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Rosa’s mine. She’s not going anywhere.
Her hands curl into fists. “You’re being ridiculous. We had a deal.”
“I’m pretty sure I told you I didn’t agree to that,” I state. “Tell me, sweetheart, what are you so afraid of?”
“You know my brother asked me that. Before I moved here. He asked me what I was scared of,” she says softly.
“What did you say?”
“I told him I was scared of everything.”
“Even me?”
“Especially you. That hasn’t changed, Enzo. I’ve lived in your house for nearly two months. And that hasn’t changed,” she says sadly.
I blow out a breath. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “You think?”
For all her hesitation,Rosa’s practically perfect beside me. As soon as we arrive at the party, we’re approached by several people wondering why we’re together. She’s great at playing her part. She makes sure to dangle her diamond in front of their eager gazes, laughs at their stupid jokes, and accepts every compliment graciously. She’s not thrown off when people raise eyebrows at our sudden engagement.
I want to tell them to fuck off.
“You’re scaring people,” Rosa whispers to me. “Quit brooding.”
“I don’t brood,” I mutter. “I’m just not a fan of crowds.”
“Or people,” she adds.
“Hey, I like you plenty,” I say, rubbing our shoulders together.
“Could have fooled me,” she says.
But at least she smiles. Which is progress. After several more long minutes of annoying questions and petty conversation, we’re able to retreat to a corner. I grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and hand it to her.
Rosa offers me a grateful smile. For a second, one painfully long heartbeat, I just stare at her. Her long glossy black hair that has been curled at the tips. Her glowing olive skin, her gorgeous face. And the dress she’s wearing. I simultaneously want to burn it and keep it on her forever. It’s dark red and clings to every single sexy curve on her body. It flows down to the ground, but there’s a long slit in front reaching up to her mid-thigh.
It’s driving me crazy. When she’s done with her champagne, her eyes lift to mine.
“I think we should probably dance,” I tell her.
“Oh, joy,” she says sarcastically.
I chuckle. “You don’t want to?”
“I will. As long as you promise not to kiss me,” she says warily.
She’s really thinking about this. I would be worried if I wasn’t so glad that our kiss seems to be plaguing her as much as it’s plaguing me.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” I lean down to whisper the next words in her ear, “I won’t kiss you. Unless…you ask me to.”
I pretend not to notice the way she shivers. When I hold out my hand, she grudgingly accepts. I lead her to the dance floor and for the next few minutes, everything else falls away but us. I’m keenly aware of the feel of her in my arms. She keeps her face against my shoulder, her eyes not meeting mine.
“My dad taught me how to slow dance when I was little,” she says. “It’s times like this I miss him the most.”
“He was a wonderful man,” I tell her.
“You didn’t even know him.”
