MIA
There were some things I could get away with in life. Boarding with zone three when my plane ticket said zone four. Telling my nutritionist I only had a bite of cake, instead of a full slice. Skipping the occasional campaign event by pretending I had food poisoning.
Hooking up with a mob boss’s son wasn’t one of them.
The steamer wand huffed angrily as I dragged it over Romolo’s finished suit. He was due to arrive for his fitting any minute.
Two days had passed since the night in the Hamptons. Plenty of time to reflect, overanalyze, and go in and out of mental tailspins.
He hadn’t texted me since that night. Why would he? His last words to me had been that a deal was a deal. He’d reduced our kiss to a bargaining chip. I had no idea what he was thinking, or if he’d thought about me at all.
On the other hand, I’d thought about him plenty, pondering all his complexities and contradictions.
Lust, I could handle. What I couldn’t handle was the rest.
The curiosity. The butterflies. The gnawing need. And most of all, the way I sometimes secretly enjoyed the morally questionable things he did.
Like pinning me to a bed. Cornering me in my office. Coercing me to climb onto his lap and then bribing me for a kiss. He had power, and he wasn’t afraid to use it.
Something about that appealed to me, which was seriously messed up. Continuing down this path would lead me to dangerous places.
My only comfort was reminding myself that nothing terrible had happened—yet. No one had caught us doing anything we were definitely not supposed to be doing together. But I’d always believed that breaking rules had consequences, and eventually, they caught up with you.
I wasn’t going to gamble with fate. Not when my entire plan—if I could even call it that—was held together by wishful thinking and duct tape.
Fabi was set on this wedding. My dad’s poll numbers were climbing, despite whatever the Ferraros were doing on their end. Neither of them needed my help. It was time to admit I was more likely to cause harm than do any good by continuing this. And not just to them, but to myself.
Which was why today had to be our last meeting.
With a sigh, I placed the steamer wand back in its holder. I was rifling through my desk drawer—where was my lip gloss?—when the door creaked open.
My head snapped up.
Romolo stepped inside. He was wearing a worn leather jacket over a black T-shirt and dark-wash jeans.
Ugh. The look worked well on him, although I was convinced everything worked well on him.
Our eyes clashed.
“Mia.” The low rumble of his voice slid through the air and coasted down my spine.
“Rom.”
A charged silence settled between us.
We were trying to read each other. At least, I was.
Is he thinking about it, too?
The deck. The rain. His hands on me. His mouth against mine.
Nope. Not going there. It was time to move forward.
“About what happened—”
“That night was—”
We both stopped.
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Ladies first.”
Now he wants to be a gentleman? Of course. The one time I didn’t want courtesy, he handed it to me like a loaded gun.
I exhaled. “It can’t happen again.”
His expression didn’t change. “Right. It was a mistake. We weren’t thinking straight.”
I blinked. “Exactly. A lot happened that night.”
He nodded. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“Somehow.” Guess he was as eager to move on as I was. “I’m glad you didn’t get the wrong idea.”
“Which would be?”
I felt my face heat. “Never mind.”
He cocked his head. “I’m a grown man, Mia. You think I get attached every time I get to third base with a woman? I’d have a harem of wives by now if I did.”
I almost reared back at that statement. I’d expected his usual arrogance, but I hadn’t expected him to be so callous.
A humorless smirk appeared on his lips. “We’ll wrap everything up today, and then we can say goodbye. For good.”
“Sounds great to me,” I said, my voice flat. Hurt pulsed inside my chest. “Ready to try on your look?”
His gaze flicked to the garment rack. He stepped forward, lifted the suit off the hanger, and held it out in front of him.
I folded my teeth over my lips, trying to read his reaction. Not that I should care what he thought about it at this point. He wasn’t a real client, and I wasn’t holding my breath for that recommendation.
But I did care. Maybe it was my professional pride that demanded I do a great job. Or maybe…I just wanted him to like my work.
Ugh. Why? It was so stupid.
“Are you going to try it on, or just stare at it? I have a busy schedule, Romolo.”
He arched a brow but said nothing. Then, with a shake of his head, he carried the suit into the changing area.
I crossed my arms, forcing myself to stay composed as I paced the studio, struggling—and failing—to keep my thoughts from straying to the last time we were alone.
I hated how vividly I could still remember the feel of his mouth on mine, his hands gripping my hips, his voice rough against my ear.
The curtain slid open and Romolo emerged. “It fits well.”
I froze mid-step.
He looked…incredible. Exactly how I’d envisioned when I imagined the look. The suit molded to his body, emphasizing his muscular build, and the red cape added an element of drama. He was already dangerous. Powerful. Untouchable. But now? Every detail I’d painstakingly added to his clothes amplified those qualities.
Dressed like this, he wasn’t just a man. He was Mars, the god of war.
I walked around him, inspecting the fit from every angle, searching for flaws. I found none.
“What do you think?” I asked, coming to stand in front of him.
His gaze flickered to mine in the mirror. “It’ll do,” he said, his tone dismissive.
My lungs deflated. That’s it? Quickly, I looked away. “Well, that’s great. I’m happy you like it.”
“Anything else? Or are we good here?”
It was a dismissal.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I guess that’s it.”
“I’ll go change.”
I watched him disappear back into the changing area and wrapped my arms around myself.
He hadn’t said anything about the design. Not a single compliment. Not one comment on the details, the fit, the time I’d put into it.
It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. Why was I such a goddamn softie? It didn’t matter, damn it.
A few minutes later, he emerged dressed in his T-shirt and leather jacket again, the suit slung over his arm. “We never discussed payment,” he said. “You can email me the invoice.”
I shook my head. “I’m not taking your money.” The last thing I needed was a financial link between us.
His gaze narrowed. “Not good enough for you?”
“That recommendation will be more than enough compensation. If you’re still planning on making it.”
“Of course I’m still planning on it. That was our agreement.” His eyes swept over me one last time, from my hair to the tips of my shoes. Then he turned toward the door.
His steps were slow. Measured. Not entirely natural.
Like maybe he felt more than he was letting on.
Like maybe he was holding something back.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip. I knew that if I didn’t ask at least one question that weighed on me, I’d look back on this and regret it.
“Romolo.”
He paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“Why did you ask me to work with you? I’m not talking about the suit. The real reason.”
He stood frozen, his back toward me. A heavy silence hung between the walls.
I shifted my weight between my feet. “Did you get what you wanted from me?”
“No,” was his quiet response. “And I don’t want it anymore.”
Pain bloomed in my chest, spreading like wildfire. I couldn’t even pinpoint why.
He opened the door and paused for another brief second. “Take care of yourself, Mia.”
I swallowed hard. “You too.”
And that was that.
He was gone.
He’d walked out of my life as abruptly as he’d entered it.
I sniffed, sat down behind my desk, and opened my laptop. The calendar blurred for a second, before I blinked the wetness in my eyes away.
I’d be fine. It was back to business as usual. Just some emails to respond to before I was supposed to meet my dad and a reporter for lunch. Then my calendar was booked solid until late evening.
Great. No time to think about Romolo. I would forget about him eventually if he wasn’t constantly waltzing in and out of my life.
My phone rang. Jenny.
“Hey, your dad got a last-minute invite to an event this week, but he can’t make it. I was hoping you’d go in his place.”
“When is it?”
“Friday, seven p.m. Some fancy private club called The Golden Circle.”
I sat up straight. No. No way.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Is there a problem?”
I pressed my palm against my forehead. “Can I skip it?”
“It’s kind of a big deal to be invited. There will be people there you should network with. We want you to go, Mia.”
I sucked in a breath and then exhaled. “All right. I’ll be there.”
“I’ll send you the details shortly. Talk soon.” She hung up.
I groaned and banged my forehead against my desk.
So much for never seeing him again.
