Chapter 29 Mara
MARA
There are a few things I’ve learned about living in this damn Castello.
One, privacy doesn’t exist.
Two, Nicolo has a routine that could kill a normal person.
Three, I hate how much I know about it.
He swims every morning at five. Not six.
Not whenever he wakes up. Five. On the dot.
And now, because sleep and sanity have abandoned me, I’m standing outside at 5:03 a.m. in a green bikini, a towel around my shoulders, and Jane Eyre tucked under my arm like I’m about to do something productive with it.
Duchess trails beside me, tail up, unimpressed.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. “It’s just… fresh air.”
The pool area is still half-dark, lanterns spilling light across the tiles. The air smells like lemons and chlorine.
He’s already here.
Nicolo moves through the water with the same precision he uses for everything else.
Controlled. Deadly. Focused. Each stroke cuts the surface like a blade, his body built for power, not show.
The man swims like he’s outrunning something, and maybe he is.
The water shifts, glinting against his shoulders as he turns.
The muscles in his back flex, defined even in the low light.
I’ve seen him angry. I’ve seen him cruel. I’ve never seen him like this: quiet, unguarded, human.
Duchess hops onto a lounge chair and curls up like she owns the place. I spread out my towel beside her and sit, pretending to be absorbed in Jane Eyre.
Except I’m not. My eyes keep drifting back to him. The sound of water hitting tile. The faint ripple of his breath when he surfaces. The way his wet hair clings to his forehead before he pushes it back.
Nicolo isn’t beautiful. He’s too hard for that. Too sharp around the edges. But he’s compelling. The kind of man you stare at even when you know better. He finishes another lap and climbs out.
God help me.
Water rolls down the planes of his chest, dripping along the ridges of muscle before sliding beneath the waistband of his black trunks.
He reaches for a towel, movements efficient, unhurried.
Not a single wasted motion. His body’s all power and control—everything boys my age aren’t.
He takes a sip from a glass bottle, throat working, and then finally, inevitably, his eyes find me.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is rough, low from disuse.
I lift my book. “Reading. And hoping to catch a tan.”
His gaze flicks toward the still-dark sky. “The sun isn’t even out yet.”
“I don’t care. It’ll be out soon.”
His jaw flexes. The silence between us tightens. Then he mutters something under his breath, turns, and dives back in. The water breaks like glass. I pretend to read, eyes fixed on the page.
My brain, however, is locked on him. On the sound of his strokes. The drag of his body through the water. I can feel the tension in every movement. He doesn’t swim to relax; he swims like he’s at war with himself.
I shouldn’t notice that. I shouldn’t notice him at all. But that’s what makes this so addictive: the forbidden aspect of it all.
Duchess lets out a soft meow, breaking the quiet. I scratch her head without looking away from the pool. Nicolo’s cutting through the water again, relentless. When he stops to catch his breath at the edge, his gaze snaps to me. I look down too fast, heart hammering.
By the time I glance up again, he’s already climbing out. The light catches the droplets on his skin, turning them into something indecent. I shift in my seat, suddenly too aware of how little fabric I’m wearing.
Nicolo dries his hair, the towel dragging across the back of his neck. His shoulders roll. His biceps flex. I focus very hard on not focusing. He walks toward me, each step slow, deliberate, predatory. The kind of walk that tells you he knows exactly how much space he takes up.
I lower my book, pretending to be calm. My pulse betrays me, but he doesn’t know that.
He stops beside me, his shadow cutting across my legs. “I didn’t know you could read a book upside-down.”
It takes me a second. I glance down. The text is…yes. Upside-down. Great.
Without a word, he reaches down and plucks the book out of my hands. His fingers brush mine—warm, rough, calloused. I hate the shiver that runs down my spine. He flips the book around and sets it back on my lap.
“I…I’m multifaceted,” I say, clearing my throat.
“You’re many things. Multifaceted isn’t one of them.” His voice dips lower, all dry amusement and control.
“Do you always sneak up on people mid-literature?”
“Do you always spy on men swimming?”
I raise my brows. “Spying implies interest.”
He leans a fraction closer. “You were staring, Mara.”
“And you’re delusional, Nicolo.”
His eyes flash—something dark and unreadable. “I think we’re both past pretending you’re uninterested.”
“Are we? When did that happen?”
“When I was ten inches inside you two days ago.”
My throat dries. “I’m not your problem.”
“Everything under this roof is my problem.” His gaze drags down to my legs, then back up to my face. “Some problems are louder than others. And until your brother takes you off my hands, you will remain my problem for the foreseeable future.”
My throat dries. “You should go cool off.”
“I just did.”
“Clearly not enough.”
That earns me the faintest ghost of a smile. The kind that doesn’t reach his eyes, but still feels like a win.
He straightens, grabbing his towel from the chair beside mine. “Try not to drown, nixie.”
He turns to leave, water still clinging to his skin.
“Try not to brood,” I shoot back before I can stop myself.
He pauses at the edge of the archway, shoulders tense, and glances over his shoulder—just once. “You make that difficult.”
And then he’s gone.
The silence he leaves behind feels louder than the sound of him swimming. Duchess meows again, climbing onto my lap like she owns it. I pick her up, pressing my nose into her fur and trying to steady my heartbeat.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I whisper. “I was totally reading.”
She purrs in disbelief. I stare down at Jane Eyre, now right-side-up. The words blur together.
All I can see is him.
By the time the sun hits the garden, I’ve convinced myself I’m totally fine. Totally not still thinking about him. Totally normal.
Duchess sprawls on the grass beside me, belly-up, sun-drunk and shameless. I prop my phone on my knee, FaceTime open, and wait.
Valentina picks up first with her messy bun, sunglasses on her head, chewing something that looks suspiciously like cake. “Finally. I was about to send a search party.”
Alessia joins a second later. Perfect eyeliner. Gold dangly earrings. The background noise of chaos I’d know anywhere.
“We were literally just talking about you. What’s going on?”
“First, where are the guys?”
Alessia rolls her eyes. “Romiro and your brother? Out at some meeting. Why?”
“Just…make sure no one’s around.”
That gets their attention. Valentina straightens. Alessia side-eyes her screen, then drags her phone through the hallway into her bedroom. A door shuts.
Val does the same. “Okay, we’re alone. Now spill.”
I glance around the garden. The guards are far enough that I can breathe.
“I slept with him.”
There’s a full beat of silence. Then…
“Oh, my God,” Valentina whispers.
Alessia claps her hands together. “Finally!”
“It wasn’t like that,” I say, even though it totally was. “It just…happened. One minute I was taunting him, the next I was slammed against the door. He was angry, so angry, and I kept pushing. One thing led to another, and…”
“And?” Alessia prompts, leaning closer to the camera like she’s front row at a soap opera.
I sigh, staring at Duchess, who’s now licking her paw like this conversation is beneath her. “It was good.”
Valentina snorts. “Good?”
“Okay, incredible,” I admit. “The kind of good that ruins all other good. And now he’s acting like it never happened.”
“Of course he is,” Alessia says, voice dry. “God forbid the Esposito men process an emotion like normal human beings. Do you know how long it took for Romiro to stop pussyfooting around?”
“He’s pushing me away. He’s not like Romiro. Nicolo is so much more uptight and control-obsessed. He’s being cold, and I think he might even be callous just to stop anything from happening between us,” I say quietly. “Like the second he lost control, he decided to punish himself for it—and me too.”
Valentina tilts her head. “Something already did happen between you two, and him acting like it won’t happen again is wishful thinking. It’s just a case of when.”
“He told me I’m his problem.” I roll my eyes. “Everything under his roof is his problem.”
Alessia groans. “He really said that?”
“Word for word.”
“Men like that don’t want to feel things, Mara,” Valentina says. “They want to control them. You broke his system. Now he’s trying to fix it by pretending you don’t exist.”
“Perfect,” I mutter. “Love being someone’s system error.”
Alessia smirks. “Okay, here’s what you do. First, don’t chase him. Make him sweat. If he wants you, he can crawl.”
Valentina nods. “And stop living on his schedule. Make him realize you’re not part of his routine. He got used to you being part of it. Throw a curveball in his direction.”
“I can’t just ignore him,” I argue. “Nicolo isn’t the type of man to care or notice.”
“Sure you can, and trust me he cares and notices,” Alessia says.
Valentina leans in. “Yes, what Allie is saying is true. Since he already broke his rules, you’re already under his skin.
In his head. And don’t have another meltdown conversation with him until you know what you actually want.
Do you want him to apologize, or do you just want him to look at you again? ”
The question hits harder than I expect.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly.
“Then figure it out before you give him the power to decide,” Val says.
I rub a hand over my face. “You both suck.”
“We’re actually amazing,” Alessia scoffs before taking a sip out of her drink. “Also, for future reference, if you’re going to break your no-sleeping-with-emotionally-constipated-men streak, you could at least enjoy it guilt-free.”
Valentina grins. “Yeah, stop making everything a moral crisis. Sometimes it’s just sex. Really, really hot sex.”
“Oh, hi. Pot, meet kettle. Thanks for your never-ending wisdom, Dr. Freud.”
“Anytime,” she says sweetly.
A pause stretches between us, more comfortable this time. I can hear a bird somewhere above me and the fountain running behind the lemon trees. I’d better not end up with bird shit on my dress.
Alessia glances off-screen, then back at me. “For what it’s worth, I think he cares. Men like Nicolo just don’t know what to do with it. He just doesn’t want to lose control.”
Val nods. “And control’s basically his religion.”
I laugh quietly. “You two sound like therapists.”
“Hot, delusional therapists,” Alessia corrects. “With better outfits.”
Valentina checks her watch. “I have to go check on Bee. Today’s her second to last swimming lesson and she’s nearly done with her swimming instructor, but…Mara? You’re okay. Don’t spiral. Just breathe.”
“Try avoiding him for most of the day,” Alessia adds. “Or don’t, but increase the heat. Wear something sexy.”
Valentina grins. “Better yet, don’t leave your room at all. Mystery looks good on you.”
They blow me kisses and hang up one by one, leaving my screen black.
The garden feels quieter now. Warmer. Duchess climbs onto my lap, purring like she’s proud of herself.
“I wasn’t going to stalk him anyway,” I tell her.
She flicks her tail like, sure you weren’t.
I grin, grab my phone, and open Jane Eyre—for real this time. I read one paragraph before realizing I have no idea what it said.
Closing the book, I lean back and watch the pool shimmer in the sun. Maybe ignoring him will kill me. Or maybe it’ll make him notice.
Either way, it’ll be fun to find out how far I can push Nicolo Esposito before he snaps again.