Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Serena
G ravel crunched beneath my feet as I walked toward my workshop. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, casting a warm glow that promised a beautiful day. The morning air was crisp, and I shivered as I zipped up my old work sweatshirt. The cold wouldn’t last. Within the hour, the heat from the furnace would chase away the remnants of the dawn’s chill, leaving only the dry, suffocating warmth that came with molten glass.
I stepped into the workshop, inhaling the familiar scent of ash, metal, and charred wood. It was comforting and grounding. My space. The furnace sat silent for now, its massive structure looming in the room like a sleeping beast. I moved to it automatically, checking the temperature gauge before flipping the switches that would bring it back to life.
A low hum filled the workshop as flames ignited behind the heavy steel doors. Soon, the heat would build to nearly two thousand degrees, and I could begin work. While I waited, I tied my hair back, looping the long tresses into a loose ponytail, and began clearing a workspace.
The glass dust and stray shards from my last session needed sweeping, and my tools needed organizing. I wiped down the marver table so the smooth surface was ready to shape and cool hot glass. I checked my blowpipes, making sure the punty rods were still in good shape. It was a meditative process, and the rhythm of preparation helped quiet my mind, letting me drift as I moved around the workshop.
I paused by the display shelf near the back where some of my older pieces sat. I studied a delicate glass rose, a twisting ribbon of bright pink. Its petals were so thin, they looked like they might shatter with the slightest touch. That particular freeform piece had taken me weeks to perfect.
Then, there was the one I always lingered on—a simple glass heart, smooth and clear except for a thin crack running through its center. I ran my fingers over it, the flaw catching against my skin. Imperfect and beautifully broken. I’d created it the day I had found out Cade was cheating on me with Briana. While I liked to think I’d moved on from that painful part of my life, the glass heart reminded me to never forget—and to never again love so freely.
With a breath, I straightened and turned back to my workbench, my mind shifting to what came next. I thought about the gallery in Florence, and the sort of pieces they preferred. They had specifically requested something unique, and unlike anything else I’d given them. An idea had been simmering in my mind since the moment I’d read their letter, but now, I finally settled on it.
I would create a swan, its wings stretched wide, frozen in that moment just before flight.
I could already envision the delicate curve of the neck and the feathered detail of its wings. It would be a challenge, but that was the beauty of glass. The push and pull between control and chaos, between what I saw in my mind and what the heat and fire would allow, was unlike anything words could describe. If I did it right, the piece might catch a pretty penny.
I began sketching the first lines of the design, losing myself in the drawing and not paying attention to the time. The gentle purr of a car engine coming from outside pulled me from my concentration. I glanced up at the clock. It was nearing noon. My heart skipped a few moments later when I heard footfalls outside the workshop.
Anton.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and headed for the door to greet him. I watched his approach through the side window, and my pulse kicked up another notch despite myself. My stomach tightened, my lust for him always simmering just below the surface.
He hadn’t called or texted to say he was on his way. He simply arrived, unannounced and right on time, carrying that effortless confidence that said he expected to be welcomed.
And may the devil take me, but I was more than ready to invite him inside.
“Hey,” I said after opening the door.
“Good morning, beautiful.” He gave me a slight nod, the corner of his mouth turning up in the most delicious, lopsided smile I’d ever seen.
I glanced behind him to see Zeke standing by the car. “Zeke is welcome to come in as well,” I offered.
Anton waved me off as he stepped inside. “He has business to attend to. I told him I’d text him when we’re ready to leave.”
“Business?”
“Yes. I’ve asked him to research a few things.”
“Oh? A lead on more ancient coins,” I suggested, my tone teasing.
“Something like that.” His reply was vague, as if no further explanation were needed. I frowned and was about to prod further, but he brushed past me and walked toward the table. After removing his jacket, he pulled an envelope from the inside pocket and placed the contents on the table. “The contract. I figured we could get this out of the way first.”
I glanced down at the single sheet of paper before me, then frowned when I saw what was written on it.
“What are the terms? This only asks for bank details.”
“There are no terms. I can’t force you to spend thirty days with me. I’m just going to trust you to keep your word. All I need is your bank information for the wire transfer.” Pausing, he pointed to a section on the paper. “Once you fill this out, I’ll have Zeke handle the rest. The transfer will be instant.”
I blinked, confused about the situation. I struggled to find words, unable to do anything but stare at him.
“You’re serious?” I finally asked.
Anton’s expression didn’t waver. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
His voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt or space for me to question his decision. Looking down, I picked up the piece of paper.
This is too easy—too simple.
After all the back and forth, the teasing, the power plays, I didn’t understand why he would just hand over five hundred thousand dollars.
I hesitated, my gaze flicking from the form to Anton.
“So that’s it? You’re just giving me the money. No stipulations. No games.”
He leaned in, his presence commanding. His gaze locked onto mine, dark and unrelenting. “The stipulation is that you don’t go back on your word. I don’t play games with the things I want, princess. And I want this—I want you.”
A war waged inside me. I wasn’t used to things being given so freely, especially from men like Anton Romano. But there was no deception in his face. Just absolute certainty.
He gestured to the paper. “Write down your bank details, Serena. Let’s get this done.”
I exhaled slowly, glancing down at the form once more, still unable to believe what he was offering. The only thing he required was my bank information. There wasn’t even a signature line binding me to my verbal promise.
Reaching for my phone, I pulled up my banking app. After I verified the numbers, I copied the information onto the form.
Anton didn’t look away. He just watched me, his presence a tangible force pressing in around me. As I finished writing, a strange mix of relief and apprehension settled in my chest. I wasn’t sure if I had just won this game of chess or if I had set myself up for a checkmate.
I handed the paper back to Anton.
“Good. I’m glad we got that business out of the way,” he said with a nod. After folding the paper and placing it back inside the envelope, his eyes landed on my drawing of the swan. “I see you’re hard at work already.”
“Just sketching out what I want to create. It helps if I have a visual before I begin molding the glass. The gallery wanted something distinctive. The swan will take several days to complete, but if I capture it right, I hope it’ll catch a good price.”
His gaze swept over me, moving slowly up and down my body. He wasn’t even trying to be subtle. “You didn’t want to create more flames like the ones in New York?”
Warmth spread through me, and I flushed. I hated that he could slip past my defenses so easily. All it took was a look and a few well-placed words, and I was putty in his hands. It was frustrating and intoxicating all at the same time.
“I’ve already told you. The flames felt incomplete until I saw them with that statue. ”
“So why don’t you create a different glass version of the woman instead? Perhaps in your own likeness.”
My face flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and I looked away. Moving over to my tools, I said, “Even if I wanted to, my oven isn’t large enough to create something that big.”
“I could buy you a bigger oven.”
I suppressed an eyeroll and retrieved a fresh blowpipe. Ignoring his comment, I asked, “Are you ready to watch me work?”
His lips curved. “I was hoping for something a little more interactive.”
I raised a brow. “Oh?”
“I don’t want to just watch you. I want to try.” He leaned against the worktable, arms crossing over his chest as he studied me. His expression was full of mischief with a hint of desire smoldering in those ruthless onyx eyes.
I laughed. “Get whatever you’re thinking right out of your head. This won’t be like the movies. There won’t be any sexy Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze pottery moments while the oven is on. The heat will melt your skin from your bones if you’re not careful. It’s best if I show you first.”
I gestured for him to follow me. The heat had built to full strength now, making the air around the furnace thick and heavy. Beads of sweat gathered at the back of my neck almost instantly, and Anton tugged at the collar of his shirt before rolling up his sleeves.
“First lesson,” I said, dipping the end of my pipe into the furnace to gather the red-hot glass. “You need to keep the liquid glass moving. If it stays still too long, gravity takes over, and you lose control.”
He watched intently as I turned the pipe, the glowing blob of molten glass clinging to the end like honey. When I pulled it out, it pulsed with heat, the color shifting between bright orange and deep gold. I moved to the marver, rolling it against the smooth surface to shape it before glancing at him.
“Stand behind me and give me your hands—but no funny business. I don’t want either of us to get burned.”
Anton stepped behind me, his body close enough that I felt his warmth even against the oppressive heat coming off the furnace.
“Is the pipe hot?” he asked.
“It’s warm, but not too hot to touch. I have gloves, but they’re generally not recommended for glassblowing. They can hinder the dexterity needed to handle the pipe and shape the glass, potentially increasing the risk of burns.”
Wrapping his arms around me, I guided his hands around the end of the pipe, constantly shifting the orb. After a few moments, I let go, allowing him to repeat the movements I’d just shown him. His hold was steady, but the weight seemed to surprise him, making him adjust his grip.
“Keep it turning,” I reminded him, reaching out to guide him over the marver. His muscles tensed beneath my touch, and for a brief second, the air between us shifted, thickening with something far hotter than the furnace.
His gaze flicked to mine, and I knew that if I leaned in just a fraction—if I so much as breathed the wrong way—he’d close the distance between our lips that were already too close.
Not wanting to risk an accident, I ducked out from between his arms and stepped back.
“Not bad.” My voice was steady—barely. I turned toward the end of the blowpipe and leaned against the counter, needing something solid to hang on to.
I watched as Anton rolled the glass a few more times before setting the pipe down. “I’m not sure how you’ll make that blob into a swan. I can’t even begin to envision it.”
Smiling, I picked up the pipe and returned it to the furnace. The heat wrapped around me like a second skin as I gathered more glass, the glowing mass dripping like honey before I moved to shape it against the marver once again.
“This is where the magic happens,” I murmured, more to myself than to Anton.
I felt his gaze on me, watching as I worked, but I didn’t look at him. Instead, I turned my focus inward, letting my hands move with practiced precision, allowing instinct to take over. I had done this hundreds of times before—gather, shape, blow, refine—but each piece was different. Each one had its own life and temperament. Glass was unpredictable, and if you didn’t respect it, it would betray you.
I shaped the glowing mass with a block of soaked wood, steam hissing as the heat met moisture. The smell of burning wood mixed with melted glass filled the air. It was a scent I had grown to love over the years. My arms ached from the constant movement and the weight of the pipe, but I welcomed the strain. It meant the piece was coming to life.
Anton moved closer. Smooth words and that sexy smile had been replaced by an intense stare as he continued to watch me work.
I dipped the pipe back into the furnace for a second gather, layering more molten glass over the base shape. I worked quickly, shaping the body of the swan, coaxing the form into existence with careful turns and calculated motions. The body elongated, smoothing under my hands as I rolled it on the marver, creating the graceful curve of the neck.
The wings were next—the tricky part that could ruin everything.
I switched to my jacks, the steel blades sliding against the glass with practiced ease, carving feathered details into the soft heat before it could cool too much. My brow furrowed in concentration, making every movement precise. Each adjustment was crucial. The glass fought me, resisting the shape I demanded of it, but I didn’t back down. I knew how far to push, how much heat to use, and how to make it yield without breaking.
Minutes stretched into what felt like forever, the world outside my workshop fading into nothing. It was just me, the glass, and the fire.
When I finally pulled the pipe away, the swan stood proud on the punty, wings stretched wide, frozen in the moment before flight. The translucent glass still glowed with residual heat, the delicate details catching the light, throwing shimmering reflections across the walls.
I let out a slow breath, my muscles aching from effort, my skin damp with sweat. What I’d created wasn’t the final product for the gallery, but rather a miniature replica. In the coming days, I’d study the creation to find areas for improvement for the final, larger swan that I’d eventually craft.
“Incredible,” Anton murmured, breaking me from my reverie.
I turned to him and found his eyes locked on me. There was something in his expression, something unreadable and potent.
I swallowed, setting my tools down as a different kind of heat surged through me.
“It’s not the final product. This was just the practice run,” I said, my voice lower than I intended. “It still needs to cool in the annealer overnight, then I’ll study the imperfections.”
He stepped toward me, never taking his eyes off mine. The usual sexual tension between us began to shift into something heavier and far more real.
I looked away and wiped my hands on a rag. The adrenaline that always came from creating still coursed through my veins, making me feel restless. Angling my head to look at Anton, I found him watching me, his onyx eyes sharp and thoughtful.
When he spoke, his words were slow and deliberate. “ Watching you do this is easily one of my new favorite things. You should give up the rest.”
I frowned. “The rest of what?”
“Archaeology. You should give it up and do this instead.” He gestured to the glass swan, still glowing faintly with heat.
I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. “Anton?—”
“I’m serious.” He took another step closer until our bodies were almost touching. Taking my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he spoke again in a low but firm voice. “I’ve seen you in the field covered in dirt, Serena. It was only briefly, but I witnessed enough to know it didn’t suit you. But this? I can see the passion in your eyes. Blowing glass is what you were meant to do.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come.
He wasn’t wrong.
I stepped away, moving to adjust the settings on the furnace, giving myself a moment to think. The days and weeks leading up to meeting Anton had been beyond stressful. From worrying about funds running out to the late nights spent poring over old maps and endless theories about Cleopatra and Mark Antony—it had all been too much. It was everything my father had dedicated his life to, and everything I had spent my adult life chasing. But the money to keep going and the answers to the riddles were always just out of reach.
And I was exhausted from it all.
But in my workshop, covered in sweat and glass dust with my muscles aching, I felt alive.
I tightened my grip on the edge of the workbench, my breath coming slower now, deeper.
“This is my last excavation,” I admitted softly. Anton stayed quiet, letting me speak. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my chest tightening. “If we don’t find anything this time, I’m done. I haven’t told my mother yet, but I can’t keep chasing ghosts. This has always been about my father. It was his dream. He spent his whole life searching, always believing he was just one step away from finding Cleopatra and Mark Antony. After he died, I just couldn’t let it go. I thought if I found them and finished what he’d started, it would mean something.”
“You need to do what makes you happy, princess.”
I turned back to Anton then, meeting his gaze head-on. “It’s your fault I started questioning this—questioning everything. It started the moment you told me to trustfall.”
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak.
I let out a slow breath.
“You dared me to fall without questioning whether everything would be alright—to blindly jump into an uncomfortable situation and trust that someone or something would catch me—even if the very thing I had to trust was myself. Your words made me realize that I don’t have to keep doing this. I can trust my instincts and follow my own path, no matter how foreign it may be.” I paused and looked around the workshop. “And today…today reminded me what it feels like to create. To make something beautiful with my own hands, instead of digging up the remnants of someone else’s past.”
A long silence stretched between us. Then Anton exhaled, a slow, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
“And here I worried that I’d be a bad influence on you.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Who said you weren’t?”
His smile widened, but there was something softer in his eyes now.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, stepping closer, “I think you made your decision long before meeting me. You just needed to convince yourself.”
I looked back at the swan, my first real piece in months, and something settled inside me. Maybe he was right. I just hadn’t wanted to face it.
Anton stretched, rolling his shoulders.
“Come on, princess. Let’s get out of here, go into town, and do something that doesn’t involve talking about glass and old bones.” He pulled out his phone, already dialing before I could respond. He turned away slightly as the call connected. Looking back at me, he held my eyes steady. “Zeke, I need you to come back and pick us up. I have a princess who deserves to be spoiled.”