23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mialina
My poor heart doesn’t get a break tonight. It’s beating so hard I can feel it everywhere.
Maximo walks toward me. God, he’s so damn handsome, it should be illegal.
I straighten on the sofa as he approaches, aware of the blankets wrapped around me, the firelight warming my cheeks, and the way I’m sitting among his flowers like I already belong in this place.
Maximo reaches the seating area and lowers himself into the spot Rory vacated opposite me. The enormous conservatory seems far too small now.
Silence stretches between us.
His gaze drifts over me slowly enough to make heat crawl up my neck. It’s like he’s taking in every detail he missed while an entire ballroom stood between us earlier.
Butterflies burst awake inside me. Their timing really is unfortunate.
Still, neither of us speaks.
Men like Maximo use silence the same way other people use weapons. My father did it too during negotiations.
He let the quiet build until people became so desperate to fill it they started surrendering information without realizing it.
It’s all about pressure and control. An invisible power game.
And I can play it too.
Refusing to break eye contact, I lift my teacup to my lips, aware of his eyes following the movement.
My fingers are rather unsteady, and I will them not to tremble as I sink against the cushions, deliberately making myself comfortable as I take a sip.
The warmth sliding down my throat steadies me somewhat. Across from me, Maximo smiles, firelight glinting in his dark eyes.
“How do you like your greenhouse?” he asks, breaking the silence, his deep voice low and warm as it settles over me.
My greenhouse.
I didn’t expect him to confirm it. Any other man would have denied it or pretended the timing was a coincidence.
But not Maximo Marco.
I take another sip of tea, letting the truth sink in.
Wow. He really did build this for me.
Talk about grand gestures. I’ve never had anyone go to these lengths before.
Something hard and stubborn melts inside me.
For a moment, I’m not sure what to do with that. I don’t want to admit to him how much I already love this place, or that it’s the most beautiful space I’ve ever stepped foot in.
“You built this after Sicily,” I say instead of answering his question.
Maximo watches me from the other sofa. “Yes.”
Just… yes?
Like building this enormous glass house for me requires no explanation at all.
“Why?”
His gaze drifts over the conservatory before returning to me, taking in the flowers climbing toward the towering glass ceiling.
He shrugs, a faint smile touching his lips.
“You like flowers.”
The words are spoken like he’s explaining something as obvious as the sky being blue.
My stomach swoops so hard it leaves me breathless.
“And warmth,” he continues, his dark eyes never straying from mine. “I wanted you to have both, somewhere you’d feel comfortable all year round.”
The butterflies intensify their acrobatic routine inside me.
No one outside my family has ever paid enough attention to me to notice the things I love before.
“You see,” Maximo says calmly, “as my wife, I’ll make sure you always have the things that make you happy.”
And just like that, it’s like he pushed me into an ice hole in Lake Michigan.
I shake my head and sigh dramatically into my tea.
“You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. That last part ruined your entire case.”
Maximo’s mouth curves into a devastating smile.
“Did it?”
“Completely.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Tell me about it.
He leans back, looking unbothered. “I thought the greenhouse was a strong argument.”
“It was before you opened your big mouth and spoiled it.”
His eyes darken.
“Remember,” he says, “my mouth can do a great many pleasurable things.”
Oh God.
My dream on the plane flashes through my mind, and heat explodes through me. I try to remind myself that our kiss was a catastrophic lapse in judgment, but it does nothing to lessen the charge between us.
I avoid looking at him, terrified he’ll see how much he affects me. So instead I latch onto a safer subject.
Which unfortunately happens to be the giant romantic conservatory he built for me. Not ideal.
“The greenhouse is manipulative,” I declare, setting my teacup down on the coffee table. I’m tempted to launch it directly at his head.
Maximo smirks. “It’s flowers and heating.”
“Exactly. Manipulative when you know I love both.”
His low laugh slides through me.
“You built me a magical glass palace and then attached marriage terms and conditions.”
“I prefer to think of them as expectations.”
I groan. “See? That wording right there is the problem.”
Maximo studies me, completely indifferent to my criticism.
“You dislike the word wife?” he asks.
“I dislike the way you say it, as if it’s inevitable.”
His eyes sparkle. “It is.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“You are deeply exhausting,” I mutter.
“And yet,” he says, “you’re still here.”
Before I can think of a response, Maximo rises from his seat across from me.
Every instinct inside me sharpens as he rounds the sofa, the firelight catching against the dark lines of his clothes while he moves with the same confidence he carries into every room he enters.
My entire body locks up as he lowers himself onto the soft leather beside me. The cushion dips beneath his weight, his thigh only inches from mine.
My pulse abandons all loyalty to me and goes rogue. He’s too close.
I don’t dare look at him, because if I turn, our faces will be so close that kissing him again would seem like the next logical thing to do.
His lips have been haunting me for weeks as it is. I don’t need to refresh my memory.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he asks quietly, his breath brushing warm against the side of my neck.
My cheeks turn crimson. “Talk about what?”
Maximo’s mouth brushes dangerously close to my ear when he answers.
“The kiss you ran away from.”
I shake my head before my brain can catch up enough to form an actual response.
I absolutely do not want to talk about it.
What I want to do is do it all over again.
No, I don’t.
Maybe if I repeat that often enough, my body will start cooperating with this story.
“It was a mistake,” I declare, forcing conviction into my voice. “And it’s never going to happen again.”
“Oh, but it will.”
I turn to glare at him, ignoring the dangerous tingles his confidence unleashes low in my stomach.
“No, it won’t,” I reply as coldly as I can, pulling my head back a tad. Our faces are way too close. “Because I do not want to kiss you again.”
A tiny grin curves one side of his mouth.
“Liar,” he murmurs.
Something sparks in the depths of his brown eyes. Then he leans in closer, his mouth brushing near my ear. His voice drops into a conspiratorial hush that slides over my skin like silk.
“Mialina,” he says softly, “I was there. You were just as into that kiss as I was. And you do want to kiss me again.”
Goosebumps race over my skin while my heartbeat stumbles all over itself.
I want to forget that I kissed him back like I’d completely lost my mind. And I definitely want to erase how addictive his mouth tasted.
His knee brushes mine as he angles himself more toward me, one arm settling along the back of the sofa. The tiny contact clings to my skin like a brand.
I watch as his other hand begins tracing a deliberate path up my arm.
My breath falters. Shivers race over my skin, and of course he notices, but there is no smug smile to be found this time.
He takes my chin gently between his fingers and turns my face toward him.
My throat goes bone dry.
We’re eye to eye.
Still, I lift my head stubbornly and hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated… or seduced.
God. His eyes.
Golden flecks burn through the deep brown and I get completely lost in them.
Heat unfurls low in my stomach. My eyes betray me and drift down to his mouth.
“Admit it,” Maximo murmurs, his eyes darkening to near black as his thumb brushes along my jaw. “You feel this pull between us.”
His voice is low, controlled, though there’s a roughness beneath it now that wasn’t there before.
“We’re inevitable, Mia.”
His eyes hold mine captive while oxygen keeps getting lost somewhere between us.
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the spell I seem to be under. I can’t let this happen again.
Which means it’s time to get very far away from Maximo Marco before my self-control dies a tragic death inside this greenhouse.
Somehow, I manage to plaster a smile onto my face that I absolutely do not feel.
I pull my head back and out of his grasp. The imprint of his touch still burns against my skin. I ignore it.
“Never, Don Maximo,” I reply, surprised by how steady my voice sounds considering my pulse is trying to claw its way out of my chest.
Pushing to my feet, I gather every scrap of dignity still available to me, despite my legs feeling close to collapsing.
I grab the thick knitted blanket on the way past. I refuse to dramatically freeze to death over this man.
Behind me, Maximo lets out a low chuckle that slides straight down my spine.
I don’t look back.
I don’t need the image in my head of him sitting there among the flowers and firelight looking at me like he was one heartbeat away from pulling me back into his arms.
Maximo Marco has already become dangerous enough to my sanity without me making it worse.
He will not get his way with me.
No matter how inevitable he seems to think we are.