Chapter 15 - Girls’ Night, Billionaire Boyfriend Drama
Sasha
"He's completely in love with you," Gabriella declares the moment we're alone in my suite. After dinner, Matteo politely excused himself, claiming work that needed his attention, but not before arranging for us to have the villa's media room to ourselves for a "proper girls' night."
"Don't be ridiculous," I protest, though warmth spreads through my chest at her words. "This is just an arrangement."
"An arrangement?" Erina raises an eyebrow, sprawling across the massive bed. "He flew us to Tuscany as a surprise, Sasha. Private jet and all."
"And the way he looks at you," Isabelle adds, twirling in the center of the room. "Like you're the only person who exists."
I busy myself pouring prosecco into glasses, avoiding their knowing gazes. "It's complicated."
"Uncomplicate it," Naomi suggests, accepting her glass. "Tell us the truth. Is this real or not?"
I sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the weight of my deception. These are my closest friends. If I can't be honest with them, who can I be honest with?
"It started as an arrangement," I admit. "After that night we spent together, he proposed a mutually beneficial agreement. I'd be his date for social events, keeping his mother and other women off his back. In return, he'd show me Italy, give me a distraction from the whole Brandon disaster."
"A fake relationship?" Gabriella's eyes widen. "Like in the movies?"
"Exactly like in the movies," I confirm, taking a large sip of prosecco. "Except..."
"Except now it doesn't feel fake anymore," Erina finishes for me, her expression softening.
I nod, unable to find the words for the storm of emotions inside me. "I'm falling for him. Hard. And I think... I think he might feel something too."
"Of course he does!" Isabelle exclaims. "You should have seen his face when you weren't looking. Like a man who can't believe his luck."
"But what happens when I go home?" I ask, voicing the fear that's been growing since I realized my feelings weren't just pretend anymore. "My life is in New York. His is here. And we've barely known each other two weeks."
"Sometimes when you know, you just know," Naomi says gently.
"You sound like my mother," I groan, falling back against the pillows.
"Speaking of mothers," Gabriella interjects, a mischievous glint in her eye. "We need to do something fun tonight. Something besides sitting around this magnificent villa talking about your billionaire boyfriend problems."
"Like what?" I ask suspiciously.
"I may have done some research," she admits, pulling out her phone. "There's a club in the village. Nothing fancy, but apparently, it's the only place within twenty miles where you can dance until 3 AM. It's called La Luna Rossa."
"A club?" I echo, glancing down at my simple black dress. "I didn't exactly pack club attire for a weekend in Tuscany."
Isabelle's face lights up as she unzips her suitcase. "Lucky for you, I packed for every possible scenario." She pulls out a shimmering silver mini dress that catches the light with every movement. "This would look amazing on you."
"We can't just leave," I protest weakly, even as I reach for the dress. "Matteo would—"
"Matteo would what?" Naomi challenges, already applying fresh lipstick. "He's working, remember? And you're a grown woman having a night out with her friends."
"Besides," Gabriella adds, digging through her own bag for accessories, "when's the next time we'll all be together in Tuscany? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!"
Erina, usually the voice of reason, shrugs. "I say we go. Live a little, Sasha. You've had enough drama this week to last a lifetime. You deserve some uncomplicated fun."
Twenty minutes later, I barely recognize myself in the mirror. The silver dress hugs every curve, ending high on my thighs. Gabriella has loaned me a pair of strappy heels that make my legs look endless, while Naomi has transformed my natural makeup into something smoldering and dramatic.
"How are we even getting there?" I ask as we finish the bottle of prosecco. The familiar warmth of alcohol buzzes pleasantly through my veins, making the idea of sneaking out seem more thrilling than reckless.
"I chatted up that cute gardener while you were getting changed," Isabelle announces proudly. "He's arranged for a car to pick us up at the side entrance in five minutes. No one will even notice we're gone."
"This is insane," I laugh, the combination of prosecco and adrenaline making me light-headed. "I feel like I'm sixteen again, sneaking out of my parents' house."
"Except your 'parent' is a ridiculously hot Italian billionaire," Gabriella quips, adjusting her own dress, a vibrant red number that seems designed to turn heads.
"Who is not my keeper," I add firmly, gathering my courage along with a small clutch. "Let's do this."
We slip through the villa, giggling and shushing each other as we navigate the dimly lit corridors. The side entrance Isabelle mentioned leads to a small garden path, where, true to her word, a car waits with its engine running.
As Gabriella said, the club is nothing fancy, at least not like anything in New York, but we are drunk and determined to dance our heels off.
Gabriella grabs my hand, pulling me toward the bar. "Four shots of tequila and whatever local specialty you recommend!" she tells the bartender, a young Italian with tattoos snaking up his arms.
He grins, producing a bottle with clear liquid. "Limoncello. Homemade by my grandmother."
We toast with the tequila first, the familiar burn chasing away any lingering doubts about our impromptu adventure. The limoncello follows—sweet, potent, and dangerously easy to drink.
"To freedom!" Naomi declares.
"To Italy!" adds Isabelle.
"To hot Italian men!" Gabriella raises her glass higher.
"To new beginnings," I finish, clinking my glass against theirs.
The alcohol hits my system in a rush of warmth, melting away the last of my nerves. When Erina pulls me onto the dance floor, I follow without hesitation, letting the music wash over me.
The dance floor fills as the night progresses, bodies pressing closer in the limited space. The combination of tequila, limoncello, and freedom makes me bolder than usual. I dance with abandon, arms raised above my head, hips swaying to the beat.
Gabriella and Isabelle dance nearby, occasionally forming a circle with Naomi and Erina. We laugh and sing along to songs we recognize, butchering the Italian lyrics to ones we don't.
I’m dancing with Erina when a hard body comes behind me. I recognize Matteo from his scent even before I turn to take a look at him.
I feel strong hands grasp my waist from behind, the touch instantly familiar. The scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely Matteo envelops me as he pulls me against his chest. My heart pounds as I turn to face him, expecting to see desire in his eyes. Instead, I find fury.
"What are you doing here?" he demands, his voice barely audible over the pulsing music. His jaw is clenched tight, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble that's grown since morning.
"Dancing," I reply, the alcohol in my system making me braver than I should be. "Having fun with my friends."
His eyes darken as they travel down my body, taking in the silver dress that now seems much shorter and tighter than it did at the villa. "In this? Looking like this?"
I step back, irritation flaring. "How did you even find me?"
"Security noticed you leaving," he says tersely. "And your little escape wasn't exactly subtle. Half the staff saw five American women giggling their way into an unmarked car."
By now, my friends have noticed Matteo's presence. Erina steps closer, her protective instincts visible in her squared shoulders.
"Everything okay here?" she asks, eyeing Matteo warily.
"Fine," I assure her, though the tension between Matteo and me is palpable. "We're just talking."
"Outside," Matteo says, not a request but a command. His hand finds the small of my back, guiding me firmly toward the exit.
I bristle at his tone but follow anyway, shooting a reassuring glance at my friends. The cool night air hits me as we step into the alley behind the club, the music now a muffled thump.
"What were you thinking?" Matteo demands the moment we're alone. "Leaving the villa without telling me, coming to a place like this, dressed like…" He gestures to my outfit, struggling for words.
"Like what?" I challenge, crossing my arms. "Like a woman having fun with her friends? The friends YOU invited, by the way."
"I invited them to the villa, not to watch you parade around half-naked in some village club where any man could…" He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Any man could what?" I press, stepping closer. The limoncello and tequila are still thrumming through my veins, making me reckless. "Touch me? Look at me? Is that what you're worried about, Matteo?"
His eyes flash dangerously. "I saw the way they were watching you. The way that bartender couldn't take his eyes off you."
"So?" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Why do you care? This is an arrangement, remember? For show. Not real."
The words hang between us, sharp and challenging.
"Is that what you think?" Matteo's voice drops lower, taking on that dangerous edge. "That this is just for show?"
He steps closer, eliminating the space between us until I'm forced to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. The heat radiating from his body is intoxicating, more potent than any alcohol.
"Isn't it?" I challenge, though my voice wavers. "That was the agreement. I play your girlfriend, you show me Italy. No strings attached."
His laugh is short and bitter, his breath warm against my face. "And is that why you're wearing this dress? Why you're dancing like that in there? Part of our arrangement?"
I swallow hard, acutely aware of how exposed I feel in Isabelle's silver dress. The fabric clings to my curves, reflecting the moonlight with every breath I take. Matteo's eyes follow the movement, darkening with what I now recognize as desire mingled with his anger.
"I'm allowed to have fun," I insist, though the conviction in my voice is fading. "To dance with my friends. To feel beautiful."
"You are beautiful," he growls, his accent thickening as his control slips further. "Too beautiful. Every man in that club wants you. And I can't stand it."
The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. There's no artifice here, no performance for the benefit of others. We're alone in a back alley in a tiny Tuscan village, and Matteo De Luca is laying his soul bare.
"Why?" I press, needing to hear him say it. "Why can't you stand it?"
His hands come up to frame my face, his touch gentler than his tone would suggest. "Because you're mine," he says fiercely. "Not for show. Not for some arrangement. Mine."
The possessiveness in his voice should offend me. I should step back, remind him that I belong to no one. But instead, I find myself melting into his touch, my body responding to the primal claim in his words.
“Sei mio dolcezza.” The cool stone wall presses against my back as Matteo moves closer still.
Then before I know it, I’m claiming his lips hungrily. Matteo groans as he picks me up by my thighs and I wrap my legs around him.
My mind is screaming at me. Telling me how crazy this it, but I tune out the voice as Matteo mutters that I’m his over and over again in between our desperate kisses.