14. VALENTINO
14
VALENTINO
I glance over my shoulder, smirking as Layla huffs behind me, clearly struggling to keep up.
“Come on, baby, you can do better than that,” I tease, reaching the clearing ahead before she does.
She glares daggers at me, chest heaving, hands planted firmly on her hips. Her flushed cheeks and slightly tousled hair make her look effortlessly gorgeous, if only she weren’t directing all that irritation at me.
“Tell me again why you thought a hike was a good idea?” she demands between breaths.
I chuckle, stepping toward her. Before I can think better of it, I reach for her hand.
And she lets me take it.
Something sharp and electric zips through my body.
Her fingers fit against mine so naturally it’s like they were always meant to be there.
I clear my throat, pretending the simple touch doesn’t send a pulse of heat straight down my spine.
“Look around.” I nod toward the view in front of us.
Layla finally lifts her gaze from me, and then she sees it.
Rolling vineyards stretch endlessly into the golden horizon, the sky painted in soft, warm hues of orange and pink. The trees rustle lazily in the breeze, and the distant hum of cicadas fills the air.
Her lips part slightly. She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and falling a little more slowly now.
“Valentino… this is…”
I smile, watching her take it all in. I know exactly how she feels, it still takes my breath away, too.
“Stunning, isn’t it?”
She doesn’t respond at first, still absorbing the moment. Then, her grip on my hand tightens.
“I’m sorry for complaining so much before,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know this place meant so much to you.”
I glance at the small clearing just ahead, the place where my mother used to sit, sipping wine, laughing, telling stories.
“She used to say the climb is tough, but the view is always worth it.”
Layla watches me closely, as if trying to see past the walls I keep up. For once, I don’t mind.
“She sounds like she was a wonderful person.”
“She was.” My voice is quieter now. Because the truth is, I don’t talk about my mother. Not really. Not ever. But here? With Layla? It feels… easier.
Layla doesn’t push for more. She just strokes her thumb against my knuckles in a small, unspoken reassurance. “You didn’t deserve to lose her. None of us should have to lose our parents too soon.”
The tightness in my chest deepens, but her touch keeps me anchored.
“She loved to take us hiking while Dad was busy with work.” A small smile pulls at my lips. “She picked places with the best trails, no matter where we traveled.”
Layla tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to memorize everything I say.
“She sounds like she had an adventurous spirit.”
“Oh, that she did. That’s why my father fell in love with her.”
Layla’s eyes soften. “I’m happy you got to see what love looks like.”
A beat of silence.
“What about you?” I don’t know much about Layla’s family.
She dodges personal questions like it’s a survival instinct. But something about today feels different, maybe she’ll let me in.
Her breath catches slightly. She hesitates.
Then, she surprises me.
“My story is a little more complicated than yours.”
I don’t move, don’t push. “If you want to share, I’m here to listen.”
She sighs, rubbing her palm absentmindedly.
“I never knew my father. Never even saw a picture of him. My mom refuses to tell me anything. I guess… he really didn’t want me in his life.”
Something sharp twists in my chest.
I tighten my grip on her hand, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, Layla.”
She shrugs, trying to brush it off. But I see the weight she carries, the unanswered questions, the years of silence.
“How could you have known? It’s not really something I talk about.”
I nod. “I understand. It’s hard to talk about things like that.”
Our eyes meet, and suddenly, everything shifts.
The air between us changes, charged with something neither of us were prepared for.
“But somehow,” I murmur, “with you, it’s easy.”
Her lips part slightly. And then, she leans into me.
I cup her face, tilting her chin up, and kiss her.
It’s slow. Unrushed. Intimate.
She sighs into my mouth, her fingers fisting the front of my shirt like she’s afraid to let go.
Something inside me snaps into place.
This isn’t just physical attraction. This isn’t just our deal. This is something else.
When we pull apart, Layla keeps her forehead against mine, breathing me in.
“Thank you for bringing me here. I think I needed this break.”
“You deserve it.” I press a kiss to her temple.
She exhales, pulling back slightly. “I still feel guilty, though. I keep thinking I’m being a bad mother by leaving Vincent for two days.”
“Layla.” My tone hardens. “Don’t say that. Vincent has a mother who loves him more than anything.”
She smiles, but there’s something sad about it. “Motherhood is complicated.”
I nod. “I don’t know much about it, but from what I see, you’re incredible.”
She bites her lip, then exhales. “Thank you.”
We continue walking down the trail, our pace slower than before. The silence between us isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable. Like neither of us needs to fill it with unnecessary words.
I glance at Layla as she brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes scanning the vast vineyard stretched before us.
There’s something about her that makes my chest feel… strange. Lighter. Brighter.
I’ve never felt like this before. Not with any other woman.
With Layla, there’s no pretense. She doesn’t fawn over me or try to impress me. She challenges me, calls me out, makes me work for her attention. She’s not intimidated by my name, my money, or the power I hold. She looks at me like I’m just a man.
And somehow, that’s the most addicting thing in the world.
I clench my jaw, my grip tightening around the basket I’m carrying.
I’m in trouble.
Because what happens when this arrangement ends? When she walks away?
Would she take this feeling with her, this unfamiliar, maddening sense of wanting something more?
I don’t have time to answer that question.
Because just ahead, a small vineyard comes into view.
Layla’s breath hitches beside me.
Her entire face lights up.
“Oh, my God. This is beautiful.”
I follow her gaze to the rows of grapevines, their dark, plump fruit hanging low, ripe for harvest. An elderly woman stands at one of the rows, plucking grapes with practiced ease.
I watch as Layla takes a step forward, completely captivated.
I smirk. “Want to help?”
She blinks up at me, startled, like she didn’t even realize I was still here.
“I… what?”
I wave to the woman, calling out in Italian. “Buongiorno! Would you like some help?”
The woman glances up, smiling warmly. “Oh, yes! Extra hands are always welcome.”
I turn to Layla, arching a brow.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get to work.”
She narrows her eyes at me for the ‘baby’, but doesn’t argue. Instead, she tosses her bag onto the ground and strides toward the vines, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.
God, she’s beautiful.
As we pick the grapes, I can’t stop myself from stealing glances at her.
The way her delicate fingers work with surprising skill, the way her brows furrow. The way she bites her lip when she focuses, completely lost in the moment.
“You’re good at this.”
She glances at me, grinning. “Well, I do work with fabrics all day. I guess I have good hands.”
My stomach tightens.
Don’t think about her hands, Valentino. Not like that.
She mimics my movements, gently twisting the stems before plucking the bunches of grapes. She examines one carefully, then holds it up to the sunlight, the deep purple hue glowing. “The color is so rich.”
I smirk. “That’s how you know it’s good.”
She turns to me, her eyes shining.
And fuck. Everything else fades. She’s all I see.
I don’t even realize I’ve stepped closer until her breath catches.
The basket slips from her fingers, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
Neither of us moves to pick it up.
Because she’s looking at me like I’m something worth looking at.
And I can’t take it.
I reach for her, my hand sliding around her waist, pulling her flush against me.
Her lips part slightly, her breath hitching.
Then, I kiss her.
She gasps softly, but melts into me, her fingers gripping my shirt like she needs something to hold onto.
And for the first time, I let myself feel it.
The way she fits perfectly against me. The way her scent, vanilla and something uniquely Layla, fills my senses, sending my pulse into overdrive. The way her lips move with mine, slow and unhurried, like we have all the time in the world.
But it’s more than just the way she feels in my arms.
It’s the way she makes me feel.
Like I’m not just Valentino Marchetti, heir to a fortune, a man shaped by duty and expectation.
Like I’m just a man.
Like I’m her man.
And then, I say it.
“Layla, I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. Before I can think about what they mean.
Layla freezes. She pulls back slightly, eyes wide, lips still slightly swollen from our kiss.
Her hands are still fisted in my shirt, but I feel her body go rigid.
Fuck.
I immediately regret it.
What the hell am I doing?
This wasn’t the plan. I wasn’t supposed to let this happen. I wasn’t supposed to fall.
I step back, shaking my head. “I… I’m sorry. I got ahead of myself…”
Distance. I need distance before I do something even stupider. Like beg her to love me back.
But then, she reaches for my arm, stopping me.
I freeze.
When I look back, there’s something in her eyes I didn’t expect.
Not panic. Not rejection.
Something else.
“Valentino,” she breathes.
I stare at her, waiting for the inevitable. For her to tell me I’ve ruined everything.
But then, she takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around my wrist.
And she whispers, “I think I’m falling in love with you, too.”
My heart slams against my ribs.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
I just look at her. At the woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a business deal. At the woman who somehow, against all logic and reason, has become my entire world.
And just like that, everything changes.