Chapter Forty-Four
Chiara
Lucas’ hand is splayed possessively on my lower back as he guides me inside.
He had insisted we go to this fundraiser gala, saying it was important people see us as a married couple.
I couldn’t argue with that, so I agreed for appearance’s sake.
But now that we are entering the hall of one of the greatest hotels where the gala is hosted, my stomach is roiling, and my breath becomes short.
As if sensing my nervousness, Lucas leans in and murmurs into my ear, “You look like every man’s dream, cara mia.
” I stiffen at the exact words he once said.
But he merely tightens his grip, preventing me from stepping aside.
“Only now,” he rasps darkly against my temple, “they can dream all they want, because you are mine.”
He stops and gazes down at me, eyes blazing, daring me to challenge him.
When he sees that I am at a loss for words, he cups my jaw to tilt my face up and brushes his lips over mine in a deceptive tender kiss.
My treacherous heart lurches in my chest, and the contact sends a spark down my spine. But I know he does it only for show.
The week following the cemetery incident had been a dance of cold words by day, and blistering touches in the dead of night.
It’s as if I was living with two different men and my mind can’t grasp the two sides of him.
The only truth I know is that with every touch, every caress, he splits my chest open wider, wrapping his fist tighter around my heart until there is nothing left than complete surrender.
His words in the car broke me but his hands put me back together again, and my mind is still reeling from the aftermath.
Today he is outwardly composed and considerate, but I can feel the restraint coiling under his skin like a beast waiting to leap out and tear my throat.
Before I can collect myself, he starts to move again, guiding me into the ballroom with his hand on the small of my back.
I inhale deeply, willing my hands to stop shaking, and we emerge in the huge, opulent room where hundreds of guests are already milling around, drinking, laughing and gossiping.
The room is sumptuous, the polished marble floors are reflecting the lights of the chandeliers high above us, low music is coming from the stage where a string quartet performs Schubert’s repertoire.
Despite having been to hundreds of events, I still feel the overwhelming mix of awe and inadequacy taking hold, and despite our disagreement, I am grateful to feel Lucas’ grounding presence next to me. Maybe it isn’t so bad that he—
“Lucas,” a voice purring his name interrupts my musing.
Tiffany Greco. Just perfect. The last person on earth I wanted to ever see again.
She gives him a blinding smile, not sparing me a glance. Not that I was vying for her attention, anyway.
“There you are! And you brought your friend.” She finally turns to acknowledge me with a fake smile. I nod, forcing my expression to remain impassive as the nearby guests cast us curious glances.
She gives me a look of fake concern as she goes on. “Chiara dear, we’ve all been worried, you’ve disappeared from our circle for so long. But I suppose Lucas and I kept things lively while you were away.”
Lucas’ jaw ticks—he doesn’t bother with politeness as he bands his arm possessively around my middle.
“Tiffany, we never met once during the months Chiara was away. And there is no ‘Lucas and I’—don’t put my name next to yours ever again.
” His voice is sharp and sounds like a thunderclap, making a hush fall over the small knot of guests around us.
“And,” he goes on in the same tone, “the only woman who’s ever held my attention is standing right beside me. My wife.” His hold intensifies around my waist as people now openly gape at us.
Tiffany blinks for a beat, then she looks at me with a disbelieving laugh. “Your wife? Oh, come on, Lucas. I’ve heard the gossip, but we all know you’ve never committed to anything or anyone longer than a weekend.”
Lucas doesn’t flinch as he stares her down. “Believe it or not, I don’t care. Chiara is mine.”
With those words, he crushes his lips on mine in a possessive kiss, tongue darting out to publicly stake his claim. I gasp and tense, but he looks unfazed when he pulls back, while my face is on fire from his indecent display of possessiveness.
Tiffany, however, looks like she might faint. She searches his face, probably waiting for the smirk or the telltale wink, indicating this was one of his jokes. But it never comes, and she stands there, mouth agape.
“Come, cara mia,” Lucas murmurs as he pushes me on. “Let’s get a drink.”
I can’t breathe, my skin burns where Lucas’ hand rests against me and my lips are tingling. I should say something, anything, but my throat is tight and all I can do is let him drag me through a wall of curious and speculative gazes as if I belonged to him. Maybe that’s what he wants them to see.
The evening goes by in a blur of champagne, polite conversations and dances after dinner and auctions.
And Lucas never leaving my side. After he pulled me into a slow, sensual Bolero, he took my hand and led me to the bar.
Now we are sipping our drinks, him whiskey and me sparkling water, when his phone vibrates.
He pulls it out of his jacket pocket and frowns down at the screen.
He reads the text and his face swivels to the other end of the room where one of his men motions him over, face tense.
Lucas stiffens, jaw tight. “I don’t want to leave you.”
My treacherous heart leaps in my chest despite myself. “It’s fine,” I reassure him, “go, I’ll be right here.”
He hesitates for a beat, then he cups my face, drags his thumb over my lower lip and leans in for a scorching kiss. Then he turns with a low curse, and is gone.
I stand rooted to the spot for several seconds, too dazed to move, before I pull myself together and turn back to the bar. Suddenly, a voice behind me makes my head swivel around.
“Is it true?” Nathan Wellington is standing way too close, looking down at me with a mix of anguish and anger.
“Nathan, good evening,” I reply evenly, not wanting to attract attention.
“Is it true?” he repeats through clenched teeth. “Are you married? And to Lucas Romano of all people…”
I start to feel annoyed. First Tiffany, now Nathan.
What is their problem with Lucas and my marital status?
But as much as I want to tell him off, I still have the sense of pretense ingrained too deeply to cause a scene.
I merely shrug my shoulders and start to step away.
But his hand darts out to catch my arm and when I look up, I find his eyes imploring me.
“Dance with me? For old times’ sake.”
I hesitate for a second. But it’s just a dance, if this could appease him, then fine. I exhale slowly and nod. He leads me to the dance floor and pulls me close with a charming smile that makes my skin prickle with uneasiness.
“You look stunning tonight—”
“Nathan, stop,” I cut him off softly, trying to keep the moment light. “You’re going to give me a big head.”
He laughs and twirls me around so suddenly that I give a startled laugh. And that’s when a tingle makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.
Lucas is back. I scan the crowd and spot him standing on the other side of the room, eyes locked on us. The look on his face is murderous.
He doesn’t move at first, he just watches us, and I can feel the weight of his gaze latched on Nathan’s hand resting on the small of my back.
Then he stalks toward us, jaw tight and violence written all over his face.
People part instinctively, sensing the danger.
He reaches us, grabs my arm to rip me out of Nathan’s hold and pulls me flush against his chest.
“Dance is over,” he growls, low and menacing.
My heart starts to hammer in my chest and the room blurs as he spins me away and drags me off the dance floor. He doesn’t stop until he has shoved me out into a secluded balcony. He follows and slams the door shut.
“Lucas,” I start, but he has me pushed against the wall in a blink and the air whooshes out of my lungs.
“Are you out of your mind?” His voice is a whipcrack as he is looming over me, caging me in, crowding me against the wall. “I leave for five fucking minutes, and I come back to find his hands all over you?”
“He asked for a dance,” I protest, breath shallow. “I didn’t want to cause a scene—”
“You think I give a damn about a scene?” His face is inches from mine now, eyes burning with cold fury in the darkness. “You’re mine. No one touches what’s mine, ever.”
His words ripple through me, the mix of heat and anger coiling into something heady.
My back is pressed against the cold stone while the force of his fury washes over me in waves so tangible that my breath catches and my chest heaves.
His whole presence is swallowing me, choking me like a toxic cloud.
“I should drag you out of here right now,” he grits out between his clenched teeth, restraint turning his voice into a growl—sounding barely human. “But maybe letting everyone see you flushed and trembling by my side will be punishment enough.”
“What do you m—”
Before I can grasp what he said, his mouth slams over mine, hard and punishing.