Page 12 of Valentino

"Drink your coffee, signora."

I do. And I do not think about the way his hand felt between my shoulder blades.

Valentino

Casa Aurelia. Of all the brands in all the cities. Coincidence.

I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in patterns. I believe in people walking into rooms they should not be in, and Vittoria’s best friend has just walked into mine.

"You’re quiet, Conti." She tilts her head. "More than usual, I mean. Should I be offended?"

"I’m listening."

"Mm. Sure you are."

She smiles like she knows I’m not, and the worst part is, she is only half wrong.

I am listening.

I am also noticing the line of her throat where her scarf has slipped, the small movement of her fingers against the cup, the way she sits with one leg crossed over the other like she has never had to think about where the exits are.

She has reason to know. She just doesn’t know it yet.

That is the problem.

I take a slow breath through my nose. Her perfume has citrus in it. Something bright under all that gray Milan rain.

It suits her.

I take my fucking eyes off her. Because looking at her like this is not what a man does with his cousin’s best friend. Not in any version of the world I am allowed to live in.

She is gorgeous. I can admit that to myself.

She is also the kind of woman who, in another life, with another name attached to mine, I might have let myself want.

But this is not another life.

She is Vittoria’s best friend.

End of sentence..

"Okay." Amanda leans forward, both elbows on the table, her smile sliding into something more direct. "Real question. Are you going to tell me what you're actually doing in Milan, or are we doing the whole 'business' thing until I die of boredom?"

"Business remains business, Amanda."

"Wow. Riveting." She rolls her eyes. "Conti, you've gotta give me something. I'm a marketing girl. We live for context."

"You don't need context."

"Said every cryptic Italian man ever."

Her phone buzzes against the table. She glances down, and in that half-second, I do something I didn't consciously decide to do.

I reach across the table and pick up her phone.

Her head comes up fast. The smile goes. Her hand hovers an inch above the wood, frozen.

"What the fuck?" Quiet. Not loud. Just real. The mask has cracked a little, and underneath it she's not playing.