Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
I Should Have Known Better
Chiara
It’s the end of the second week in Los Angeles for my work trip, and we leave for our final week in Miami tomorrow.
Before I left, I visited AJ and we video called Uncle Gino together to inform him of my plan and whereabouts for the coming weeks.
My uncle was irate that I not only didn’t return to Italy, but I would be travelling out of New York, too.
As the sole female in the family, he’s fiercely protective of me and my future—one he likes to control as if he has some claim to it.
I was delighted at getting my way and forging ahead with my plans and in doing so making his life difficult by messing with his grand schemes.
Luckily, both he and AJ had complete faith in Marco, who they said must accompany me the entire trip.
We also discussed the picture I’d sent them, and confirmed what I’d thought all along.
I felt equal parts relieved and guilty for keeping something so important from Marco after all the ways he’d protected and stuck his neck out for me, but both men commanded I keep my mouth shut.
Knowing too well my fondness for rebellion, AJ reinforced the command with a threat of his own. “Stay quiet, otherwise you can forget the deal for you to stay in New York as part of your Law Daddy’s little side quest.”
He’s not my Law Daddy, I wanted to yell.
He’s not my anything. I haven’t heard from Raf since he gave me the best kiss of my life and left me wearing nothing but a towel and emotions that have ping-ponged up and down like a Wi-Fi signal.
Sophia has been liaising with me to finalize all the paperwork for my job with Natalia.
Regardless of the way he crashed his lips into mine, if it wasn’t clear before, it’s crystal clear now: I’m nothing to him.
Not even a priority client considered worthy of direct communication with him, my attorney.
I drag my fingertips along my lips, hoping to still feel the dull throb after the bruising kiss he gave me before all but confirming with finality there would never be an us.
Deep down I think I always knew I wasn’t good enough for someone so…
sophisticated. So upstanding. So prestigious as Raf Princi.
Though he’d let me peep the other side—the dominant, possessive wolf that lies in wait just beneath the surface—I think that was just a blip.
More a case of me doing what I do best—driving people to the brink of their sanity.
I’ve always been like this. Relentless in the pursuit of getting what I want.
I zero in. Fixate. Poke and prod until I get the reaction I’m chasing.
But just like Alessandro proved to me, I’ll always just be a means to an end.
A moving, dispensable part in a master plan.
Once my role has been played, there will be no use for me.
Still, I can’t fight the niggle of the bigger question—why does Raf care who I may or may not be married off to?
Why would a private man like him light the kindle to stoke the speculation of a supposed relationship between us in an arson-like move?
And not just that, why would he suggest we take it one step further to fan those flames by having me attend the Law Gala as his date.
Sophia told me during one of our phone calls that it would be the first time in over two years that he’s been seen publicly with a date.
Why would he want to hitch his cart to me?
What do I have to offer him except problems and a family that takes care of problems in the most questionable fashion.
“Hellloooo…Earth to Chiara,” calls Marco, bringing his head low to catch my downcast eyes as I absentmindedly stir my wasabi into the soy in the little petri dish in front of me.
I lift my eyes to meet his. We’re having Japanese at Nobu before heading to the hottest L.A.
hotspot with the rest of the team for a wrap party hosted by the brand we’ve been shooting for.
All the celebrity ambassadors are included.
It should be a fun night, yet whenever I am not distracted, my thoughts meander straight back to the intense lawyer with the grumpy demeanor and pillowy lips I’m convinced I’ll never feel again.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he pushes.
“Gonna take a lot more than a penny,” I say.
“Ah. Trying the good old extortion tactic. I’ve got your number. Money is no object, so name your price.”
This is why I like this guy—and loathe him. He is so intuitive; he just knows shit. Knows when I’ve wandered off somewhere far away and makes a point to pull me back, to make sure I feel like I can confide in him. And God I wish I could. But I don’t. I can’t. Especially not now.
“Have you spoken to Sophia?” I try to divert the conversation instead, because how does one say: Hey, Marco!
Did you know the family business AJ had to return to Sicily for is entirely so they can work out what to do about this little revelation we’ve uncovered about you?
Or what about, Hey, Marco, what would you say if I told you everything you believed about yourself for the last thirty years is a big fat lie?
“We’re talking through things. Texts and long phone calls when we can. She’s incredibly busy with the Law Gala plans.” He pauses, his brow furrowed and a flash of worry in his emerald eyes. “But nice try. Spill. What’s eating at you?”
“Why is Raf avoiding me?” I feel like a teenager in a schoolyard even asking the question, but fuck it.
“Why do you think he’s avoiding you?”
“Well firstly, I haven’t heard from him since that day he decided we’d keep up the ruse of us being more than friends.
Then he told me Sophia would be looking after my legal affairs even when I signed on as his client.
Sophia’s great,” I add quickly, “but I guess I just feel like I’m not important enough for him…
or I don’t know!” I grab my Amaretto sour and take a big swig.
Marco eyes me warily, and I don’t miss his silent warning to slow down because we both remember what happened last time.
Except part of me thinks I’d drink a hundred more of them if it would mean I could have Raf’s arms around me again.
“The most plausible answer is that Sophia works under him, and I know that once Raf sets the wheels in motion on a case, Sophia runs point on the rest. He works big and complicated cases, so he has to pass on the grunt work.” He eyes me with an intensity that’s telling of his loyalty to Raf and the strength of their friendship.
“But if you’re asking me, and he’ll probably punch me in the face like he punched your cousin for saying this, I think you’ve got him running scared.
He’s had his heart and trust broken in the past, and he swore off relationships and love.
And honestly, the motherfucker has stuck to his vow like a monk.
” He huffs a laugh. “But I think you’ve rattled the hornet’s nest of this vow never to give a piece of himself to another woman. ”
“What happened to make him this way?” I ask, while silently reeling over the confirmation that he did in fact punch AJ in the face. For me?
“Not my story to tell. I won’t betray his trust like that. But as I’ve always believed for Sophia and me, if you’re soulmates, you’ll find your way to each other.”
“Well aren’t you Mr. Romantic,” I tease. “As much as I’d like to share in your optimism, it’s just not how life works for me. As you’re well aware, I put a whole new meaning to ’til death do us part, minus the love and wedding.”
He reaches out and squeezes my hand in understanding. “You can’t carry that burden, Chi,” he says softly.
“It’s mine to carry, Marco. To be honest, Raf’s probably the smartest one out of us all. Love is beautiful torture. Only the strongest weather it.”
“I don’t disagree, but it’s also worth fighting for.” In the silent moment that passes between us, I can tell by his steely expression that he means that with all his soul.
Our food arrives and conversation turns to questions he has about everything he’s seen me doing on set—where he’s remained on guard unobtrusively—and what the next career progression is for me and my ultimate dream.
That’s easy. My own exhibition in my own little studio that doubles as a gallery too.
Once we finish dinner, we move onto the club, where I do in fact drink quite a few Amaretto sours and hit the dance floor with some of the crew.
I scan the room. There’s a lot of beautiful people here—and no shortage of handsome men in expensive suits and sporting luxury watches.
But I don’t find the one I want because none have eyes the rich shade of deep chocolate or sharp jaw with the perfectly manicured dark bead and tousled dark hair that looks as if fingers have been run through it repeatedly.
Someone passes me another drink, and Marco eyes me with a raised eyebrow, mouthing Last one to me. I mock salute him and mouth back Yes boss.
I’ve been so wrapped up in living in the moment I haven’t checked my phone once, and when I finally do, I see the one name I’ve prayed, wished, and hoped to see for almost the last three weeks flash on my screen and come to a standstill on the dance floor.
Bodies move all around me. I am jostled and bumped in the wave of people, but all I care about is the messages from the man I should despise but can’t stop obsessing over.
Raf:
Hello, Ms. Gigioliotti. I know you’re back in New York only a few days before the Law Gala, so I’m just letting you know I have organized your outfit.
Hi, Raf. Miss you too.
Raf:
Didn’t anyone tell you not to put words in their mouth.
I prefer other things in my mouth but I digress…
I don’t recall telling you my sizes.
Raf:
I’m a good guess.
That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. Are you trying to ruin my style cred?
Raf:
Wouldn’t dream of it.
I have very expensive taste.
Raf:
I have eyes. I’m aware of your penchant for designer brands.
Raf:
I’ve briefed Evie. She knows what she’s doing. Can you tell me a date and time that’s good for a fitting, please.
So polite with your hellos and pleases.
Raf:
Good to know you’re still a brat.
A smile spreads on my face at the memory of the last time I was on a dance floor like this and the threat he made to tame my bratty behavior.
Before I have a chance to respond, a song we’ve loved on set comes on, and one of the hair and makeup artists grabs me to dance.
I do so, clutching my phone in my hand, giddy from alcohol and the fact Raf—my Raf—has messaged me.
I’m letting the music take control of my body, swaying my hips and lifting my hands in the air.
I quickly flick the camera up on the screen and take a selfie of me dancing with friends, lifting my Amaretto sour towards the lens in a cheers motion, making sure the angle shows off my cleavage in the cowl-neck halter top I’m wearing.
No bra. In the background, there’s sweaty bodies, faces, eyes closed in ecstasy and the flash of lights.
I don’t think twice before sending it to Raf, quickly adding:
Still a brat. Does the offer to have my ass spanked stand?
I bite my lip and giggle to myself as I move my body in time to the beat.
The dopamine hit of having his attention even in the smallest way has jolted me back to life, reviving me.
I feel strong hands rest on my hips and pull me close—I can tell it’s a guy, and as much as my mind, body, and soul want it to be Raf, he smells all wrong.
Too citrusy. Notes too sharp and fresh. Not at all rich and intoxicating like the man making my phone vibrate in my hand with a string of new messages.
My heart picks up speed. The lights feel too bright, the air too thick.
I am rifling through my memories, the ones attached to this familiar scent permeating my nose and making my stomach churn.
The private hotel rooms I visited when I should have been studying.
The late-night meetups at underground clubs just like this.
Private dinners on his yacht—if it even was his, now that I know the con man he is.
I could just turn my head and look for myself, but I don’t need to. His voice confirms the worst.
“Hello, baby doll,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve missed you, bella mia.” The room spins and color drains from my face. I whirl around to see if I’m hallucinating or if that voice indeed belongs to the one man I thought I would never see again.
Acid burns my throat, and I don’t have time to respond or act because Marco inserts himself between me and him, blocking most of my sight of him with his broad back.
I peer around Marco’s body, my eyes connecting with his, a murderous expression marring his still too-perfect face before he slinks off into the crowd.
Everything else about him is different, but I’ll never forget those piercing aquamarine eyes—ones that once invaded my dreams until they became the ones that haunted my nightmares.
Alessandro.