Chapter 3 Nicola
NICOLA
The evening unfolded with a plated dinner, each course more decadent than the last. The place settings themselves shimmered under the glow of crystal chandeliers, dripping with elegance.
Once the final course was cleared and coffee had been poured, the evening transitioned into something more heartfelt.A woman who helped with the spotlighted animal shelter took to the podium in turn, offering a rather moving speech about how this money would save so many lives—reminders of why they were all gathered here beneath the chandeliers and candlelight.
A set of double doors at the far end of the ballroom slowly swung open.
Beyond them lay an entirely different world.
The second room pulsed with soft amber lights and golden uplighting that washed the walls, transforming the space into something intimate and electric.
A polished wood dance floor stretched out, with a stage tucked into the corner hosting a local DJ.
As guests filtered in, laughter grew louder, jackets came off, heels were kicked aside, and the room came alive.
“You did an amazing job, Nicola!” Lucia came over hugging my side quickly. “Everything has been perfect!”
“I had a very small hand in it all,” I brushed off her praise.
“I can’t believe the painting sold for that much, or that Dante bought it.
Or that we met Dante,” Lucia rambled cheerily, her cheeks flushed and her blonde hair sparkling under the light.
She was a burst of energy at most times, between her golden hair and her permanent smile.Add in her adorable daughter Gianna, and they really were sunshine incarnate.
“Let’s dance!” she shouted over the music, grabbing my hand, and then looked at Alexander and eyed her brother. “You too!” We all followed Lucia onto the dance floor. Anna joined after a few songs, leaning in near me and Lucia.
“I think I’m going to head back!” she shouted over the music.
“We can all go!” Lucia replied, looking around. Anna shook her head.
“No, no. You guys enjoy it! Nic, you did a wonderful job, the event was perfect! So proud of you.”
“Thank you!” I shouted back.
“Text us when you get back to your room, so we know you’re safe,” Lucia said, reaching out her arm. Alexander looked behind us.
“Make sure she gets back safe?” Alex asked. We turned to see Dante nod silently.
“Bye! Love you!” Lucia shouted, hugging Anna. Anna smiled saying she loved her right back. Instead of hugging me, she waved and then followed Dante.
“I cannot stress this enough; you look so hot in this dress. Nathaniel’s probably kicking himself,” Lucia said, ending in a little drunk giggle.
“He better fucking be.” I rolled my eyes, the alcohol clearly sinking in. Nathaniel was standing across the way, his smug smile faltering for a second when his eyes raked over me, landing on my curve-hugging dress like he just realized what he gave up. Good. I hoped it stung.
“Amore,” Matteo purred like we’d been attached at the hip all night, leaning in as he mumbled the term of endearment. “Play along, shithead is watching you.”
I didn’t miss a beat, leaning into him and whispering back, “You sure are aware of who’s staring at me.”
Nathaniel eyed Matteo warily, sizing him up.
Matteo in turn leaned into me and kissed my neck, then my shoulder, and looked up to me with overly adoring eyes making tiny explosions of goosebumps overtake my body and my breath hitch.
I was enveloped fully with that warm spiced cologne that Matteo favored.
I hoped he never used another one. I wanted to drown in it.
I tried to remind myself that I didn’t like Matteo, that I found him annoying and irritating and bothersome.
That this was for show and he was making a point, staking his fake claim. I should be mad.
My eyes glanced up and out of the haze of Matteo this close to my body. Nathaniel scowled toward Matteo before slinking off, his ego in shreds on the marble floor.
As soon as he was out of sight, I elbowed Matteo. “Amore?”
He smirked. “I was improvising.”
I barely had time to exhale before Matteo’s still-too-warm hand rested on my lower back. A possessive touch that shouldn’t have made my stomach flip the way it did.
“I didn’t need saving,” I muttered, stepping slightly to the side. His palm fell away.
“Didn’t say you did,” he said, tone maddeningly casual. “But I wanted him to watch and suffer.”
I glanced up at him. Matteo’s profile glowed under the chandelier light—sharp jaw, annoyingly perfect cheekbones, hair pushed back in that ‘styled but not really’ way that screamed effortlessness. He looked good. Infuriatingly good.
“I can handle Nathaniel.”
“I know.” He handed me a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray, and then added with a little smirk, “Still. No harm in watching him squirm, Amore.”
My grip on the glass tightened. The word sank into my bloodstream like a shot of something warm and heady. He said it like it meant nothing, like it was just part of his charm, but the way it rolled off his tongue? Yeah. No. Nope. That was not allowed.
“You’re the worst,” I said with a forced sip.
“Not tonight,” he replied. “Tonight, I’m your hero in a tux.”
“And tomorrow you’ll be back to being the arrogant pain in my ass.”
He leaned in slightly, eyes gleaming. “Can’t I be both?”
Before I could reply, the music changed to something slower, strings and elegance pulling over the room like velvet. The dance floor began to fill. Couples swirled in practiced rhythm, all champagne-laced laughter and candlelit romance. I took another sip, just to avoid looking at him.
Matteo offered his hand. “Come on, dance with me.”
I hesitated.
“It’ll make Nathaniel jealous; he’s still watching,” he added, too smoothly. I looked over and saw that he was right. Nathaniel had moved but was glaring daggers at Matteo, and something thrilled inside me at the thought of making him miserable the whole night.
I never said I wasn’t petty.
I rolled my eyes, said pettiness winning out. “Fine. One dance.”
His hand wrapped around mine, warm and sure, and I didn’t know how one dance turned into that—his palm pressed against the small of my back, our bodies closer than they should have been, the scent of his cologne clouding my thoughts.
I hated how well he moved. How we moved together. His hand shifted just slightly, his thumb brushing skin where my dress dipped low—and it was nothing. Nothing. Just a touch. A respectable touch at that. But my whole body reacted like he’d set a fuse to me.
“I thought you hated me,” he murmured near my ear, voice low, velvet and sin wrapped together in a way I’d never heard from him. My brain stuttered at it, and I tried to push through.
“I do,” I tried to pull back up my guard, lock my walls in, but then his thumb began moving in a painfully slow swipe across the skin on my back. It was a live wire to my core.
His chuckle vibrated against me. “Then why are you shivering under my touch?”
I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t even sure I could pull away.
But his touch left me, and he nodded toward the bar, giving me the option for a reprieve.
I took it because God knew I needed another drink and maybe some fresh air before my body betrayed me into being attracted to Matteo.
I tried to repeat to myself that he was a shameless flirt and had been a permanent annoyance since the start of season, but I couldn’t think much under the haze of his light touch.
The rest of the gala blurred after more drinks.
I found myself laughing too easily at his regular teasing.
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and I swore his fingers lingered longer than they should.
Our elbows touched at the bar. Our knees bumped beneath a cocktail table.
He kept calling me Amore with this soft smirk, loving that we had this little inside joke and I kept pretending I wasn’t letting it dig under my skin into places it shouldn’t reach.
We slipped away sometime past midnight. I don’t remember who suggested it. Or maybe we just drifted to a quieter space. The hallway was quiet and dim, the hum of the party fading behind thick walls and heavy doors.
“I should go,” I said, leaning against the cool plaster, trying to ignore the spinning in my head. From champagne. From proximity.
“Okay,” he said, voice low again, stepping closer to me as if he felt this pull between us and couldn’t help himself.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked.
His gaze dipped to my lips before returning to my eyes. The pause was painful, it felt like minutes or hours passed before he answered, barely saying the words out loud as if afraid to make them real. “I think you want to kiss me, Moretti.”
I did. God help me, I did.
His fingers caught my jaw, tilting it up, and for a half second my pride flared—ready to shove him off, to tell him he’d had the wrong idea if he thought I’d melt just because he looked at me like that.
But the fight didn’t come. Not when I could feel his breath warm against my mouth, not when the room was spinning from too much liquor and too much wanting I shouldn’t have felt.
I should have pulled back. I should have stopped it before it started.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Instead, I leaned in.
Our lips brushed, just the faintest, teasing touch, and it sent a sharp jolt down my spine. Sparks raced beneath my skin. My stomach twisted, a molten ache pooled low, and suddenly nothing in the world mattered but the half-inch of space left between us.
Then he closed it.