Chapter Eleven
The morning had been unexpected. Isla had thought Matteo’s cryptic words meant another cold display of control, but instead, he had taken her into the heart of Rome.
They walked through the cobbled streets, the weight of unspoken words between them. It wasn’t freedom—Matteo never let her stray too far, his presence always a shadow at her side—but it was something. A rare glimpse of the world beyond the walls of his villa.
She had watched him as much as he had watched her. The way he interacted with shopkeepers who greeted him with wary respect, the way his hand sometimes found the small of her back, a subtle reminder of his control.
When they had stopped for coffee at a small café tucked into the streets near Piazza Navona, he had slid a box across the table to her without a word.
She had frowned, glancing from the elegant black ribbon to his unreadable expression. “What is this?”
Matteo sipped his espresso, his gaze steady. “Something to wear tonight.”
She had hesitated before pulling at the ribbon, revealing a deep crimson gown inside. The fabric was luxurious beneath her fingertips, the design meant to highlight every curve of her body.
“Why?” she had asked, looking up at him.
His lips twitched at the corners, just the faintest ghost of a smirk. “Because you’re my wife, and appearances matter.”
The conversation had ended there, but the dress had lingered in her mind the rest of the day, a symbol of the game they were playing.
Now, as she sat beside him in the sleek black car winding through the city streets, she felt the weight of the dress, the weight of everything unsaid. The crimson fabric clung to her like a second skin, and she hated how much she felt like she belonged in it. Like she belonged at his side.
Matteo was silent beside her, his hand resting casually on his knee, but she could feel his attention on her.
“Behave,” he murmured, breaking the silence as they neared their destination.
She arched a brow, meeting his gaze. “Or what?”
His fingers drummed against his knee, slow and controlled. “Or you’ll regret it.”
She smirked, looking away. “That sounds like a challenge.”
The car pulled up to the grand villa hosting the night’s event, and before Isla could react, Matteo was at her door, offering his hand. She hesitated for only a moment before placing hers in his, allowing him to lead her inside. The warmth of his skin against hers sent a shiver through her, but she masked it with indifference.
The ballroom was a spectacle of wealth and power, chandeliers casting a golden glow over men in tailored suits and women in designer gowns. Conversations hummed like a well-rehearsed symphony, filled with thinly veiled threats and false pleasantries. A string quartet played in the background, the music elegant yet somehow menacing beneath the surface.
Matteo kept her close, his hand a firm presence at the small of her back. She played her role flawlessly, offering Matteo a dazzling smile as he introduced her to various associates. She listened, nodded at the right moments, laughed when required—but all the while, she was aware of the weight of Matteo’s gaze on her.
And he was aware of hers.
The moment she excused herself to get a drink, she felt him close behind her. His presence was inescapable, wrapping around her like an invisible chain. When she reached the bar, Matteo leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” he murmured.
She turned to face him, tilting her head in mock curiosity. “Enjoying what?”
Matteo’s fingers ghosted along her wrist, his grip possessive yet controlled. “Being my wife. Playing this game.”
Isla smiled, the challenge dancing in her eyes. “Who says I’m playing?”
Matteo’s hand slid lower, his fingers grazing the curve of her waist, the touch brief yet searing. His expression darkened, his voice dropping to something dangerously low. “You should be careful, Isla.”
She swallowed but kept her composure, tilting her head slightly. “Why? Afraid I might start liking it?”
For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze flickering over her face as if searching for the lie. Then, without another word, he pulled away, leaving her standing there with her pulse racing and her body betraying everything she had told herself.
The attraction between them was dangerous.
And it was getting harder to resist.