Chapter Ten
VALENTINO
The morning after the Aurelius dinner, the city outside my office windows stretches gray and restless under a heavy sky. Rain streaks the glass in silent lines.
I stand at the far end of the room reviewing the overnight security reports, but my mind keeps circling back to last night.
The way Margaret Aurelius had smiled at us like we were the perfect family unit.
The way Livia’s hand had rested on my thigh under the table, warm and trembling with urgency. The press of her fingers. The heat that had surged through me at her silent plea.
I had not corrected the assumption.
Now the lie sits between us like a live wire, and I need to address it before it burns everything down. I texted Livia to meet me in my office at nine.
She arrives precisely on time, wearing a tailored navy dress that skims her hips and draws my eyes despite every effort to keep them professional. Her hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder.
She closes the door behind her with a soft click and faces me, chin lifted in that way I am beginning to recognize as defensive armor.
“Mr. Ferretti,” she says evenly.
“Valentino,” I correct. “Given the circumstances, formalities feel pointless.”
She crosses her arms. “Circumstances. You mean the part where your client believes we are engaged and that Nico is our son.”
The word “our” lands with unexpected weight. I gesture to the seating area near the windows. “Sit.”
She remains standing. “I prefer to stand.”
I lean against the edge of my desk and study her. “Margaret’s assumption changes things. The consortium values family stability. They see it as proof that I understand what their protection contracts truly safeguard. Backing out now risks the entire deal.”
Livia’s eyes flash. “So your solution is to lean into the lie? Absolutely not. I will not pretend to be engaged to my boss. Not with Nico involved. He is not a bargaining chip. He’s a child.”
Her voice stays measured at first, but I hear the steel beneath it. Good. I prefer her honest.
“The invitation was extended to us as a family unit,” I reply calmly. “Refusing it now raises questions we cannot afford. Questions about your role here. Questions about why a single mother suddenly cannot attend with her child when full support has been offered.”
She takes a step closer, color rising in her cheeks. “You think throwing money and arrangements at this makes it acceptable? I told you before, powerful men always believe they can fix everything with resources. This is not a resource issue. This is my life. My son’s life.”
I push off the desk and close some of the distance between us. Not enough to touch. Enough to make her aware of me. “Your life includes a job that pays exceptionally well. A job that can clear your medical debt and secure your future. I am offering a structured solution, not chaos.”
“Structured?” She laughs without humor. “Pretending to be your fiancée for ten days in Hudson Valley is not structure. It is a minefield.”
The argument begins to heat. Her breathing quickens. I keep my tone level, but the pull toward her grows stronger with every word. “Then let me make it contractual. A temporary public engagement. No physical expectations beyond what is necessary for appearances.”
She looks at me, doubt in her eyes. “Really?”
“Full performance bonus on completion. Comprehensive childcare coverage for the duration and beyond. Immediate transfer to any department you choose afterward, or a glowing recommendation if you decide to leave Ferretti Global entirely.”
She stares at me, lips parted. For a moment she seems to weigh the offer.
Then she shakes her head. “Separate rooms at the estate. No unnecessary touching. Nico is not a prop for your business optics. We maintain the lie only about the engagement itself. Nothing more. And no questions about Venice.”
The last condition slips out before she can catch it.
“Venice?”
The single word drops between us like a stone in still water. Livia’s face drains of color. She recovers poorly, eyes darting away, fingers twisting the hem of her dress. “I meant…nothing. It was a slip. Forget it.”
I step closer. The air between us thickens. I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Her scent reaches me now, faint coconut lotion mixed with citrus, warm skin, something uniquely hers that stirs memories I cannot fully grasp. My body reacts instantly. Blood rushes south. My cock twitches against the fabric of my trousers.
I want to back her against the desk, slide my hand under that navy dress, and find out exactly how wet this argument has made her.
“You know something you do not want me to know,” I say quietly. My voice has dropped lower. “Something about Venice. About us.”
Her eyes lift to mine. We stand far too close now. Inches separate our bodies. I watch her lips part on a shaky inhale.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, lingers, then rises again. The tension coils so tight it feels electric.
In one wild second I imagine closing the gap, crushing my mouth to hers, tasting her, lifting her onto the desk and spreading her thighs while she gasps my name.
I imagine the slick heat of her, the way she would arch into me, nails digging into my shoulders as I drive deep and claim every secret she is hiding.
Her voice hitches. “Valentino…”
The sound of my name on her lips nearly breaks my control. I lean in until our lips nearly brush. Her breath fans across my skin, sweet and warm. One more centimeter and I would have her.
I can almost feel the softness of her mouth, the way her body would melt against mine. The restraint costs me as every muscle locks tight from holding myself back.
Too many things at stake. The deal. The boy. The questions already multiplying in my mind.
I deliberately step back. The distance feels punishing. Livia exhales sharply, as if she had been holding her breath. Color floods her cheeks again. She looks dazed, aroused, furious with herself and with me.
“Those are your terms?” I ask, forcing my voice back to business.
She nods once, swallowing hard. “Yes. Separate rooms. Nico stays out of the performance. No extra touching. And…if we happen to have to act more intimate than we should, it's not going beyond a light peck. On the mouth should be the very last resort.”
A slow smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“A light peck,” I repeat, the amusement impossible to hide from my voice. “On the mouth.”
Livia’s eyes narrow immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that. This isn't funny.”
I tilt my head slightly. “I think it’s interesting that you felt the need to specify mouth-related limitations with such vim.”
Her cheeks deepen in color. “Because apparently you negotiate like a hostile takeover attorney.”
“And you negotiate like someone already imagining scenarios where kissing me becomes unavoidable.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again.
For the first time since she walked into my office, I genuinely enjoy myself.
Livia exhales sharply and points a finger at my chest. “This is exactly what I mean. You're twisting my words around.”
“I understood the conversation perfectly.” My gaze drifts deliberately to her mouth before returning to her eyes. “No touching unless necessary. Separate rooms. Minimal affection. Kissing reserved for emergencies only.”
“That’s not what I said.”
My brow quirks up. “No?”
She makes a frustrated sound under her breath and turns away from me, pacing toward the rain-streaked windows. “This is a mistake,” she mutters.
“Probably.”
Her head snaps around at the easy agreement.
I fold my arms loosely across my chest. “But it’s still the most effective solution.”
The storm clouds outside darken the office in muted silver light. For a moment neither of us speaks.
Then quietly, without looking directly at me, she says, “Nico can’t get attached to this.”
I hold her gaze without flinching. “Agreed.” I move behind my desk to put solid wood between us. “I’ll have the contract drawn up this afternoon.”
She exits without another word, the door closing with a decisive click that echoes in the sudden silence of my office. I remain standing, hands braced on the desk, breathing through the raw need still pulsing through my veins.
My cock strains painfully against my zipper. The image of her parted lips refuses to fade. I can still smell her coconut and citrus scent clinging to the air.
The rest of the day passes in a controlled blur of meetings and preparations for the retreat. I sign documents, review strategies, and answer questions about the Aurelius partnership with my usual precision.
No one notices the undercurrent of frustration burning beneath my skin. By the time I reach my penthouse overlooking Central Park, night has fallen and the rain has intensified.
I loosen my tie the moment the elevator doors open into the apartment. The space feels too large, too empty.
I pour a glass of whiskey and stand at the windows, watching the city lights blur through the downpour.
Livia’s face keeps appearing in my mind. The hitch in her voice. The way her body had swayed toward mine in the office. The pulse beating wildly in her throat.
I set the glass down untouched and head for the shower.
Cold water hits my shoulders like needles. I stand under the icy stream, eyes closed, willing my body to calm. It does not. My cock remains rock hard, throbbing with unmet demand.
Water cascades down my chest, over the ridges of my abdomen, and lower. I brace one forearm against the marble wall and grip myself with the other hand.
The first stroke pulls a harsh breath from my throat. I picture Livia in that emerald dress from the dinner, the fabric clinging to her full breasts, the dip of her waist, the curve of her ass.
I imagine backing her into the conference room doorway again, only this time I do not stop. I kiss her hard, swallowing the little moan she would make.
My hand moves faster, slick from water and the precum leaking from the tip.
In my mind I push the navy dress up her thighs to find her panties already soaked. I tear them aside and sink two fingers into her tight heat.
She would be dripping for me, clenching around my fingers while she whimpers my name because she knows it this time.
I stroke myself with a rough, punishing rhythm, base to tip, twisting at the head the way I like it.
The fantasy changes into a different, more familiar scene. The same one from Venice where I went down on her in that moonlit library and feasted hungrily, drunk on the taste of her.
I see myself drop to my knees in front of her now, spread her legs wider, and bury my face between her thighs. I taste her, tongue fucking her clit while she grips my hair and rides my mouth.
“Fuck,” I growl under the spray.
The pressure builds fast and brutal. I imagine flipping her over the desk, kicking her legs apart, and thrusting into her from behind in one deep stroke.
Her pussy would grip me like a vice, hot and silky. I would pound into her relentlessly, one hand fisted in her hair, the other slapping her ass until it flushes pink.
She would push back against me, desperate, begging, coming hard around my cock while she cries out.
My balls tighten. The orgasm hits like a freight train. I groan loudly, the sound echoing off the shower walls as thick ropes of cum spill over my fist.
I keep stroking through it, drawing out every pulse, imagining filling her up, marking her, claiming what some buried instinct tells me is already mine.
The release is devastatingly powerful, leaving my legs unsteady and my chest heaving.
But it is not enough.
The cold water continues to pound against my back. My cock twitches again, still half-hard, already wanting more.
I lean my forehead against the marble, breathing hard, water streaming down my face. Livia’s addicting scent lingers in my memory. Her eyes, dark with the same hunger I feel. The slip about Venice. The secrets she guards so fiercely.
I shut off the water and step out, body still humming with unresolved tension. The night ahead feels long. The retreat looms. And the woman at the center of all of it has just agreed to pretend she belongs to me.
I’m not sure how long I can pretend it’s only an act.