CHAPTER 14
Edoardo
“Mate,” Clive says, hooking an arm around my shoulder and physically hauling me across the room, “you haven’t gotten laid in a while, have you?”
I don’t even bother answering.
“That’s why you’re so fucking rigid,” he adds cheerfully, “stiff as a board.”
I shoot him a look sharp enough to draw blood.
“Relax,” he says, “let’s find someone for you tonight.”
“I don’t need your help.” I scoff.
But his attention isn’t on me anymore. Of course.
“Hello there.” A polished and practiced grin snaps into place as Clive slides up to three girls hovering around champagne flutes. “Mind if we join you for a drink?”
His rule: never approach girls in pairs. Three is the sweet spot. Chaos, divided attention, opportunity. And infuriatingly, it works.
One of them laughs. Another tilts her head. The third is already touching his arm.
I’d bet good money that one of them, either from this cluster or the earlier one who slipped him her number, will be warming his bed in his Mayfair townhouse tonight. Hell, he might even bring her to St. Bart next week. Clive never wastes an exit.
“Edoardo!” Nadine squeals and barrels toward me, throwing her arms around my neck. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“How could I not?” I grin. “This party is insane. I’ve been here an hour and I think I’ve covered… like ten percent of the room?”
She laughs. “My dad’s goal is always to throw the biggest, most badass holiday party imaginable. His words. Not mine.” She gestures vaguely. “It’s less party, more… circus.”
“I was thinking controlled chaos,” I say.
“Controlled?” she snorts.
From the corner of my eye, Clive is already holding court, animated, effortless, and magnetic. He’s glowing. Bastard.
“At least Clive knows better than to infiltrate our circle,” Nadine says, following my gaze.
“Small mercy,” I mutter.
“So,” she asks, “how’s the gallery?”
I can’t stop the smile. “Better than we dared hope. Sales are strong. Ridiculously strong.”
“That’s huge.”
“It is.” I hesitate, then add, “I really couldn’t have done it without you and Amina.”
She beams. “You’re welcome. And don’t be polite about it. Ping us whenever you need.”
“I will.” I pull her into a quick hug. “What about you? Holidays. Don’t tell me St. Bart with half of London in tow.”
“Unfortunately, yes. Dad’s yacht. Endless parties.” She rolls her eyes. “I’ll survive a few days, then flee to Lisbon. You?”
“Skiing,” I say. “With Stefano and his family.”
She raises a brow. “Your parents don’t ski anymore?”
“They ski,” I sigh. “They’re just… conspiring.”
“Ah.”
“As in still convinced I’ll ‘come to my senses’ and reunite with my ex. Holidays are their favorite ambush season. Stefano is my escape hatch.” I explain.
They’d invited Isabella to dinner a week after my opening.
No warning. No mercy. She showed up, convinced that stress, pressure, and exhaustion had driven us apart.
If only she knew that through all that pressure - every late night, every opening detail - someone else had been quietly, ruinously present in my head.
“Ohhh,” Nadine says slowly. Then grins. “You should bring Clive skiing. Accidentally push him off a slope. Bury him in snow. Very tragic.”
“Tempting,” I admit.
“He’s been unbearable lately,” she continues. “I could use a Clive-free St. Bart.”
Then, casually she adds, “I mean, after telling Caroline you invited her to your opening in exchange for him working the guest list?”
I freeze. “Wait. What?”
At my expression, Nadine winces. “Oh. You didn’t know?”
“No,” I say carefully. “I very much didn’t know.”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “He was drunk. We were walking back from your opening - you and the others were absolutely hammered - and Caroline was nearby with friends. Clive ran his mouth. Loudly. Publicly. Like an idiot.”
Everything clicks into place with a dull, sinking thud.
That’s why Caroline iced me out. I went to her place but didn’t ring the bell. Then she disappeared. Unanswered calls. No replies to texts. The silence. The way she wouldn’t even look at me across a room.
Damn it. Clive and his catastrophic mouth.
“Speaking of the devil…” Nadine pats my arm and turns toward the staircase.
I follow her gaze. Anton, Nadine’s older brother, is coming down, polished and effortless, offering his arm to Caroline.
My chest tightens. Anton, composed, heir to their shipping empire. We know of each other. That’s it.
“Edoardo!” Nadine is heading toward her brother and waves for me to follow.
I hesitate just a beat then move anyway.
“Hi, Caroline. Hi, Anton.”
“Edoardo,” Anton says warmly, shaking my hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“Hi,” Caroline says. Calm. Polite. Distant.
I haven’t seen her in a month. She disappeared, and now I know why. She felt used.
“I was just saying,” Nadine continues, oblivious, “we have so many people in London right now, we should organize something in the new year. Small. Intimate. Get to know each other better. Maybe collaborate.”
“Sounds great,” I say automatically.
Caroline smiles. Pleasant, noncommittal.
I hate standing here with her like this - balanced between apology and silence, between wanting and regret. I did invite her and make sure she came to my opening. I can dress it up however I want, but that part is on me. Yes, Clive made it a condition. But I didn’t stop it. I did use Caroline.
And I should have kissed her that night. Instead, I pulled back. And things cracked between us, quietly, irreversibly, because I let them.
The conversation drifts. I nod, respond when appropriate, but I’m barely present.
“How about mid-January?” Nadine suggests. “Ten, fifteen people. Keep it easy.”
And I’m an idiot, because despite everything, my mind keeps circling Caroline. Her laugh. Her in the rain. Her in that yellow midi dress. Her in white silk - devastating, untouchable.
“Sounds good,” I manage.
“Agreed,” Anton says.
Caroline slipped into my head before I broke things off with Isabella. I never cheated, never crossed that line. But wanting Caroline? That was undeniable.
“You in, Caroline?” Nadine asks.
Caroline tilts her head. “I thought this was just your boarding-school crowd.”
“No,” Nadine says lightly. “It isn’t.”
Caroline glances at me briefly then back to Nadine. “Then yes, that’d be lovely.”
“I’ll send details in a few days,” Nadine says brightly. “Before everyone disappears for the holidays.”
I tried. I really did. I told myself to keep my distance and failed spectacularly.
Because no matter how hard I try, my eyes betray me. My mind betrays me. They find her without permission, orbit her without mercy, replay her presence like a reflex I can’t unlearn.
I was almost sure she felt something once. There were looks, pauses, moments that lingered a second too long, but how much of that was real? And what spilled out of Clive’s mouth – God, it erased everything in an instant.
Caroline isn’t a woman who plays games. She doesn’t linger in gray areas. If she felt used or misled, she’d shut the door and walk away - clean, final.
Which means I can’t try charm or timing. I get one chance: an apology. Then I shut up and let her decide.
“May I get you a drink?” Anton asks her, smiling warmly.
“I’m at my limit,” Caroline says. “I’m afraid we have an early morning. Then our company’s regional holiday party.” She exhales softly. “Endless parties.”
“Then let me walk you out,” Anton says, offering his arm.
“Thank you,” she replies.
She says her goodbyes, and they walk out together. I don’t know Anton well, but I see the ease, the attention. My jaw tightens. Jealousy coils low and hot in my gut.
Fuck.
I held back before because it didn’t feel right to fall for Caroline while I was still tangled in guilt over Isabella and over my parents. Not because I didn’t want her. And I’m not the kind of man who retreats because someone else is present.
I’ll apologize. I’ll force her to hear me if I have to. And if she isn’t interested, fine. But I have to try.