
Lorenzo leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “That must have been hard.”
I forced a smile. “You can’t miss what you never had, right?”
His eyes darkened. “That’s a lie, and you know it.”
The lump in my throat grew. I looked away, blinking rapidly. “Maybe.”
Another silence, but this one felt different. Warmer. More understanding.
Lorenzo reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Get some rest,” he murmured.
I nodded, closing my eyes, letting his presence wrap around me like a second blanket.
“Lorenzo,” I whispered.
“Yes,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving me.
“Thank you for taking care of me.”
He didn’t respond immediately as if weighing and tasting the words. Then he finally said,
“It is something I will gladly do for the rest of my life,” and suddenly, the flood of emotions I had buried was back to the surface again.