Livia’s eyes flash. “So your solution is to lean into the lie? Absolutely not. I will not pretend to be engaged to my boss. Not with Nico involved. He is not a bargaining chip. He’s a child.”
Her voice stays measured at first, but I hear the steel beneath it. Good. I prefer her honest.
“The invitation was extended to us as a family unit,” I reply calmly. “Refusing it now raises questions we cannot afford. Questions about your role here. Questions about why a single mother suddenly cannot attend with her child when full support has been offered.”
She takes a step closer, color rising in her cheeks. “You think throwing money and arrangements at this makes it acceptable? I told you before, powerful men always believe they can fix everything with resources. This is not a resource issue. This is my life. My son’s life.”
I push off the desk and close some of the distance between us. Not enough to touch. Enough to make her aware of me. “Your life includes a job that pays exceptionally well. A jobthat can clear your medical debt and secure your future. I am offering a structured solution, not chaos.”
“Structured?” She laughs without humor. “Pretending to be your fiancée for ten days in Hudson Valley is not structure. It is a minefield.”
The argument begins to heat. Her breathing quickens. I keep my tone level, but the pull toward her grows stronger with every word. “Then let me make it contractual. A temporary public engagement. No physical expectations beyond what is necessary for appearances.”
She looks at me, doubt in her eyes. “Really?”
“Full performance bonus on completion. Comprehensive childcare coverage for the duration and beyond. Immediate transfer to any department you choose afterward, or a glowing recommendation if you decide to leave Ferretti Global entirely.”
She stares at me, lips parted. For a moment she seems to weigh the offer. Then she shakes her head. “Separate rooms at the estate. No unnecessary touching. Nico is not a prop for your business optics. We maintain the lie only about the engagement itself. Nothing more. And no questions about Venice.”
The last condition slips out before she can catch it.
“Venice?”
The single word drops between us like a stone in still water. Livia’s face drains of color. She recovers poorly, eyes darting away, fingers twisting the hem of her dress. “I meant…nothing. It was a slip. Forget it.”
I step closer. The air between us thickens. I can see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Her scent reaches me now, faint coconut lotion mixed with citrus, warm skin, something uniquely hers that stirs memories I cannot fully grasp. My body reacts instantly. Blood rushes south. My cock twitches against the fabric of my trousers.
I want to back her against the desk, slide my hand under that navy dress, and find out exactly how wet this argument has made her.
“You know something you do not want me to know,” I say quietly. My voice has dropped lower. “Something about Venice. About us.”
Her eyes lift to mine. We stand far too close now. Inches separate our bodies. I watch her lips part on a shaky inhale.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, lingers, then rises again. The tension coils so tight it feels electric.
In one wild second I imagine closing the gap, crushing my mouth to hers, tasting her, lifting her onto the desk and spreading her thighs while she gasps my name.
I imagine the slick heat of her, the way she would arch into me, nails digging into my shoulders as I drive deep and claim every secret she is hiding.
Her voice hitches. “Valentino…”
The sound of my name on her lips nearly breaks my control. I lean in until our lips nearly brush. Her breath fans across my skin, sweet and warm. One more centimeter and I would have her.
I can almost feel the softness of her mouth, the way her body would melt against mine. The restraint costs me as every muscle locks tight from holding myself back.
Too many things at stake. The deal. The boy. The questions already multiplying in my mind.
I deliberately step back. The distance feels punishing. Livia exhales sharply, as if she had been holding her breath. Color floods her cheeks again. She looks dazed, aroused, furious with herself and with me.
“Those are your terms?” I ask, forcing my voice back to business.
She nods once, swallowing hard. “Yes. Separate rooms. Nico stays out of the performance. No extra touching. And…if we happen to have to act more intimate than we should, it's not going beyond a light peck. On the mouth should be the very last resort.”
A slow smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.
“A light peck,” I repeat, the amusement impossible to hide from my voice. “On the mouth.”
