Chapter Twenty
Colton
I had dreamt of Isabella the entire night. I couldn’t get her out of my head—how beautiful she looked in the vault, trembling against me, using me for comfort.
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, steam from the shower fogging the edges. My mind kept drifting to Isabella in the vault. How she’d tasted of expensive coffee and determination. How different it had been from everything I knew. Just her mouth under mine, fierce and real and demanding everything I’d spent years avoiding.
For the past five years, I’d kept things simple. The routine had become as familiar to me as my morning shave—precise, controlled, satisfying in a purely physical way.
But Isabella...
My hands stilled on my tie as I remembered how she’d felt pressed against me in that vault. The soft sounds she’d made when I kissed her. The way she’d looked at me after, like she saw straight through every defense I’d constructed.
My phone went off with a message from Cooper: Heard you’re attending Ashworth tonight. Careful, brother.
A second later: And stop brooding.
“I don’t brood,” I muttered, though I was quite literally doing exactly that.
I moved through my Saturday routine mechanically, but everything felt different. The tuxedo I pulled from my closet wasn’t a costume anymore, it was anticipation. Each time my phone lit up, I hoped to see her name. Even my coffee tasted different, richer somehow, like her presence in my life had awakened senses I’d deliberately dulled.
The Ashworth Estate guest list filled my screen—banking executives, art collectors, London’s elite pretending to understand brushstrokes while making deals in shadowed corners. I’d see her there, moving through the crowd with that quiet grace that had first caught my attention. We’d play our roles, but now...
Now I knew how she tasted. How she felt in my arms. How she could break through years of my strict boundaries with just one kiss.
The memory made my hands clench on my bureau. Five years of choreographed trysts in high-end hotels. Five years of choosing partners who understood the rules—no emotion, no attachment, no complications. Five years of maintaining rigid distance while satisfying physical needs with clinical precision.
Until her.
My phone buzzed again, only now he didn’t bother with texts. Cooper always knew exactly when to interrupt my thoughts. It had to be a twin thing.
“Tell me you’re not still overthinking tonight.”
“I’m reviewing the guest list.”
“Right.” His laugh carried knowing warmth. “That’s why you’ve been staring at your phone for the past hour, hoping to see her name pop up.”
“Don’t you have a vineyard to manage?”
“Multitasking.” Glass clinked in the background. “Besides, someone has to make sure you don’t talk yourself out of whatever’s happening with Isabella.”
“Nothing’s happening,” I said automatically, though we both knew it was a lie.
“Sure. But you’ve already kissed her, right?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How did you—”
“Please. I know you, brother. The way you’ve been since you came to Italy…I haven’t seen you like this since before Catherine. And…I talked to Steele. Did you forget? He was my friend first.”
Catherine’s name still carried weight, even now. “That’s not—”
“It is. And it’s good.” His voice softened. “You’ve been hiding long enough. It’s time to let someone in.”
I thought of Isabella’s eyes in the vault, seeing straight through my carefully constructed cage. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is. But ask yourself this—when was the last time you actually wanted someone? Not just physically, but all of them? Their mind, their heart, their fire?”
Never. Not even with Catherine. She’d been ambition wrapped in elegant packaging—the right background, the right connections, the right moves in bed. But Isabella...
Isabella challenged everything. Every assumption, every boundary, every wall I’d built. She made me question not just who I was, but who I could be. I remembered how she’d felt pressed against me, all silk and strength and determination. How right it had felt to hold her, to taste her, to let everything else fall away.
“I have to go,” I said before he could read more in my silence.
His laugh followed me as I hung up. “Sure you do. Tell your girlfriend I said hello.”
I rolled my eyes, cursing Cooper under my breath.
I spent the rest of the afternoon reviewing files, answering emails, maintaining the appearance of a normal Saturday. But underneath every action lurked anticipation. Of seeing her tonight. Of moving through the same spaces while pretending we hadn’t changed everything in that vault.
My phone lit up before I left: Good luck tonight. Don’t brood too much. -C
I smiled despite myself, adjusting my bow tie in the mirror. Tonight would change things. Not obviously, not publicly, but in all the ways that mattered. Because now I knew what it felt like to hold her. To taste her. To want something real instead of methodical fulfillment.
My Aston Martin purred to life as London’s endless rain painted patterns on the windshield. Somewhere across the city, Isabella would be preparing for the same event. Choosing a dress, styling her hair, moving through her own evening routine.
I wondered if she was thinking of me too. Of the vault. Of everything that had shifted between us.
Tonight we’d play our roles, the bank’s counsel and its art expert, slowly discovering attraction. But underneath every interaction, every careful distance, would be the memory of her taste on my tongue. Of her body pressed against mine. Of walls finally, wonderfully, beginning to fall.
There would be absolutely no acting required.
Let them watch. Let them talk. Let them wonder.
Because for the first time in years, I wanted more than controlled encounters in expensive hotels. More than physical release without emotional connection. More than carefully maintained distance.
I wanted her.
I checked my phone one last time before pulling my car out into traffic—a message from Stryker about Monday’s training session. The American’s influence showed in my stance now, in the way I carried myself. Even the tuxedo fit differently across shoulders built by combat drills rather than occasional golf.
The transformation had started before Isabella, but she’d accelerated it. Given it purpose beyond simple self-defense. Now each session with Stryker felt like preparation—for what, I wasn’t quite sure yet. But something was coming. I could feel it in the way Rodger watched me at the bank. In the way certain board members grew quiet when I entered rooms.
My phone rang—Cooper again. I swore under my breath as I answered.
“You’re suffocating me,” I said by way of greeting.
“Someone has to.” Background noise suggested he was in his wine cellar. “Allegra wants to know when you’re bringing your girlfriend to dinner.”
“She’s not—”
“Don’t.” The sound of bottles being moved. “Don’t lie to me, Colton. It was one thing to lie to me when you were lying to yourself as well, but not anymore. This girl is special.”
I thought of how natural those instincts had become—tracking her movements, assessing threats, staying close enough to protect her.
“It’s different with her,” I admitted finally.
“Good.” Simple. Direct. “You’ve been alone too long, brother. Hiding behind those controlled encounters and careful rules.”
“They worked.”
“Did they? Or did they just keep you safe?” A pause, then softer: “There’s a difference between living and existing, Colton. Between satisfaction and joy.”
I stopped at a traffic light and adjusted my cufflinks—platinum, a gift from Cooper last Christmas. “When did you get so philosophical about relationships?”
“When I watched my twin brother turn intimacy into business transactions.” No judgment in his tone, just understanding.
“It was easier that way.”
“Easier isn’t always better.” The sound of a cork being pulled. “Tonight at Ashworth—you’ll see her there?”
“Yes.” The single word carried weight.
“And you’ll what? Play it safe?”
I thought of Isabella in that vault, of walls crumbling under her touch. “That’s the plan.”
His laugh was soft. “Plans change, brother. Trust me on that one.”
After he hung up, I tried to direct my thoughts anywhere but on Isabella. Even my usual patterns had changed. The women I’d chosen before—elegant, sophisticated, understanding the rules of emotional distance—held no appeal now. Not since Isabella had shown me what real passion felt like. What it meant to actually want someone rather than simply seeking release.
My phone lit up with a final message from Cooper: She’s changed you. Let her.
He wasn’t wrong. Everything about me was different now, how I moved, how I thought, how I felt. The careful distance I’d maintained for years was crumbling under the weight of whatever was growing between Isabella and me.
Tonight would test that transformation. Watching her move through London’s elite while pretending we hadn’t changed everything in that vault.
Five years of careful control. Of maintaining rigid boundaries. Of never letting anyone close enough to matter.
All undone by one kiss.