44 | We're going to share a bed?
The door to the bedroom clicks shut behind us, and I stand frozen for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.
Luciano's bedroom. A place I've never been before. The room is large, dark, and understated, much like the man who inhabits it. The dark curtains are drawn, and the furniture is polished and grand. It's not a room meant for comfort or softness, but power.
The maids begin unloading the suitcases, setting them neatly by the bed.
Luciano's mother steps forward and says, "You should rest now. Dinner will be in a few hours. I'll let you settle in."
With a small nod, she and the maids leave the room, the door clicking softly behind them. And then, it's just the two of us.
I glance around, my stomach tightening. The bed is large, too large for just one person. And, now that we're alone, the weight of the situation settles on me like a heavy fog.
"We're going to share a bed?" I ask, my voice sharp but quiet, trying to mask the unease gnawing at me. "We've never shared a bed before."
Luciano doesn't answer right away. Instead, he walks over to the bed, shedding his jacket and tossing it aside before he starts loosening his dark tie.
The movements are sharp, deliberate, almost angry, as he yanks at the fabric and tosses it onto the chair next to the bed.
Then he works on the top buttons of his shirt, exposing a hint of dark chest hair, and for a brief moment, I forget myself, my attention caught on the rawness of his energy.
"Why?" he asks, his voice a low rasp. "You wish it was Franco instead?"
I stand there, frozen, trying to ignore the anger simmering in my chest.
"Why are you mad?" I bite back, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "If my sister was still alive, you wouldn't even look in my direction."
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. My heart races with a mixture of anger and jealousy.
Luciano's expression darkens. His jaw tightens, and before I can even blink, he's right in front of me. He pulls me in by the back of my neck. It's not a gentle grip, no, it's possessive, the kind of touch that makes everything inside me tighten and my heart skip a beat.
He's always looming over me, his large frame a constant reminder of his size.
But now, he leans down just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes locking with mine.
A shiver runs through me, his mere gaze sending a shiver deep within as the scent of his masculine cologne fills my senses, intoxicating and overwhelming.
"Aurelia..."he says in a low voice. "Don't test my patience. Not tonight."
I struggle against him, my pulse racing, but he doesn't loosen his grip. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and full of something I can't quite place. Something that's both dangerous and... too intimate.
"It was one thing allowing Franco near you," he continues, his voice low and seething with restrained jealousy. "But it's another thing entirely hearing you say you wish you'd married him instead."
I can't look away from him. He holds me in place, forcing me to meet his dark brown eyes. The rage in his gaze burns into me, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I've overstepped. Like I've said too much.
His thumb traces along my spine, his grip loosening just a fraction, but I'm still pinned by his presence.
The room feels smaller now, the air thicker. He stares at me like he's searching for something, an apology? An admission? I don't know. But I can see it in his eyes. The pain. The fury. The jealousy.
"Why do you care?" I ask, my voice trembling despite myself. "It's not like you love me, right?"
Luciano's eyes darken even further, and for a moment, I think I've gone too far. But then he exhales slowly, the tension in his body easing, just slightly.
"Feelings can always change, principessa," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The way he says it, so quietly, almost as if it's a secret he's willing to share, throws me off balance.
I swallow hard, my chest tightening. He releases his grip on me, and for a moment, I feel light-headed, like I've been holding my breath for far too long.
He steps back, his expression unreadable as he walks toward the bathroom. But just as he's about to close the door behind him, he stops and looks right into my eyes.
"I knew this wasn't going to be an easy marriage, Aurelia," he says softly, almost like a confession. "But that doesn't mean I don't care about you."
And with that, the door clicks shut, leaving me standing in the middle of his room, alone.
The silence is deafening.
I stare at the closed door for what feels like an eternity, my mind racing, trying to process everything.
I don't know what just happened. But one thing is for sure: I've never seen this side of Luciano before. The anger, the vulnerability, the way his eyes had looked at me as if they were searching for something, answers, maybe? I don't know. But it shakes me to my core.
Suddenly a new thought creeps into my mind.
Maybe I don't want him to stop caring.
But I can't admit that. Not to him. Not yet.
I take a seat on the edge of the bed, my hand on my neck, still feeling the warmth of his hand lingering like a soft kiss.
What the fuck should I do now?