Chapter 11 Giulia
GIULIA
The club becomes my oxygen, and I'm suffocating everywhere else. I can't stay away from Luca. I can't stop myself from slipping into Valentina's skin and walking through that unmarked door into the only place where I can breathe.
The next night I go, the room is different from the ones we've used before. It’s larger and more luxurious, with soft lighting. There's a massive bed against one wall, draped in dark silk sheets, and there are floor-to-ceiling mirrors that reflect our images back at us from every angle.
"I want to watch you," Luca says, closing the door behind us. "I want to see every expression on your face when I'm inside you.”
He positions me in front of one of the mirrors, standing behind me so I can see both of us reflected in the glass.
His hands move to the zipper of my dress, sliding it down slowly, deliberately.
The fabric pools at my feet, and I'm standing there in just my underwear and heels, watching myself in the mirror while Luca's hands trace patterns on my skin.
"Look at yourself," he says, his voice rough.
"Look at how beautiful you are. How perfect. "
Our reflections are everywhere. I can see the flush spreading across my chest, the rapid rise and fall of my breathing, the way my body responds to his touch, the hunger in his eyes as he watches me in the mirror, his hands moving to cup my breasts through the lace of my bra.
"Say you're mine," he demands, his mouth against my neck. "Say it."
"I'm yours." The words come easily, because they're true. They’ve been true since that summer, and since I came home, since the first time he touched me, since the moment I realized that no one else would ever make me feel this way.
"Again." His hand slides between my legs.
I gasp, moaning as he presses against my clit through the lace of my panties. "I'm yours, Luca. Only yours."
He makes a sound low in his throat, and then his hands are everywhere—removing my bra, sliding my underwear down my legs, positioning me so I'm bent forward slightly, my hands braced against the mirror while he stands behind me.
I watch in the reflection as he undresses and positions himself at my entrance.
And then he's pushing inside me, and I can see everything—the way my mouth falls open, the way my eyes go hazy with pleasure, the way my body accepts him like it was made for this.
"Don't look away," he commands, one hand gripping my hip while the other tangles in my hair, holding my head up so I have to watch. "I want you to see what you look like when I fuck you. I want you to remember this every time you look in a mirror."
The words are crude and possessive, absolutely filthy. And they make me clench around him, push back against him, desperate for more.
He fucks me hard, each thrust deep and deliberate, and I watch it all in the mirror. I see the way his face contorts with pleasure, the way his muscles flex with each movement. "Say my name," he demands, his voice strained. "Say it so I know you're thinking about me and no one else."
"Luca." It comes out as a gasp. "Luca, please—"
"Please what?"
"Please don't stop. Please—God, Luca, I need—"
"I know what you need." His hand moves between my legs, finding my clit and circling it with exactly the right pressure. "I know exactly what you need. And I'm the only one who's going to give it to you. Do you understand? The only one."
"Yes. Yes, only you—"
The orgasm hits me like a wave, crashing over me with an intensity that makes my knees buckle.
Luca holds me up, his arm around my waist, his movements becoming erratic as he chases his own release.
And I see him come undone, watch the moment when control slips, and he's just a man desperate for the woman in his arms.
Afterward, we collapse onto the bed, both of us breathing hard.
Luca pulls me against his chest, his hand stroking my hair with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the intensity of what just happened.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs against my temple.
"You're mine now. No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to have you."
I should tell him the truth. I should explain that there's never been anyone else, that I've been his since long before he knew I existed.
Should confess that Valentina is just a mask I wear so I can be close to him.
But I don't. The truth would ruin everything.
It would take this fragile, perfect thing we've built and shatter it into pieces.
So I just nod against his chest and whisper, "Only you."
The next time, we're in the same room with the mirrors, and Luca is taking me from behind again, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.
But this time, he pulls me up so my back is against his chest, so we're both upright, and I can see our reflection clearly.
"Look at us," he says, his voice rough with exertion. "Look at how perfect we are together."
I look. I can see the way our bodies move in sync, the way his hands look against my skin, the way my head falls back against his shoulder in complete surrender.
I can see the intensity in his eyes as he watches me in the mirror, like he's memorizing every detail. He’s obsessive, almost violent in his need, and I understand it, because I feel the same way.
Every time I’m here, I feel more frantic, like I’m chasing something that’s slowly slipping out of my fingers.
"I'm never letting you go," he growls, thrusting up and into me again, hard. "Do you hear me, Valentina? I'm never letting you go."
I feel the words down to my bones. He means them. I can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. This isn't just sex anymore. Isn't just a casual arrangement between two people seeking escape. This is something else. Something deeper and more dangerous.
And he doesn't even know who I really am.
I come as he thrusts into me again, my mind melting around the torrent of thoughts.
He doesn't know that Valentina is Giulia.
Doesn't know that the woman he's claiming so possessively is the same woman he watches at family dinners, the same woman he's supposed to be protecting, the same woman who's being forced to marry someone else.
He's in love with a ghost. A version of me that only exists within these walls. And I'm completely, utterly consumed by him.
Not just in love—though I am that, desperately and hopelessly. But consumed. He's become the air I breathe, the blood in my veins, the only thing that makes me feel real and alive and whole. The thought terrifies me.
What happens if he finds out the truth? If he realizes that I've been lying to him this entire time, that every moment we've shared has been built on deception?
He'll hate me. He’ll feel betrayed, used, and manipulated.
The fear is so intense it makes me nauseous.
It makes me want to pull away, to run, to end this before it destroys us both.
I should. It will have to end eventually…
why not now? Why not stop it before something happens that shatters what we had and turns it into something miserable instead of the pinnacle of what we’ll ever have together?
But I can't. I need him too much. I'm addicted to him. And there's no way out that doesn't end in devastation.
—
The days blur together after that. I go through the motions of wedding planning.
Alessandro is always there, always attentive, always so fucking oblivious to the fact that I'm dying inside.
My father watches with satisfaction, pleased that I'm playing my role so well. Romeo watches with concern, and Luca watches with something I can't quite identify. Something that looks like pain. Like he constantly wants to say something but doesn’t. And it sets me on edge, wondering if he suspects, if he’s figured it out.
The lies and deception are wearing on me, and I feel worn paper-thin.
I catch him looking at me sometimes when he thinks I'm not paying attention. There's something in his expression that makes my chest ache—longing, maybe, or regret. Like he's mourning something he can never have.
If only he knew. If only I could tell him. But I can't. Because telling him means losing him, and I'm not strong enough for that.
And then, a week later, I realize my period is late.
At first, I don't think much of it. Stress can do that, mess with your cycle, make your body do strange things, and God knows I'm stressed.
The wedding has been moved up without consulting me or thinking about what I might want, and the pressure is constant and suffocating.
I'm barely sleeping, barely eating, running on adrenaline and desperation and the stolen hours I spend with Luca.
So when my period doesn't come, I tell myself it's just stress. I tell myself it doesn't mean anything.
But then it’s a week later, and another.
I can't ignore it anymore. And the next morning, as I’m getting dressed to go out, I notice that my breasts are tender and my jeans feel tighter around my waist. I think back, and realize I've been nauseous in the mornings, though I've been attributing it to anxiety.
Oh God. Oh God, no.
The room spins, and I have to sit down on my bed before my legs give out.
I can't be pregnant. I can't be.
Except…
We’ve been having unprotected sex for weeks now.
At first, I told myself a few times wouldn’t matter, that it was too close to my last period, and no one gets pregnant that easily.
And then… I stopped thinking about it. I stopped considering the consequences because I was so lost in him, so caught up every time.
And I realize with a sickening twist of my stomach that he never said anything else because he trusted me.
Foolishly, maybe, since he doesn’t know ‘Valentina,’ but he took me at my word. Just like he has with everything else.
I feel like I’m going to throw up. I’m dizzy and faint, and I press my fingers to my temples, leaning forward. I need to know for sure.
I need a pregnancy test. I wait until I’m out for one of my appointments, and then claim I have a headache and need to stop at a pharmacy for some Tylenol.
The fact that Luca is driving me makes me feel a thousand times worse; I can barely look at him.
I go in, buy pain medicine and a test, and bury the latter deep in my purse.
The next morning, I stand in my bathroom, holding it in my hand. My hands are shaking as I open the package and read the instructions. And then I wait.
It’s the longest three minutes of my life.
I pace the small bathroom, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
I think about Luca, about the way he holds me after we're together and the possessiveness in his voice when he tells me I'm his, about the future we can never have because I'm Giulia Ciresa and he's my father's soldier, and there's no world where this ends well. The fact that everything he’s ever said has been to another woman that he thinks really exists.
I think about Alessandro, and I think about my father—about his expectations, his plans, and his absolute certainty that I'll do what's required of me because that's what Ciresa women do.
And then the timer on my phone goes off, and I look at the test.
I feel my knees give out, and I grab the edge of the sink counter to stay upright.
It’s positive.
I'm pregnant with Luca's baby.
The first emotion is pure, visceral terror.
How do I tell him? How do I explain that I've been deceiving him this entire time?
That the woman he thinks he knows doesn't actually exist?
He'll hate me. He’ll never speak to me again.
I let him take my virginity without telling him, slept with him over and over while he never knew who he was really with…
I sink to the floor, tears welling up in my eyes. This is a disaster. Everything is going to fall apart. Everything.
I try to breathe. And slowly, as I force myself to think this through, I feel the smallest ember of hope start to flicker.
This changes everything. I'm pregnant with Luca's baby. My father will have to arrange a match with us instead of Alessandro. The wedding can be stopped. I can have him—really have him, not just in stolen moments at a club but in real life, in daylight, forever. If I can just make him understand, see that I never meant for it to be more than one night, that things got out of hand, that I didn’t want to lie to him, but I was desperate…
I let out a hiccuping sob, half laughing and half crying, because this is it. This is the solution I've been desperately searching for. I don't have to marry Alessandro. I can't marry Alessandro. Not now, not when I'm carrying another man's child.
My father will be furious at first. He’ll rage about the scandal, about the damage to the family's reputation, about my recklessness and stupidity, about another Ciresa child doing whatever they want with no thought as to the consequences.
But he'll come around. He has to, because the alternative—me marrying Alessandro while pregnant with Luca's baby—is infinitely worse. There’s no way to marry me off to him fast enough to pass this off as his.
Luca will be shocked. He’ll be angry with me. But we can make this work. We have to make this work.
I can't terminate this pregnancy. The thought of it makes me physically ill. This is Luca's baby—the man I've loved for years, the man who makes me feel alive, the man who's claimed me so completely that I can't imagine belonging to anyone else. And I can't marry Alessandro.
I have to tell Luca the truth.