20. Casey
I spend forty minutes regretting letting Izzy talk me into this dress.
It’s beautiful.
That’s the problem.
It’s too beautiful.
The dark green silk fits too well, skimming over curves I usually hide beneath oversized sweaters and clothes chosen more for practicality than attention.
Looking at myself like this feels strangely unfamiliar, like I’m seeing a version of myself I haven’t let exist properly in a long time.
I feel exposed, but beneath that uneasy feeling is one of wonder.
I look good. Which feels deeply unnecessary for a charity gala.
“You look beautiful,” Elena announces from where she’s curling my bestie’s hair at the vanity in Isabella’s room. We’d decided to get ready together like old times and it’s been fun.
I smile at her reflection. “You’re a little biased.”
“I’m truthful.”
“She’s right,” Isabella says as she fastens an earring. “It’s actually offensive how good you look.”
I look at them both suspiciously. “You’re blowing smoke up my ass so I don’t bail at the last minute.”
“We’re absolutely not blowing smoke anywhere. You’re stunning and the sooner you see that, the better. Adi is going to lose his mind when he sees you in that dress.” Isabella winks.
“Izzy, will you stop. Adriano is my boss.”
“Oh, please, anyone with eyes can see he likes you. That man follows you with his eyes like he’s starving and you’re a juicy steak.”
“Isabella, Casey is not food. Don’t be so vulgar,” Elena admonishes.
I wrap an arm around Elena and glare at Izzy. “Listen to your mother.”
Elena pats my hand and then the traitor turns on me. “Bella is right, though. That dress will test his restraint tonight.”
“Traitors.”
I sigh and glance back toward the full-length mirror, fingers smoothing over the fabric at my waist. The dress falls cleanly to the floor; the deep green makes my skin look warmer than it usually does, my hair softer where Elena insisted on curling it earlier despite my objections.
I barely recognize myself.
Not in a bad way, just… unfamiliar. The last time I dressed up like this, I was a different person with a different life. I’m not sure I belong in this world.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Isabella says.
“What thing?”
“Thinking yourself out of enjoying something.”
I exhale softly through my nose. “I hate that you know me so well.”
“You love it.”
Unfortunately, she’s right about that too.
By the time we leave the penthouse, Manhattan is glowing under winter rain, the streets slick with reflected gold and red from traffic lights and storefront displays that still haven’t entirely let go of January sales.
Elena spends most of the drive in the back of the SUV on speakerphone with Rossi, reminding him that keeping Letty overnight does not mean feeding her unlimited sugar simply because she has “big eyes and excellent negotiation skills.”
“I never said unlimited,” Rossi argues, his deep voice echoing.
“You gave her espresso ice cream last week.”
Nico, who is driving us, sniggers, earning himself a headshake from Izzy, which just makes him smile wider, grab her hand, and kiss her knuckles.
My friend melts into him and it makes me think of Adriano.
The kiss we shared at New Year’s should be a distant memory, but it lives rent-free in my brain and plays every night on repeat.
“That was an accident,” Rossi defends, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“She was awake until midnight.” Elena throws her hands up in true Italian flair.
“She had fascinating opinions about dinosaurs.”
Elena presses a hand dramatically to her forehead. “You see what I live with?”
Rossi doesn’t even sound offended. “You adore me, woman.”
“Unfortunately.”
In front of me, Isabella snorts softly into her champagne-colored shawl before leaning closer. “Adriano’s meeting us there, by the way. Last-minute call with investors.”
Which shouldn’t send a strange ripple of awareness through me, but it does. I turn my attention toward the rain-streaked window before anyone can notice.
The ballroom of the hotel where the Charity Gala is being held glows gold.
That’s the first thing I notice when we walk in.
Light spills from enormous chandeliers overhead, catching against crystal glasses and polished marble.
Women draped in elegant gowns that probably cost more than my university tuition.
A string quartet plays somewhere near the back of the room, soft enough not to overpower conversation, while servers weave expertly through clusters of guests carrying champagne and tiny, impossibly pretty appetizers.
Elena disappears in a whirlwind when she sees that the event is serving a seafood pasta appetizer with parmesan cheese. Her outrage makes me smile.
ISM events always feel slightly surreal to me. This is the second one I’ve been to; the first was last year after Izzy and Nico got engaged.
It’s not the money that’s surreal. That was something I’d become used to in my former life, but because of the genuine warmth.
For a company run by men raised inside violence, there’s something strangely genuine about the atmosphere they create.
Employees move easily around the brothers rather than fearfully, conversation is relaxed, and the laughter is real.
There are photographs displayed near the stage of charity projects and community programs funded through ISM initiatives.
Scholarship recipients smiling awkwardly beside oversized checks, restoration projects, shelters, education grants.
These events have a true purpose; they aren’t held for the sake of the wealthy who attend and donate. It’s not performative; it’s real.
It matters more than I think people realize.
“Breathe,” Isabella murmurs beside me.
“I am breathing.”
“Just about.”
I shoot her a look just as Nico appears at her side, his attention catching on her instantly in that quiet, unwavering way that always makes me feel like I’m accidentally witnessing something intimate.
His hand settles automatically at her waist. “Sorry I disappeared, but Eddie is here with Laney.”
“Oh my God, let’s go. I love Eddie, and Laney is so cool.”
Nico gives Izzy a pained look. “Don’t make me murder my best friend in public, Bella.”
“Ah, don’t be jealous, baby. You know I only have eyes for you.”
“Oh, please go. I’m going to puke.”
Nico’s gaze shifts briefly in my direction—and pauses before he winks. “Well,” he says mildly. “That’s unfortunate, but Adi can look after you.”
I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me. I don’t need him looking after me. I’m not a child.”
“Adriano’s already in a bad mood tonight, so be nice to him.”
Before I can process that, Izzy bursts out laughing. “Oh my God,” she says, delighted. “He is.”
“He’s always in a bad mood,” I reply quickly, because my stomach has suddenly done something very stupid.
“Not like this,” Nico says.
Isabella elbows him sharply before turning to me with entirely fake innocence. “Ignore him.”
Too late.
Because now I’m thinking about Adriano seeing me in this dress, which immediately makes me want to fling myself directly into the nearest snowbank.
“You’re all deeply annoying,” I mutter.
“Yes,” Nico replies easily. “But observant.”
“I hate all of you. Now go. I’m going to get a drink.”
I head to the bar, head high, shoulders back, pretending I fit in, that I belong. I order a glass of Champagne and smile at the barman as he flirts with me. Harmless fun. This I can handle.
A few minutes later, I finally spot Adriano across the room.
He’s standing near the stage, speaking with two board members, dark tux perfectly tailored, broad shoulders impossibly unfair beneath the sharp cut of it.
One hand rests loosely in his pocket, while the other holds a glass of whiskey he hasn’t touched.
His expression is calm and unreadable in the way it always is during business events.
He has the eyes of every woman in the room on him, and he has no idea.
Then he looks up, directly at me.
And stops speaking mid-sentence.
Oh.
Oh no.
Heat crawls slowly up my neck as his gaze moves over me once, deliberate enough that I feel it everywhere before he takes a second, slower sweep.
Appreciative.
Hungry.
His expression is so tightly contained that it makes my pulse stumble.
One of the men beside him says something. Adriano doesn’t answer right away, his focus on me. My breath feels frozen in my chest; the air in the room pulses.
His eyes stay on mine a second longer before he finally looks away and says something curt enough that both men immediately glance between us with sudden interest before he stalks away in the opposite direction.
“Well,” Izzy says under her breath as she moves beside me. “That’s definitely mutual.”
“I’m going to kill all of you.”
“No, you’re not,” Isabella replies cheerfully. “You’re going to stand here and enjoy being desired for once.”
My entire body betrays me by getting warmer.
The first hour passes easier than I expect.
I talk with donors. Smile through introductions. Let Matteo drag me briefly onto the dance floor, where he spends most of the song trying to make me laugh. I find myself relaxing and having fun.
For the first time in a long time, I actually feel… good.
And every so often, no matter where I am in the room, I catch Adriano watching me.
Constantly.
Possessively.
Just enough that awareness of him settles beneath my skin and stays there all night.
As if I’m his.
Once, while I’m laughing at something Matteo says near the bar, I glance up and find Adriano already looking at me from across the room. The expression on his face changes slightly when I laugh—softens in a way so brief I almost think I imagined it.
Almost.
And somehow that tiny shift affects me more than the heated looks.
Because it feels real.
Dangerously real, like we’re sharing something between us.
By the time I step toward the corridor and the restroom near the back of the ballroom, my cheeks ache slightly from smiling more than I’m used to.
I barely make it around the corner before I hear my name.