Be With Me, page 14
part #1 of House of Ferraro Series
He nodded. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Somehow.” Guess he was as eager to move on as I was. “I’m glad you didn’t get the wrong idea.”
“Which would be?”
I felt my face heat. “Never mind.”
He cocked his head. “I’m a grown man, Mia. You think I get attached every time I get to third base with a woman? I’d have a harem of wives by now if I did.”
I almost reared back at that statement. I’d expected his usual arrogance, but I hadn’t expected him to be so callous.
A humorless smirk appeared on his lips. “We’ll wrap everything up today, and then we can say goodbye. For good.”
“Sounds great to me,” I said, my voice flat. Hurt pulsed inside my chest. “Ready to try on your look?”
His gaze flicked to the garment rack. He stepped forward, lifted the suit off the hanger, and held it out in front of him.
I folded my teeth over my lips, trying to read his reaction. Not that I should care what he thought about it at this point. He wasn’t a real client, and I wasn’t holding my breath for that recommendation.
But I did care. Maybe it was my professional pride that demanded I do a great job. Or maybe…I just wanted him to like my work.
Ugh. Why? It was so stupid.
“Are you going to try it on, or just stare at it? I have a busy schedule, Romolo.”
He arched a brow but said nothing. Then, with a shake of his head, he carried the suit into the changing area.
I crossed my arms, forcing myself to stay composed as I paced the studio, struggling—and failing—to keep my thoughts from straying to the last time we were alone.
I hated how vividly I could still remember the feel of his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my hips, his voice rough against my ear.
The curtain slid open and Romolo emerged. “It fits well.”
I froze mid-step.
He looked…incredible. Exactly how I’d envisioned when I imagined the look. The suit molded to his body, emphasizing his muscular build, and the red cape added an element of drama. He was already dangerous. Powerful. Untouchable. But now? Every detail I’d painstakingly added to his clothes amplified those qualities.
Dressed like this, he wasn’t just a man. He was Mars, the god of war.
I walked around him, inspecting the fit from every angle, searching for flaws. I found none.
“What do you think?” I asked, coming to stand in front of him.
His gaze flickered to mine in the mirror. “It’ll do,” he said, his tone dismissive.
My lungs deflated. That’s it? Quickly, I looked away. “Well, that’s great. I’m happy you like it.”
“Anything else? Or are we good here?”
It was a dismissal.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I guess that’s it.”
“I’ll go change.”
I watched him disappear back into the changing area and wrapped my arms around myself.
He hadn’t said anything about the design. Not a single compliment. Not one comment on the details, the fit, the time I'd put into it.
It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. Why was I such a goddamn softie? It didn’t matter, damn it.
A few minutes later, he emerged dressed in his T-shirt and leather jacket again, the suit slung over his arm. “We never discussed payment,” he said. “You can email me the invoice.”
I shook my head. “I’m not taking your money.” The last thing I needed was a financial link between us.
His gaze narrowed. “Not good enough for you?”
“That recommendation will be more than enough compensation. If you’re still planning on making it.”
“Of course I’m still planning on it. That was our agreement.” His eyes swept over me one last time, from my hair to the tips of my shoes. Then he turned toward the door.
His steps were slow. Measured. Not entirely natural.
Like maybe he felt more than he was letting on.
Like maybe he was holding something back.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip. I knew that if I didn’t ask at least one question that weighed on me, I’d look back on this and regret it.
“Romolo.”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“Why did you ask me to work with you? I’m not talking about the suit. The real reason.”
He stood frozen, his back toward me. A heavy silence hung between the walls.
I shifted my weight between my feet. “Did you get what you wanted from me?”
“No,” was his quiet response. “And I don’t want it anymore.”
Pain bloomed in my chest, spreading like wildfire. I couldn’t even pinpoint why.
He opened the door and paused for another brief second. “Take care of yourself, Mia.”
I swallowed hard. “You too.”
And that was that.
He was gone.
He’d walked out of my life as abruptly as he’d entered it.
I sniffed, sat down behind my desk, and opened my laptop. The calendar blurred for a second, before I blinked the wetness in my eyes away.
I’d be fine. It was back to business as usual. Just some emails to respond to before I was supposed to meet my dad and a reporter for lunch. Then my calendar was booked solid until late evening.
Great. No time to think about Romolo. I would forget about him eventually if he wasn’t constantly waltzing in and out of my life.
My phone rang. Jenny.
“Hey, your dad got a last-minute invite to an event this week, but he can’t make it. I was hoping you’d go in his place.”
“When is it?”
“Friday, seven p.m. Some fancy private club called The Golden Circle.”
I sat up straight. No. No way.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
I pressed my palm against my forehead. “Can I skip it?”
“It’s kind of a big deal to be invited. There will be people there you should network with. We want you to go, Mia.”
I sucked in a breath and then exhaled. “All right. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll send you the details shortly. Talk soon.” She hung up.
I groaned and banged my forehead against my desk.
So much for never seeing him again.
CHAPTER 22
ROM
It was just yesterday that I first heard about the update to the guest list. The president of the club, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to invite the two frontrunners for the mayoral race to this damn dinner.
Of course, Mayor Wilson couldn’t make it—useless bastard. He was down with pneumonia. As if Morales needed any more luck with his campaign. Then the president found out Morales was also unavailable, but naturally, his daughter was coming in his place.
She hadn’t even arrived, and I was already on edge.
Well, we were all adults. We could survive an evening together in the same room.
Cosimo signaled for another whiskey, his eyes flicking over the attendees in their ridiculous outfits. "I don’t know how you do it," he muttered.
I propped my elbows behind me on the bar. Above us, blown-glass planets and stars were suspended from the high ceiling. On each of the high-top tables scattered around the room were towers of merengues. “Do what?"
"Pretend like you're one of them."
I huffed, swirling the amber liquid in my own glass. "I don’t have to pretend to be one of them. In fact, the reason they can’t resist me is because I’m not. I’m like a rare fucking peacock parading around, luring them in."
Cosimo scoffed. "A peacock with poisonous claws." He took a slow sip of his drink, and then his posture shifted. "Look. It’s her."
I took my time before turning toward the entrance. I already knew exactly who he meant.
Cosimo, along with the rest of the family, thought I was still working Mia. I hadn’t let him in on the truth, and I wasn’t planning to. I had no idea how to explain what had occurred between us.
How could I explain something I didn’t understand?
My gaze finally landed on its target, and my fists clenched.
She was in a sleek, shimmering dress. The fabric caught the light like stardust. It was pink and silver—probably some cosmic connection to Venus or whatever the hell her horoscope said. I still didn’t fully understand what the fuck a moon sign was.
She paused at the threshold, scanning the room.
She was alone.
I waited until her eyes found me.
When they did, I felt an electric jolt. Her shoulder lifted slightly, and then she looked away. It was like I was nothing. Like I was a stranger.
Like I was a ghost.
My jaw tightened.
The president of the club approached her with his hand outstretched. She met him with a radiant smile—one I wished was directed at me—and shook his hand.
Then his palm landed on the small of her back.
A little too fucking low.
I glowered as he guided her toward a passing waiter with a tray of champagne flutes. She took one, her head tilting back as she laughed at something the old man said. She was animated, engaged.
What the hell did they have in common?
That guy was a million years old and looked like he needed a nap halfway through his own sentence.
And yet she gave him her attention.
Her smiles.
“Wow,” Cosimo drawled, swirling the whiskey in his glass as he watched Mia. "You really are her dirty little secret, aren’t you? She barely spared you a glance."
I dragged my teeth over my bottom lip, tamping down the flicker of irritation curling through my chest. “I should’ve known better than to bring you as my plus-one.”
"Come on." He chuckled. “You’ve given me enough shit about Fabiana. Now it’s my turn to give you shit about her."
I glanced at him. He was still staring at Mia, his gaze cold and assessing.
"Stop staring at her fucking ass," I muttered.
"Wasn’t. But now I am."
My grip on my glass tightened. He was just trying to rile me up, and I hated that it was working.
"So are you getting any or what? Mom made it sound like you were still trying to convince her you're worth the time of day."
I exhaled through my nose. "Jesus. Is that what you and Mother talk about? My sex life?"
Across the room, my attention snagged on Andrei fucking Baranov. The son of a bitch had slithered up to Mia and the president. He was wearing the same smug, entitled expression he always did, like the entire world was an amusement park built for his entertainment. The son of a Belarusian construction magnate, he'd been raised on wealth, power, and the belief that everything was his for the taking.
And right now, he was looking at Mia.
Like she was free for his taking, too.
"Not really. I mostly talk with her about business,” Cos said, pulling me back. “But she tells me when she’s annoyed with you. Probably because she thinks if I apply pressure, you’ll work harder."
"And do you?" I asked, barely listening. Andrei was shaking Mia’s hand now, his filthy paw lingering too long. She smiled at him—sweet, innocent, oblivious—and it made my blood boil.
"I let her think I do. We both know that’s not true. But if nodding and pretending I’ll handle it gets her to ease up on you, I’m happy to play along."
"Didn’t know you had my back like that with her,” I muttered. Baranov laughed at something Mia said, his hand brushing her arm. If he kept that up, I was going to break his wrist.
Cosimo sniffed. "Yeah, well. Making up for the times I didn’t."
That got me to glance at him. “The fuck are you talking about?"
“The year after Les and I moved out.” He rolled his glass between his palms, suddenly looking thoughtful. "You changed that year."
A muscle ticked in my jaw. "Of course I did. That was the year I got fucking made."
"It was before that too."
I went still.
This was a conversation I wasn’t about to have. Not here. Not now. Not fucking ever, if I could help it.
Baranov pulled out his phone and stepped away from Mia to take a call.
I slammed my tumbler onto the bar. “Go make some friends, Cos. I’m bored of this conversation.”
I stalked after Baranov into the hallway. He was pacing away from the party, muttering something into his cell.
He didn’t see me until he hung up and turned, his brows lifting in surprise. “Rom. How are you?”
“Fucking fantastic. You?”
His gaze flicked over my suit. “You look great. Hell of a suit. Where’d you get it?”
“Someone with taste styled me. Someone good.”
“Oh yeah? Can I get their card?”
“I don’t think so. Then we’d have something in common, and I’d rather eat shit and die.”
Baranov’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your problem?”
“Montenegro is a nice spot.”
“What?”
"Does Gracie know about your little secret family parked in that villa by the sea?"
His face turned ashen. Gracie was his fiancée, and his weak spot.
“How do you—“
“I just do.” I knew every piece of dirt on everyone here. “Should I tell her?”
His nostrils flared. “What do you want?”
“Leave.”
“The party?”
“And the club. Cancel your membership. Unsubscribe from the damn newsletter. I don’t ever want to see your face around here again.”
He bristled, fists clenching like he’d take a swing, but he wasn’t that stupid. His daddy had power in Belarus, but here, he was defenseless from someone like me.
“Oh, and Andrei?” I took a step, forcing him to take one back. “Don’t ever talk to the Morales girl again.”
Confusion bled into his expression. “Why?”
“I don’t owe you an explanation.”
He hesitated and then smoothed his tie, forcing calm. "Fine."
I watched him slink to the elevator, waited until the doors swallowed him whole, and then I strode back into the room.
Mia was gone, but Cosimo was still by the bar. He smirked at me and tipped his head in the direction of the dining room.
I found her in there by the salad bar, alone. The moment she noticed me, she stiffened.
“What are you doing?” she said out of the corner of her mouth.
“Rumor is, he had a nasty bout of chlamydia last year. Thought you’d appreciate the heads-up.”
“Who?”
“The guy you were speaking to earlier.”
She let out a sharp breath and glared at me. “Forgive me for thinking you’re full of shit.”
I grinned. I liked her sweetness, but I liked her fire even more.
“You’re swearing. Is that a new thing?”
“I’ve had to expand my vocabulary when it comes to you.” She grabbed a plate at the salad bar and started piling on romaine.
I also grabbed a plate and opened my hand for her to pass me the tongs.
“Romolo, we’re in public. Please leave me alone.”
“Can’t I also get some food? You want me to starve just because you’re here?”
Her lips pressed together. “Fine.”
I started filling my plate. “How have things been the last few days?”
“Busy.” She didn’t look at me.
“You’re not going to ask how my day has been?”
“No. You do realize I had no choice but to show up at this dinner, right?”
“Are you implying I could have bowed out?” I asked. “And miss the opportunity to wear this masterpiece you made for me?”
“A masterpiece? The only thing you said after I gave it to you was, ‘It’ll do.’” A bitter note slipped into her voice.
Ah. That explained the hostility.
Yeah. I’d fucked that up.
“Mia, it’s brilliant. But you know that. You don’t need my validation.”
Her hand stilled over the tomatoes, the serving spoon hovering midair. A flicker of surprise crossed her face before she buried it beneath that cool, composed exterior. “You’re right. I don’t. Just like I don’t need you issuing me warnings about anyone.”
Oh, but she did. She was too trusting. Too naïve. And I didn’t know why I cared.
I’d already done the heroic—blerg—deed of protecting her from my family. Now I wanted to protect her from others?
Maybe I was having a quarter-life crisis?
“Damn it,” I muttered.
She drizzled some dressing onto her salad. “What now?”
“Nothing. By the way, I’m talking to my cousin Caterina this week. You’ll be compensated generously for your work.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding skeptical. She didn’t believe me. But I’d prove her wrong. Even sooner than she expected it.
She picked up the next pair of tongs and reached for a bread roll. Some genius decided to stack them in a precarious tower that wobbled when Mia picked one up.
Her mouth popped open. “Oh no. Oh shoot.”
Oh shoot. Why was it so fucking cute when she said that?
She frantically tried to stabilize the rolls with her tongs, but they tilted even more, so I grabbed another pair and helped her.
She blew out a breath. “Thanks.” Then she glanced at me, her gaze dipping to my mouth. “Why are you smiling?”
I sighed. “It happens when I look at you. Can’t explain it. Maybe you have a theory?” I didn’t mention the weird warmth in my chest that she also brought on since the night of the storm.
Actually, I did have a theory. That night, she’d taken care of me, held me, helped me. No woman had ever done that for me before. She’d rewired something fundamental inside me, some critical connection in my brain.
The long-term effects were still unclear.
Her throat moved as she swallowed. She stared at her plate, brows pulling together, teeth grazing her lip like she suddenly had a lot on her mind. Then, after a beat, she straightened.
“We said goodbye to each other on Tuesday,” she said quietly. There was no anger left in her tone, just resignation. “We both agreed that we shouldn't be in contact. Nothing has changed, except for this unfortunate coincidence with the invite. Let’s just get through tonight and move on.”
