Makeup follows next.Brushes sweep across my skin, over my lips, tinting them a shade of deep red.My eyes are sculpted until they look dangerous and dramatic.When I dare glance at my reflection again, I pause.I still look like myself, but at the same time I see a stranger looking back.I see the woman Damiano wants the world to see.
“Perfect,” the lead stylist says with a flourish.“You’re ready, darling.”
I stare at my reflection one last time, then look away.No, I’m not.
Before I can spiral any further, the door creaks open behind me and the team files out.Then I feel him before I see him.His presence shifts the air in the room like gravity bending toward him.
“Little flower,” he says.I turn around.
His steps falter.
For once, Damiano Santaluccia, cold-blooded, untouchable, always in control, looks completely disarmed.His lips part, like he is trying to say something, but no sound comes out.His gaze rakes over me with admiration and a fire I don’t know how to interpret.It makes my pulse race and my skin burn in places I wish it wouldn’t.
He swallows hard.“You look…” he starts, then pauses, raking a hand through his hair.“Dio.You’re beautiful.”
A hot flush creeps up my neck and I immediately put the mask back on.“Well, I’m glad your investment paid off,” I mutter, arms crossed.
He steps closer, gently brushing a strand of hair off my shoulder.“This isn’t about the dress.Or the team.Or any of that.”
“No?”I shoot back, bitter.“Then what is it about, Damiano?Possession?Ego?Showing off the woman you keep locked in your penthouse like a pet?”
He frowns, his jaw tightening.“I’m showing them who you are.”
I glare at him.“And what is that, exactly?”
“My equal.”
I falter for a breath.That…isn’t what I expected.Not in a million years.
But before I can figure out how to respond, he extends his hand.“Walk beside me tonight, Lily.”
I stare at it for a long second.Then I take it.And as his fingers close around mine, a chill runs down my spine, because despite every warning in my brain, some foolish part of me wants to believe him.Wants to believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m not being paraded.
Maybe…I’m being claimed.
Chapter Thirty
Lily
We arrive at the fundraiser.Damiano gets out of the sleek black car first, his tailored suit hugging his tall frame like it was sewn onto him.A valet rushes over but Damiano waves him off.He rounds the car and opens my door himself.I step out, careful in my heels, only to be tugged forward unexpectedly.I stumble against his hard chest, my hand landing flat on the expensive fabric stretched over muscle and heat.He wraps his arm around my waist, locking me against him.His gaze catches mine, dark, smoldering, hooded with something I can’t quite name.Possession?Hunger?Something ancient and primal and dangerous.I forget how to breathe.“You’re trying to kill me,” I mutter without thinking.
He lowers his head slightly, brushing his lips across mine in a ghost of a kiss that’s somehow more intimate than anything blatant.“Not tonight, sweetheart.Tonight, I’m going to make you mine.”
Before I can process the meaning behind his words, he leads me inside, his hand firm and possessive at the small of my back.The ballroom is a cathedral of opulence with glittering chandeliers, polished marble floors, music floating through the air like silk.Heads turn the moment we walk in.I can feel the weight of their gazes, some curious, some surprised, a few sharp and calculating.
I am wearing the most stunning dress I’ve ever touched, have been styled within an inch of my life, yet I still feel out of place.This is not my world, I remind myself.But I can pretend for one night.I force a serene expression and let Damiano guide me farther in, his presence a wall at my back.
I’m looking around, trying to spot Chiara, when Damiano’s arm tenses around me.I glance up at him.His jaw is clenched, his eyes locked on a figure approaching from across the room.It’s a man—tall, broad, with that same smooth, dangerous energy I’ve seen in Damiano.His hair is a touch longer, his mouth curled in a smile that doesn’t reach his icy grey eyes.
Predator meets predator.
“Gian,” Damiano growls, voice low and edged in steel.
“Damiano,” Gian replies with cool amusement, as if they’re old friends catching up over drinks, not two men who’d probably enjoy strangling each other with their bare hands.“Still brooding like a thundercloud, I see.I hope that our little competitive banter earlier didn’t antagonize you too much.I meant no harm.”His cold smile does not reach his eyes.
He extends a hand.Damiano ignores it.Undeterred, Gian’s gaze slides to me, and suddenly I understand the tension.This is no casual acquaintance.This man is someone important, someone dangerous.
“And who is this lovely vision?”
