Page 44 of Beautiful Villain
Fantastic.
I shut it off—or tried to.The handle resisted, then stuck halfway, water still pouring out in a stubborn stream.Steam dissipated fast, replaced by goosebumps as my irritation grew.
I grabbed a towel, wrapped it tight, then left the bathroom and cracked my bedroom door just enough to poke my head out.
“Gianni?”I called, quietly.I was embarrassed, and eager not to announce my towel situation.
There was no answer.
I waited a beat, then opened the door wider and stepped into the hallway.The stone floor was cold under my bare feet, which only added insult to injury.
“Gianni,” I tried again.Louder this time.
Footsteps answered almost immediately.
He appeared at the end of the hall like he’d been closer than I thought, sleeves rolled, expression already alert.His gaze swept me quickly—face, shoulders, towel—then snapped away just as fast, settling firmly on the door behind me.
“What’s wrong?”he asked.
“The shower,” I said.“It’s… rebelling.”
That earned the faintest exhale of something like amusement as he started walking toward me.He stepped past me into the bathroom, eyes still averted, and crouched by the taps.I hovered awkwardly in the doorway, hugging the towel tighter, suddenly hyper-aware of my damp hair, my bare legs, the steam clinging to my skin.
“Old pipes,” he said.“They like to make a point.”
“Mission accomplished.”
He adjusted the handle, muttering something under his breath in Italian that sounded deeply personal.The water sputtered, coughed, then finally stopped.
Silence settled.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.“Thank you.”
He straightened, turning only then—and stopping short when he did.
For a second, neither of us moved.
The bathroom was still warm, thick with steam.Water clung to my skin, and my hair hung wet down my back.I held the towel tight against my chest, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt.
Gianni stood just inside the doorway.He didn’t move closer.He didn’t look away either.His hands rested at his sides, jaw set like he was holding himself in place.
His eyes met mine and stayed there.
“You should get dressed,” he said evenly.“I’ll get you more towels.”
“I have towels,” I said, then immediately regretted it.The words came out sharper than I meant, defensive for no reason at all.
He nodded once.“Then clothes.Get dressed.”
He turned to leave, paused, then added, “Don’t turn the water back on.I’ll have someone check it.If you need to finish washing, you can use my shower.”
The words hung between us, heavy and charged.
“It’s fine,” I said too quickly.
His expression shifted.Softer.His gaze lingered, slow and steady, before he finally stepped back.
“You’re wet,” I said.
