Chapter 13 Livia
"Yes," I say, forcing out a laugh. "I, uh, I was just doing some research," I stammer, cursing myself for the nervous tremor in my voice.
Enzo’s gaze hones in on me, and for a moment, I’m certain he knows exactly what I’ve been up to, but then his expression softens, and he moves closer.
"Sorry I missed dinner," he says. "Business."
I nod, my fingers gripping the papers tightly. "It’s fine. I understand."
Enzo studies me for a long moment, I can tell he's taking me in. I fight the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. There’s a tension between us as our eyes remain locked on one another and I start to feel warmth spreading through me.
"You work too hard, cara mia," he says in a low tone and leans against the desk, "why don't you let me take care of you?
The warmth turns to fire and I find myself unable to speak. I may have have lost myself in his words had it not been the sudden reminder that I have the damn diary in my lap.
"Oh, no, I, I like the hard work. I made good progress on my dissertation," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Enzo nods and smiles. "Well, that's good. I hope you weren't too lonely without me for dinner. I’ll make sure it doesn't become a habit."
I swallow hard. "Oh, it’s fine. I ate fast anyhow. Busy with my work, as you can see," I say, gesturing to the messy surface of the desk.
That was a lie.
I hadn’t thought about it since returning to my desk. I didn’t miss him, per se, but someone to talk to while I ate.
Shit, another lie. Okay, maybe I missed him a little, but that’s just because he shows so much interest in what I’m doing.
Enzo gives my desk and me another look over. "Well, I’m heading to bed. Care to join me?"
"Actually, I think I’ll stay here a bit longer," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "I’m just wrapping up a few things."
He nods slowly and then turns around. "Don’t work too late, Livia. Even brilliant minds need rest," he says without looking back.
"Of course," I say, watching him leave.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath and glance down at the diary still resting in my lap.
"Fuck, that was close," I say, taking a deep breath.
Part of me wants to keep exploring the diary, but I’m too nervous.
I open the bottom drawer of my desk and shove the diary underneath a stack of papers, burying it beneath a mountain of research notes and photocopied articles.
I arrange everything meticulously, trying to make it look natural, as if I haven’t just hidden a vital piece of Enzo’s family history.
I close the drawer and think, what am I doing? This isn’t me.
I don’t steal. I don’t snoop. And yet here I am, violating my own principles out of sheer what—curiosity? Standing up, I remind myself that nothing about this situation is normal, so maybe it’s okay for me to bend my own rules a bit.
As I leave the library and make my way to the suite, the hallway seems longer than usual, each step echoing in the silence.
As I ascend the stairs, a new thought enters my mind, one I hadn’t considered—I wonder if he knows about his grandfather’s diary?
It looked like it hadn’t been touched in a very long time, given the dust, but maybe he’d read it some time ago and put it back. Maybe at our dinners I can subtly find out.
As I approach the ornate double doors that lead to our suite, I pause, seeing the guards at the door. They’re serious, and I feel like their faces might as well say, 'I know what you’re hiding.'
Just like most nights, I pass them with a nod and enter.
The suite is dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a small table lamp near the bed. And there, sitting up against the pillows, is Enzo, shirtless, his hair damp from a recent shower.
As I step into the suite, Enzo stands. He’s wearing only gray sweatpants, and my eyes are immediately drawn to the outline of his bulge beneath the thin fabric. I try to look away, but my body refuses to cooperate.
My body starts to tingle as I take in the sight of him. His muscular chest, his tattoos. I feel a rush of heat spread through my body, and I suddenly feel incredibly nervous.
"There you are," he says. "I was beginning to think you might end up falling asleep at your desk."
"No, no, I…um," I stutter and look away, realizing my eyes were wandering over him too much. "I’m going to wash my face and change," I say and walk right to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I look in the mirror and see my cheeks flush with embarrassment at potentially being caught staring.
On top of that, his sculpted body has set my entire body on fire. I look in the mirror, my cheeks flushed, my eyes filled with a hint of lust.
I splash some cold water on my face, trying to regain control, but the throbbing between my legs only intensifies.
"Get it together, Livia," I mutter to my reflection. He’s my captor, for fuck’s sake. The man who’s forcing me to marry him.
But my body doesn’t seem to care about any of that. I can feel the wetness between my thighs, a reminder of how my body responded to the sight of him. I grip the edges of the sink, trying to steady myself.
What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be reacting this way, it’s ridiculous.
I pat my face dry with a soft towel, trying to focus on anything but the ache building inside me.
I change into my pajamas—a simple tank top and shorts. As I pull them on, I can’t help but wonder what Enzo would think if he knew how wet I am right now. The thought sends another jolt of arousal through me, and I bite my lip.
Think of something else, for the love of God.
With one last glance in the mirror, I open the bathroom door and step back into the bedroom. Enzo is still there, still shirtless.
Shit.
He’s sitting up in the bed, the covers coming up to his waist. He does a double take as I walk to the bed.
It’s the first time he’s looked at me that way. It’s not a look of calculation, it’s a genuine look of interest, as in "I’m liking what I’m seeing" kind of look—and I like it.
"Feeling refreshed?" he asks, his voice low and husky.
I nod, unable to speak. The only thing I can think of is getting into bed, covering myself up, and having the lights go off so my eyes can stop wandering.
"Is everything alright? You seem a little tense," Enzo asks.
"I’m fine," I lie. "I’m just tired, that’s all."
I slide under the covers, my body tense as I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling. Enzo shifts beside me.
"Good night, cara mia," he says.
"Good night," I say back.
The light clicks off, plunging the room into total darkness. I hear Enzo’s breathing slow beside me, and I try to focus on anything but his presence. I reach up and fiddle with my skull pendant around my neck, the familiar motion calming my nerves.
Suddenly, I become acutely aware of the heat radiating from Enzo’s body. It’s then that I realize my mistake—I forgot to put up the pillow barrier.
My heart races. I should move, I think. I should grab a pillow and create that physical barrier between us. But my body refuses to cooperate. Instead, I find myself drawn to his warmth, like a moth to a flame.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Some of my barriers are starting to crack, crumble, and fall. It’s not just the physical barrier of pillows I’ve forgotten. It’s the emotional walls I’ve built around myself, the determination to hate this man who’s upended my life.
I grip my pendant tighter, trying to ground myself. But it’s no use.
My mind races, replaying every interaction we’ve had.
The way he looked at me in the library earlier, the intensity in his eyes when we discuss literature, the gentleness in his touch when he steadied me on the stairs.
I try to remind myself of who he is, what he’s done.
He’s taken me from my life, forced me into this marriage. He’s a criminal, maybe even a killer.
But then I think of the library he’s given me, the way he listens when I talk about my research. The respect in his voice when he quotes authors I love.
I’m drawn to him in a way I can’t explain or control. It’s as if there are two versions of me now—the one who wants to fight and resist, and the one who wants to give in to this inexplicable attraction.
As I lie there, torn between conflicting desires, I realize that this is more dangerous than any physical threat. This emotional vulnerability, this growing attraction—it has the power to destroy me in ways I never imagined.
I should repair some of my barriers, but as I drift off to sleep, Enzo’s warmth seeps into my bones, and I’m not sure I have the strength—or even the desire—to do so.