Chapter 11 Maddie
The cottage is absolutely perfect. Exactly the kind of guest accommodation that would make tourists pay premium prices.
"This is beautiful," I say as Enzo shows me through rooms that manage to be both rustic and elegant. Stone walls, comfortable furniture, windows that frame the sea view like paintings.
The kitchen is small but perfectly appointed. There's even a little dining nook with a table for two.
"And upstairs," he says, leading me up a narrow staircase to a loft space that takes my breath away.
The bed is king-sized with white linens that look cloud-soft, positioned so I'll wake up every morning to that incredible sea view. There's a reading chair by the window, built-in bookshelves, and enough closet space for someone planning to stay much longer than a few years.
"Enzo, this is too much," I say, running my hand along the smooth wooden headboard. "I can’t accept this as my living arrangement."
"Consider it an investment in our partnership.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if he means a different kind of partnership.
"Bathroom's through here," he continues, and I follow him to what might be the most beautiful bathroom I've ever seen.
Marble and brass fixtures, with a clawfoot tub positioned under a skylight and a shower large enough for two people. Thick, fluffy towels hang from heated racks, and there are expensive-looking toiletries arranged on the vanity.
"Oh my God," I breathe, because after days of cold water and questionable plumbing, this looks like paradise. "Does the water pressure actually work here?"
"Yeah, it works fine."
"This place is incredible. Do you use it often for guests?"
"Family visits occasionally. Or business associates who need somewhere private to stay."
That makes sense. A man like Enzo would need guest accommodations for people who value discretion. Every detail is perfect, from the fluffy bathrobe hanging on the door to the lavender soap that smells like heaven.
"I don't know what to say," I tell him honestly. "This is incredible. Thank you for the offer."
"Take your time and get settled in," he says. "We can talk business logistics tomorrow."
"Are you sure? I feel like I should be working, earning my keep somehow."
"Madison." The way he says my name makes me look up at him. "You've had a rough few days. Today a little time to rest. Consider it a signing bonus."
After he leaves, I spend an hour just wandering around, touching things and trying to convince myself this is really happening.
It's too much.
I realize I need to get my things from Giuseppe's house. I'm about to ask how when there's a knock at the door.
"Ready to go move your stuff?" It's Emilio, Enzo's associate from the other day. Apparently, Enzo had already arranged this.
The drive to my place takes only a few minutes, but it feels strange going back to that broken-down house after seeing where I'll be living now. The contrast is stark, cold, dim rooms with no electricity versus the warm, luxurious cottage I just left.
I pack quickly, throwing my meager belongings into the two suitcases I'd brought. Everything I own fits easily, which seems pathetic when I think about the spacious closets in my new place.
Emilio helps carry the suitcases to the car without comment. The ride back is quiet, but not uncomfortable.
Back at the guest cottage, I spend time unpacking and trying to make the space feel like mine. My clothes look a bit lost in the large, organized closet, and I'll definitely need to go shopping if I want to fill even a quarter of it.
By the time I finish organizing, the sun is starting to set, and I realize I haven't had a proper shower since leaving Seattle.
The bathroom keeps calling to me like a siren song.
I test the water first, just to make sure, and nearly cry with relief when perfect temperature water streams out of the rainfall showerhead. After days of cold water sponge baths, this feels like luxury.
I strip off my clothes and step under the spray, and the sensation is so perfect I actually moan out loud. The water pressure is incredible, the temperature exactly right, and for the first time since arriving in Sicily, I can actually relax.
I take my time with the expensive shampoo that smells like jasmine and body wash that creates amazing lather. The hot water unknots the tension in my shoulders.
This is heaven.
I'm reaching for hair conditioner when I hear footsteps downstairs.
"Maddie?" Enzo's voice carries up. "Brought you some wine to celebrate."
My heart stops. I didn't lock the front door. Why would I when I thought I was alone on his private property?
"I'm in the shower!" I call out, hoping he'll leave the wine and go. Instead, I hear footsteps on the stairs.
"Also brought fresh towels," his voice is closer now, definitely upstairs. "The ones up there might not be enough."
"That's okay! The towels are perfect! You don't need to—"
The bathroom door opens.
I freeze under the spray, hands full of conditioner, completely naked and completely exposed.
Enzo stands in the doorway holding towels and wine, looking like he just stumbled on this by accident instead of walking deliberately into a bathroom where he surely knew I was showering.
His eyes travel down my body slowly, appreciatively, before meeting mine again. And he doesn't look away.
"Sorry," he says, but his voice doesn't sound sorry at all. "Thought you said come in."
"I said I was IN the shower!"
"Ah. A language translation mistake. Forgive me. "
Mistake, my ass. His English is perfect.
But he's still standing there, still staring at me, and I should be mortified. Should be screaming at him to get out, covering myself, something. Instead, I'm frozen by the heat in his gaze and the way my body is responding to being seen by him.
"Could you..." I manage, "maybe hand me a towel?"
"Sure."
He steps closer to the shower, close enough that I can see his face clearly through the clear glass shower door, close enough that he's getting a very clear view of everything the steam isn't hiding.
He holds out a towel but doesn't look away.
"Turn around," I say, my voice shakier than I want.
"I’ve already seen everything, cara."
Oh, damn.
He shouldn’t talk like that.
"Please. Turn around."
He smiles—slow and devastating—but turns around. I quickly shut off the water and wrap myself in the towel, which is soft and luxurious.
"Okay," I say once I'm covered, though the towel seems inadequate given what just happened.
He turns back, and his gaze travels over me again, taking in how the towel clings to my wet skin, the water droplets still on my shoulders.
"You're beautiful, Madison."
The way he says it, low and sincere, makes my breath catch. No one has ever looked at me the way he's looking at me right now. As if I'm something precious and desirable.
"You shouldn't have barged in here without knocking," I say, but there's no real anger in my voice.
"Probably not," he agrees, stepping closer. "But I’m not sorry."
"Enzo..."
"Yes?"
I have no idea what I was going to say. My brain has completely short-circuited from steam, nakedness, and the most attractive man I've ever met standing way too close while looking at me like he wants to devour me.
"I should... get dressed," I manage.
"You should," he agrees, but doesn't move away.
We stand there for a moment that stretches between us like a wire pulled taut, full of possibility and tension and something that feels inevitable.
Instead of stepping back, he moves closer. His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing along my cheekbone, and I can see the exact moment he stops fighting whatever this is between us.
"Fuck it," he says quietly, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss starts slow, almost tentative, like he's giving me a chance to pull away. But the moment our lips touch, something ignites between us. I drop my hands from clutching the towel to grip his shoulders, and he takes that as the invitation it is.
His other hand slides into my wet hair, tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss.
He tastes like whiskey and danger and something I can't name but want more of.
The kiss becomes hungrier, more demanding, and I find myself pressing closer to him despite the voice in my head screaming that this is a very bad idea.
When he pulls back, we're both breathing hard. His eyes are dark with want, and I can feel the evidence of his desire pressed against me.
"This complicates things," he says, his voice rough.
"Everything about this is already complicated," I whisper back.
He studies my face for a long moment, then steps back.
"Dinner's at eight if you want to join me," he says, voice back to that controlled calm that drives me crazy. "Nothing formal. Just celebrating our partnership."
"I..." I clutch the towel tighter. "Yes. Okay. Dinner."
"Good. See you then."
He heads for the door, then pauses.
"Madison?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you want privacy, you might want to lock the door. Never know who might come in."
The suggestion in his voice makes it clear he's hoping there won't be a next time. That he's hoping I'll be just careless enough to let this happen again. And the terrifying thing is, I'm hoping the same thing.
After he leaves, I sink onto the edge of the tub and try to catch my breath. What just happened was completely inappropriate and probably calculated and definitely something I should be angry about.
Instead, I'm turned on in a way that makes me question my sanity.
The man is clearly dangerous. Not just attractive-dangerous, but actually dangerous in ways I don't understand. He's holding a massive debt over my head, he's manipulated every aspect of our arrangement, and he just walked in on me naked like it was natural.
I should be packing and finding a way back to Seattle.
Instead, I'm wondering what to wear to dinner that might make him look at me again the way he looked at me in this bathroom.
I really need to get my priorities straight.
But first, I need to figure out what to wear for a man who's seen me naked and is clearly planning to see me naked again.
This is either going to be the best decision of my life or the worst.