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“It’s Don Cremaschi to you,” I put him back in his place.
I turn back to the woman, regret and embarrassment warring within me.
“Please accept my apologies,” I say with a bow. “I will have my men deal with this ape.”
She waves a hand, dismissing my concern. “Do not trouble yourself on my account. It’s only a dress, easily mended or replaced. You’re the host, so you must be wanted…elsewhere.”
Her grace under duress only adds to the mystery. Yet she remains composed, a slight smile still curving her lips behind the mask. I wish I could tell her how right now, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here.
“You have me at a disadvantage,” I say as I place a hand on the small of her waist and guide her towards the bar. “You seem to know my name and position, yet I remain ignorant of yours. Will you not remedy this injustice?”
Her laugh is like velvet, soft and rich. “You always desire to know everything, do you not? Forgive me, I really shouldn’t keep you,” she insists, taking a step back.
Instinctively, almost as though I need her, I reach out and gently place my hand on her arm. She looks up at me, her lips parted slightly, shocked at the touch—or perhaps thrilled, as I so hope.
As we stand amidst the lively crowd, I find myself drawn to her even more. How did she come to be on my guest list? Is she someone’s plus one? Besides poise and grace, what other treasures does she possess?
"Allow me to make amends for his actions," I offer, extending my hand. "Please accompany me to the bar, and we'll see what we can do to fix your dress."
She hesitates for a moment before placing her hand in mine. As our fingers intertwine, I feel an electric charge course through me, igniting a fire inside that can't be tamed.
"Thank you, Fiero," she says softly, and we make our way through the throng of guests towards the bar.
The way she says my name, the way it simply rolls off her tongue, makes me want to hear her say it a million times over for a million different reasons.
As we walk towards the bar, I signal to one of my men and give him a pointed glance in the direction of the drunk guest, who stands swaying where I left him. My subordinate nods in understanding and, along with another, escorts the intoxicated man to a guest room where he can sleep off his stupor.
"Thank you," Romola murmurs as we arrive at the bar, grateful for the respite from the chaos of the party.
"Of course," I reply, my gaze lingering on her captivating gray eyes. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with such an unpleasant situation tonight."
“It’s not your fault,” she shakes her head. She looks around herself, almost nervous, and for some strange reason, I wonder, is it a man she seeks? Before I let my hopes run too wild, I decided to clear the air.
"Are you here with someone?" Her eyes flicker with an unreadable emotion as she shakes her head.
"No, I came alone," she replies, her voice soft and vulnerable.
“Alone?” I ask, confused. She’s not on my guest list. Who in the world invited her? Is she a sister or a friend of someone from my mafioso?
I want to know, but before I can, my eyes land on the stain on her dress, and I feel the urge to help her fix it.
"Allow me," I say gently, grabbing a bottle of soda water from behind the bar. "It should help remove the stain."
"Thank you," she said gratefully. She watched me apply the soda water to the damaged fabric. It was a small gesture but one that seemed to put her at ease.
As I dab at the stain, our eyes meet again, and for a brief second, I stop dabbing the stain. We just stand there, entranced, two strangers in close proximity, and I feel like I’m falling.
Perhaps it’s better we leave this off as strangers, for she’s the sort of woman who could make my world go round if I let her in too deep. I already know this in my bones, from an intuition I can’t quite place.
She holds my gaze before breaking it off, giving her head a gentle shake like she’s arguing with herself, in her head.
"Let me order you a drink," I suggest, shifting my attention back to the task at hand.
"I’d appreciate that," she says, and there's a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I'll have a glass of red wine, please."
"Tell me, Romola," I say, leaning in closer. "What brings a beautiful woman like you to an event like this, all by herself?"
“Ah,” she smiles. “So you think I’m beautiful?”
