CHAPTER 1
ROXANNE
I half-ran to my gate, coffee in one hand, handbag swinging wildly over my shoulder. A cluster of men were arguing with airport security somewhere behind me, but I didn’t have time to slow down and enjoy the drama.
The gate was still a good five-minute walk, and the final call echoed through the terminal like a countdown to chaos.
I shouldn’t have spent so long on the call with Mr. Bhandari.
He had dragged a five-minute update into an hour-long monologue that could’ve easily been an email.
My ears were still ringing. We shouldn’t have taken on this project—he insisted on micromanaging every little detail.
But my partner, Sahil, had pushed for it.
“The money’s good,” he’d said.
I needed to get to the flight quickly and into my seat so I could call my daughter before take-off. I had been waiting for this trip with a quiet, almost guilty anticipation.
My clients, the Sahais, were supposed to fly with me from Dubai, but a last-minute meeting in London had pulled them away. They would join me later at the Salone del Mobile fair.
Their project was a sprawling 10,000 sq. ft. duplex overlooking the brilliant Mumbai skyline on one side and the sea link on the other. The view alone commanded silence. Every time I was there, I took five minutes just to breathe it in before letting my designer brain switch on.
As an interior designer, the perks of getting your frustration out by barking orders on-site was something of a release.
My sites were my stage. My voice.
It wasn’t until a month ago that we decided to purchase furniture from the Milan fair.
We were all supposed to travel together from Dubai, but they had flown to London a day prior.
They’d be joining me in Milan. I was looking forward to seeing some amazing brands and supporting a few friends whose creations would be on display.
I was so lost in thought that I bumped into a wall of a man, at least 6’-5’. My scalding coffee splashed across his pale blue shirt, blooming like a spill of regret.
“Merda,” he muttered under his breath, his voice deep and sharp.
He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowing and fury stalled. My cardigan was pressed against his chest, my hands frantically trying to blot the stain. I didn’t dare look up as I scrubbed his shirt, babbling apologies like a malfunctioning robot.
How could I be so clumsy?
His shirt was stained and nearly transparent. As I slowly lifted my gaze, his scent hit me—a deep, sensual mix of musk and wood. Stirring up a calm storm in my chaotic mind.
As his green eyes locked onto mine with a glint of restrained fury, I feared he might lash out. He looked like the kind of man who could beat someone to a pulp if they got on his wrong side. The kind of man people didn’t bump into. The kind they avoided.
My bag lay forgotten on the floor. My hands rested on his abdomen, unmoving.
His shirt clung to his body like it had been tailored to fit perfectly over his muscles.
His rolled-up sleeves hugged his arms just below the elbow.
Ink coiled above his wrists in symbols I didn’t recognise.
A gold signet ring glinted on his left hand.
My hands moved with his breathing, and it felt like time had stalled. His eyes darkened, almost changing colour. But I didn’t look away.
I broke the spell and stammered, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I was… lost in thought.”
He gently brushed my hands away and spoke in a deep, husky voice.
“It’s okay.”
His voice sent a tingle down my spine as he walked away. I stood frozen, the scent of him still clinging to my skin. Something in me stirred.
I gathered my thoughts, picked up my bag, and rushed to the plane. To breathe and plan for the next few days without interruptions. I settled into my seat, grateful for the silence. I needed space to think, to breathe, to remember who I was before the storm.
I called my daughter first. She was bubbling with energy, already plotting adventures with her grandmother. I listened, reminding her not to trouble her too much, her voice making me smile.
“Mumma, how many days will you be away?”
“Fifteen days, love,” I said.
“Why so long?” She pouted.
I hesitated. Fifteen days felt like a lifetime to her, but to me, not enough. I needed distance. Not from her—but from the version of myself I’d been pretending to be. I needed space to decide what kind of future I wanted for both of us.
Things hadn’t been rosy at home, and I refused to let my daughter absorb the storm I was carrying. My mother’s voice broke through warm and steady.
“Don’t worry. She’s safe with me. We’re going to have so much fun. You have a good time.”
A good time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had one.
I kissed them goodbye. I wiped away an unnoticed tear from my eye.
After take-off, I quickly connected to the in-flight Wi-Fi and sent out emails with next week’s agenda for my team in Mumbai. I made some corrections on the drawings sent by the team and approved work to commence on various sites.
I opened the last email.
All the best, and don’t forget to have fun.
—S
It was Sahil. If it hadn’t been for his stupidity and recklessness, he’d be accompanying me. Racing with college punks, he’d hit a rock and skidded his bike into a tree. And now he was lying in a hospital bed with a fractured leg, flirting with the nurses.
I’ll try. Get back on your feet soon. We need you, I responded.
I’ll try ?? It’s too comfortable here, he replied immediately.
I shut my mail and browsed through my reservations for the trip after the fair. Milan with the Sahais. Florence. Rome. And finally—Sicily.
I looked at the beautiful resort I’d reserved in Sicily.
Five days. Just me and my thoughts. This was going to be my time to unwind. To listen to the thoughts I’d been avoiding.
I suddenly started thinking of the mystery man I’d bumped into earlier.
I smiled before I realised. His olive skin.
Green-brown eyes with a hint of gold that seemed to shift.
Late thirties, early forties, maybe. A perfectly trimmed stubble.
Lightly peppered hair slicked back, but not too neat—rebellious strands falling just over his eyes.
He was tall and muscular. Not beefy like the gym freaks—cut like a blade.
His arms bulged through his shirt, fitting perfectly across his chest. His scent felt like a warm embrace—strong but not overpowering enough to send me into a sneezing frenzy.
A scent you sink into. His cologne was musky and woody with a hint of spice I couldn’t place.
I remembered gazing at his full, glistening lips, staring at them for much longer than I should have. He wet his lips before speaking. I felt it in my spine, up to my neck. I unconsciously touched my lips and smiled before the stewardess broke my train of thought.
“Would you like some champagne?”
“Yes, please.”
I finished my notes and tucked in for a movie marathon. I didn’t want to nap. No sleep. No jet lag.
It was dark when we landed at Milan Malpensa Airport. I sent a quick text to my mother and Ritu.
Ritu Sahai—my client turned friend and confidante. We shared so much in common. Her husband called us live wires. And he wasn’t wrong. But lately, even he had noticed my spark dimming.
She was a socialite with substance. Her NGOs helped the underprivileged and uplifted them. She was now empowering rural women to create bespoke tapestry.
Before I could settle into my room, I heard a knock. I already knew. As soon as I opened the door, she launched into me, squeezing me into a tight embrace, making me gasp for air.
“Sorry, I couldn’t join you,” she said.
“That’s okay,” I replied, trying to breathe.
“Tell me about your eventful journey,” she asked, eyebrows dancing.
That woman loved a good story—especially drama.
“Let me at least shower. I’m tired.”
“Did you join the mile-high club?” she asked impatiently.
“Then why are you tired?”
I shook my head, knowing she wouldn’t let it go. I filled the tub and sank into the warmth. My muscles relaxed, and I let out a soft sigh as my head rested against the tub.
His scent returned uninvited, and I didn’t know why his scent lingered in my memory. Or why it made me ache in places I’d forgotten existed.
“So…” she coaxed.
She perched on the toilet lid, legs crossed, eyes gleaming with mischief. My cheeks flushed as I spilled everything. Watching her eyes widen with sparkle.
“Did you get his name at least?”
I shook my head.
She threw her hands up. “Then how the fuck are we supposed to find him?”
“I didn’t say I want to find him.”
She grinned. “You need spice. Imagine bumping into him again. I want to see this hunk who stole your breath—literally.”
I rolled my eyes, laughing. She lived for drama, and I loved her for it.
Right on cue, her phone buzzed. She kissed me goodnight and vanished.
I curled into bed and clutched my cardigan, where his warm, defiant scent still clung, wrapping me in a moment he didn’t even know he’d given me.
Tomorrow was going to be a long, tiring yet exciting day.
Recce day.