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Keeping low and moving fast, I head for the trees that line either side of our long drive.
The air is crisp for a night in late April, but I don’t mind. My destination is a bit of a walk, which will keep me warm. As soon as I’m safe from view, I hunker into my fleece-lined Italian leather coat, cram my fingers into its pockets, and pick up a nice pace.
Giddy excitement bubbles in my veins as I head toward the historic downtown of Piovosa. I make it into town on rare occasions and never unsupervised—like we’re some family out of the Dark Ages.
But I know it’s because, in Piovosa, our family name is worth its weight in gold, and my father is only looking out for our safety. I just wish he weren’t quite so overprotective. It’s not like kidnappers are waiting around every corner to snatch up a Guerra girl and ransom her off for some exorbitant amount of money.
Against all odds—or so it would seem based on my father’s extensive warnings not to leave the house unaccompanied—I arrive safely at my destination without a single abduction attempt.
It’s not hard to find the party. Not when fancy cars line the pavement all the way from the street to the far end of the Morettis’ winding drive. The flashy Corvettes and sleek Porsches accompany me all the way up to the backlit fountain at the center of the circular courtyard.
Few houses in Piovosa can rival mine. But as I stare up at the striking gothic architecture of Don Moretti’s home, I think we might have met our match. The towering monstrosity is something between a mansion and a castle in both size and shape, with countless spires and haunting gargoyles protecting the corners of each eave.
Music spills through the grand double doors at the top of the front steps, and lights illuminate the windows with a golden glow that accentuates the structure’s silent dignity. The elegant display of warmth somehow makes my mission all the more exciting.
Here, there appear to be no rules saying I must wait for an invitation. The atmosphere says all are welcome. And the thrill of meeting new people not preapproved by my father’s stuffy expectations fills me with a sense of giddy anticipation. This promises to be a night of adventure.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I comb my fingers through my thick mahogany locks, checking to make sure they’re in place after my rather brisk night stroll. Then I square my shoulders and climb up the sweeping front steps and into the home of my family’s sworn enemy.
The grand entry steals my breath away as I take in the open space with a marble staircase curving down either side. The back wall is made entirely of gilded mirrors that catch and reflect the sparkling lights bouncing off the decadent crystal chandelier.
Like an ornate version of a disco ball, the fixture dripping with jewels occupies the very center of the vaulted room. Visually, it’s stunning, with so many rainbow refractions glimmering from its countless angles that I can’t tell where the light starts or ends.
But what really catches my attention is the sheer number of bodies that fill the space, some dancing, some laughing, some standing close together in deep conversation.
Pulse quickening with the lively energy that envelops me, I stop to take it all in. I don’t quite know where to begin. I’m party crashing—there’s no doubt about that. But the distinct lack of bouncers or guards makes me think it doesn’t matter to anyone here.
“Has he spoken to you?” one girl asks to my left, her tone almost dreamy in its breathlessness.
“Leo Moretti? I wish,” her friend adds.
I glance in their direction to see three girls clustered together, their hair perfectly coiffed, dresses about as short as they can get without being scandalous, eyes scanning the room hungrily.
“I don’t need him to speak with me. I just want him to look my way.”
“Screw that. I want him to take me to bed. The man looks like a god, and I’ve heard he fucks like one too.”
My cheeks heat at the lewd topic of conversation the girls are holding right there in the middle of the crowded room. And I can’t help the juvenile giggle that bubbles up my throat. My father would never allow me to keep company with girls who would even think something like that, let alone say it.
And though I have no experience when it comes to men or the activities that go on between two people in a bedroom, it exhilarates me to think that I’m stepping outside of my safe little world to get a better understanding of this side of society.
Even if I have no clue where to go from here.
Stealing myself, I take several tentative steps toward the center of the room, hoping I don’t look too out of place. But I can’t help keeping my head on a swivel as I take in the luxurious decor and the lavish partygoers—it really does scream a sophistication my father has never once mentioned when talking about the Moretti heir.
“Are you lost?” someone asks in a sinfully smooth, masculine voice.
My heart skips a beat, and I turn to meet a pair of intelligent hazel eyes. The man before me is tall, well over six feet, with a sharp jawline darkened by the perfect amount of five-o’clock shadow.
Possibly the bouncer I was looking for, who stops gate crashers before they get too far into the hall?
But that’s not what wipes my usually quick words from my mind. It’s the fact that he might just be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on.
His black curls fall across his forehead in chaotic perfection. His broad shoulders fill out the mint-green dress shirt he’s rolled up to his elbows in a casual display of comfort. And his collar is unbuttoned just enough to show the hint of dark chest hair that tells me he’s several years my senior.
Dressed in only the finest brand names, his Italian leather shoes and black slacks crisp, clean, and tailored to perfection, he looks worthy of the front page of a magazine. And all together, the package gives him an air of silent confidence that says, without a doubt, he has the authority to end my night of fun before it’s even begun.
He looks down his proud nose, and a slow, subtle grin tells me he knows I shouldn’t be here. One dark eyebrow forms a sharp and artistic arch as I continue to stare at him, open-mouthed, at an utter loss for words.
