Chapter 14 - The Danger of Loving Her.
Matteo
I watch Sasha drift into restless sleep, her face peaceful despite the tension that had gripped her earlier.
The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting silver patterns across her bare shoulders where the sheet has slipped down.
My fingers itch to trace those patterns, to feel her warmth beneath my touch, but I resist. She needs rest after the shock of seeing her ex-fiancé appear uninvited in my villa.
With a final glance at her sleeping form, I slip from the bed, careful not to disturb her. I pull on a pair of linen pants and pad barefoot through the suite and out into the corridor, my mind churning with anger and something else. Something that feels dangerously like possessiveness.
Marco appears almost immediately, his usual composed demeanor replaced by obvious distress. "Signor De Luca, I cannot apologize enough for the intrusion. The American was most insistent, and he claimed…"
I raise a hand, silencing his apologies. "It's not your fault, Marco. But I need to speak with security immediately."
"Of course. They're waiting in the study."
"Signor De Luca," Alessio, the head of security begins, "we've escorted the American off the property. He was... resistant."
I can imagine. Brandon doesn't strike me as a man accustomed to being denied what he wants. "Where is he now?"
"We drove him to the village and left him at the small hotel there," the other guard explains. "He indicated he would be staying there tonight."
Which means he hasn't given up. The thought makes my jaw clench.
"I want the security protocols tightened," I instruct, pacing the length of the study.
"And if the American returns," I continue, stopping to face them directly, "he is to be removed immediately.”
Alessio's eyebrows rise slightly at the harshness in my tone. "Understood, Signor. We'll increase patrols around the perimeter as well."
"Good." I run a hand through my hair, suddenly aware of how tense my shoulders have become. "That will be all for now."
After they leave, I pour myself a glass of whiskey and move to the window, staring out at the moonlit vineyard. The amber liquid burns pleasantly as I take a long sip, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions Brandon's appearance has unleashed.
The sheer audacity of the man, showing up here uninvited, claiming Sasha as if she were a misplaced possession he'd come to retrieve. The memory of his smug face makes my fingers tighten around the glass.
What troubles me most is not his presence, but my reaction to it.
I've never considered myself a possessive man.
My relationships have always been casual, contained, with clear boundaries and expectations.
Yet the moment I saw Brandon standing in my foyer, something primal and fierce rose within me—a need to protect what's mine.
Mine. The word echoes in my mind, unsettling in its intensity.
Sasha isn't mine, not really. Our arrangement is temporary, a mutual exchange of companionship with no strings attached.
After some time, she'll return to America, and I'll resume my life as it was before she stumbled into it wearing that ridiculous wedding dress.
So why does the thought of her leaving feel like a physical ache in my chest?
I drain the whiskey and set the glass down harder than necessary. This is absurd. I'm acting like a lovesick teenager. I have no control of my emotions whatsoever, and I don’t like it.
I barely sleep that night. The thought of being in love and having a real relationship with Sasha keeps me awake.
I decide that I need a break, to clear my head. To come back to reality. Thankfully, Giovanni is still around. We can do some business as I put myself together.
That night, I plan a surprise for Sasha. We are going to stay at the villa for a little while longer and she’ll need company.
The sun comes up as Giovanni and I work. We have it been at it since dawn. Papers are spread before us—financial projections, acquisition proposals, and marketing strategies for the new resort development in Sardinia.
I've been burying myself in work deliberately, using the familiar territory of business to regain my balance after the unsettling revelations of last night.
"These projections look solid," Giovanni observes, sliding a document toward me. "The location is perfect—private enough for exclusivity, but accessible enough for convenience."
I nod, forcing myself to focus on the numbers before me rather than wondering what Sasha is doing right now. I left her sleeping in our bed, a hastily scribbled note explaining my early meeting. Part of me feels guilty for the abrupt departure, but I need this distance, this clarity.
"The environmental impact assessment came back better than expected," I note, flipping through the report. "We can proceed with minimal adjustments to the original design."
Giovanni makes a noncommittal sound, his eyes studying me rather than the documents. "You're unusually motivated this morning," he observes casually. "I don't think I've ever seen you voluntarily start work at six a.m. on a Saturday in Tuscany."
I ignore the implication behind his words. "The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get back to my guest."
"Ah yes, your guest." Giovanni leans back in his chair, a knowing smile playing at his lips. "The one who had you charging out of our meeting yesterday like the villa was on fire. The one whose ex-fiancé caused quite a stir last night, according to Marco."
I glare at him. "Is there a point to this, Giovanni?"
"Just observing that for someone in a 'casual arrangement,' you seem remarkably... invested." He shrugs, reaching for his coffee. "Almost as if there might be genuine feelings involved."
"Focus on the business at hand," I snap, more harshly than intended. "The personal aspects of my life aren't relevant to this discussion."
Giovanni raises his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, of course. Though as your friend as well as your advisor, I feel obligated to point out that you've been staring at the same page for ten minutes without turning it."
I glance down, realizing he's right. With a frustrated sigh, I close the folder. "Fine. You obviously have something to say. Say it."
Giovanni sets his coffee cup down carefully. "I think you're falling for her."
"That's absurd," I dismiss, though the words lack strength even to my own ears.
"Is it?" Giovanni raises an eyebrow. "You've never brought a woman to the villa before. Not once in all the years I've known you. Yet here she is, sleeping in your bed, wearing your clothes, and meeting your parents.”
Giovanni leans forward, resting his elbows on the polished surface of the desk.
"In the fifteen years I've known you, I've never seen you clear your schedule for a woman.
Not when that model from Milan wanted a weekend in Portofino.
Not when the ambassador's daughter practically threw herself at you in Paris.
Yet for Sasha, you've rearranged meetings, flown her to Tuscany on the private jet, and now you're working at dawn on a Saturday just so you can spend more time with her later. "
"I'm working because these documents need my attention," I counter, though the excuse sounds hollow even to my ears.
"Ah, yes," Giovanni chuckles, "suddenly the Sardinia project that you've been procrastinating on for weeks has become urgently important. The same project you told me could 'wait until after the summer' is now worthy of sacrificing your Saturday morning in Tuscany."
I glare at him, but say nothing. There's too much truth in his words.
"It's not a bad thing, you know," Giovanni continues, his voice softening. "Caring for someone."
"I don't—" I begin, then stop myself. What's the point in denying what's becoming increasingly obvious? "It's complicated."
Giovanni's expression turns serious. "Because of her ex? Or because you're afraid?"
"I'm not afraid," I snap.
"Aren't you?" Giovanni challenges. "You've spent years keeping women at a careful distance. Casual relationships, clear boundaries, no emotional entanglements. And it's worked well for you. Until now."
"She's leaving in a few weeks," I say finally. "Going back to America. Back to her life."
"And?" Giovanni prompts.
"And there's no point in... complicating things. We have an arrangement that works for both of us. Why risk ruining it?"
Giovanni sighs, the sound heavy with exasperation. "Because some risks are worth taking, mio amico."
Matteo’s words stay in my head, all day and by evening, I’m contemplating whether to take the risk.
I keep on asking myself what if Sasha doesn’t have feelings for me? What if she decides to go back home and forget about me?
When evening comes, I bury these thoughts and get ready to meet Sasha’s friends. They have flown in from America as a surprise, arriving just hours ago.
It easy to find them on social media and luckily for me, when I contacted them and asked them to visit my villa, they accepted. A few calls later, and the arrangements were made—four women boarding my private jet in Rome after their commercial flight from New York.
"They're here!" Sasha's excited voice carries from the terrace where she's been waiting. I hear the crunch of tires on gravel, followed by the sound of car doors and female voices exclaiming over the villa.
I find Sasha practically vibrating with excitement at the entrance, her simple black dress elegant against her sun-kissed skin. Her eyes meet mine, wide with disbelief.
"You did this?" she whispers as the sound of approaching footsteps grows louder. "You flew my friends to Tuscany?"
Before I can answer, the front doors burst open and four women spill into the foyer in a whirlwind of luggage, laughter, and rapid-fire English.
"SASHA!" they cry in near-unison, surrounding her in a group embrace that threatens to topple them all.
I stand back, observing the reunion with a mixture of satisfaction and apprehension. These women know the real Sasha and their opinion matters to her. Which means it matters to me.
"Oh my God, I can't believe you're all here!" Sasha exclaims, wiping tears from her eyes as she pulls back to look at each of them. "How did you—" She turns to me, understanding dawning. "Matteo?"
I step forward, hands in my pockets to hide my uncharacteristic nervousness. "I thought you might enjoy some familiar faces."
"You must be the billionaire," says the tallest of the group, a striking woman with long brown hair and sharp eyes that assess me with undisguised suspicion. "I'm Erina."
"A pleasure to meet you," I reply, extending my hand. Her grip is firm, her gaze unflinching.
"This is Naomi, Gabriella, and Isabelle," Sasha introduces the others, who regard me with varying degrees of curiosity and excitement.
"Your plane is INSANE," Gabriella gushes, her eyes wide. "And this place! The photos didn't do it justice."
"We've heard so much about you," Naomi adds with a knowing smile that makes me wonder exactly what Sasha has shared.
"Ladies, please," Sasha interjects, her cheeks flushing. "Let's get you settled before dinner."
Dinner is served in the villa's outdoor dining area, and I've instructed the staff to keep the wine flowing freely, a selection of the estate's finest vintages appearing at regular intervals. Perhaps the alcohol will soften Erina's piercing gaze, which hasn't left me since we sat down.
"So, Matteo," Naomi begins, swirling her wine with practiced elegance, "tell us how you and Sasha really met. She gave us the sanitized version, but we want details."
Sasha chokes slightly on her wine. "I told you everything!"
"You told us he was on your flight and you had dinner," Isabelle counters, leaning forward eagerly. "That's the outline, not the story."
I can't help smiling at their persistence. "We met on the flight from New York," I confirm, my eyes finding Sasha's across the table. "She was... memorable."
"Memorable how?" Gabriella presses, her eyes bright with interest.
"She was wearing a wedding dress," I reveal, earning gasps from around the table. "And she was crying."
"You didn't tell us that part!" Naomi exclaims, turning to Sasha with mock outrage.
Sasha's cheeks flush a delightful pink. "It wasn't my finest moment."
"It was honest," I counter, the memory vivid in my mind. "I found it refreshing.
"So you saw a crying woman in a wedding dress and thought, 'yes, that's relationship material'?" Erina asks, her skepticism evident.
I meet her gaze steadily. "I saw a woman brave enough to walk away from something that wasn't right, even when it would have been easier to stay. That kind of courage is rare."
Something shifts in Erina's expression—not quite approval, but perhaps a softening of her initial judgment.
"And then you just happened to run into each other again in Rome?" Isabelle asks, clearly enthralled by the story.
"Yes. At a bar and I invited her to dinner," I admit. "To show her that Rome had more to offer than heartbreak."
"Very smooth," Gabriella nods appreciatively, refilling her wine glass. "And now here you are, whisking her off to your Tuscan villa."
"Here we are," I agree, my eyes finding Sasha.
Fuck! I might be in love with her. Sasha reaches under the table and finds my hand which she takes into hers, giving it a little squeeze.
I am definitely in love with Sasha Moretti.