Meanwhile, in the game room at the mansion, Lorenzo and Giuliano grilled Luca, who'd been waiting, in vain, for an apology that, at this point wasn't going to come. After two weeks, his outrage had dissolved into disbelief, sadness, and finally depression.
A lump across the couch, eyes on the ornate ceiling, Re considered how, while everyone else stupidly had assumed the best about him out of interest, somehow Margherita had assumed the worst for no damned reason but her own fears. That hadn't meant she saw him, at all. Or did she? Was Luca truly a violent monster?
Giuliano and Lorenzo were fighting each other on the gaming console, backs against the couch Luca had colonized like mold.
Giuliano kicked Lorenzo's character in the face. "Re, swallow your pride. She's not coming, and you're not getting over her. Go talk to her."
"Never." If she didn't see the real Re, what was the point?
Lorenzo, his character dead, tossed the controller aside. "Can I ask her out, then?" Not like he needed permission, but pushing Re's buttons was too much fun.
"I'll kill you," Re growled. He somehow segued into, "She didn't trust me at all, like I'm some kind of monster."
Margherita walked into the lounge, unannounced.
Giuliano, who'd turned to face Re, on the couch, saw her. Amused, he asked Re, "So you wouldn't want to see Margherita? Even if she came here?"
Luca shook his head once. Giuliano nodded toward the door, giving their guest away.
Luca snapped his head up. "What happened to announcing guests?"
Margherita glared at him, hurt, or maybe it was just her natural expression these days. "I, um, told Riccardo it was not necessary."
"Who's Riccardo?" Asked Lorenzo.
"The butler," she answered, surprised they didn't know.
No one called the butler by name, apparently except Margherita.
"Hey," Luca blurted, startled and clearly happy to see her.
Margherita looked to the floor, uncharacteristically demure. "I didn't know you were so angry with me." Luca's lips parted in surprise. Pause. "I'll just go." She turned around but he jumped up and over the couch's back to stop her. "Wait! Going where?"
Giuliano held back mirth and nudged Lollo, who was much less entertained.
Re said, "I mean, since you're here tell me why you came, right?"
She mustered the courage to look up at him. Re was so close and yet he seemed unreachable. She'd missed him so much. "Re, I'm really sorry about the way I reacted. I should have trusted you. Sergio is a dick."
She returned her eyes to the floor, missing Luca's bewilderment in technicolor. She couldn't stand groveling, but she'd messed up.
Meanwhile, Giuliano was having the time of his life.
Re asked, tension mounting, "Wait, what did he do, now?"
"Nothing. Chiara wanted to dump him, and we overheard that he'd been cheating on her...that he, um, wanted you to go out with him to get laid." Then she mumbled, "I, um...may have also beat him up."
Giuliano cracked up. "You what?!" He leaned into Lollo. "Un-fucking-believebale! These two are soulmates. The king's never wrong." Lollo was less amused.
Meanwhile Margherita and Re stared at each other: she was hoping he'd forgive her; he was utterly blank. All he wanted to do was kiss her, hold her. Fuck the president, the company, and everyone's expectations; this was more important than anything.
He snapped out of it. "If apologies meant anything..."
"There'd be no jails. What can I do?"
"Three wishes," Re said, smug. Margherita frowned. "Then I will accept your apology."
"That's a lot of wishes," she countered, dryly, but the atmosphere had completely shifted, back to their usual bantering.
Re turned to Lorenzo and Giuliano. "Guys, is three wishes fair, or what?"
Lollo moped. Giuliano said, "Totally. I mean, the king had been right all along..."
"I'm always right," Re grinned.
Margherita huffed. "Don't push it. And fine, but you have to tell me all three wishes in less than a minute. Sixty..."
"What?! No way!"
"Fifty-six..."
Giuliano nudged Lorenzo with an elbow, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Can't make this shit up. These toddlers have found each other."
Luca panicked. "Calm down!"
"Done. Two wishes left! Forty..."
"Just shut up, Pescatore!"
She nodded, quietly nodding once per second and moving her lips, then resuming, "One wish left. Twenty-five..."
"Just stop!"
"Done. All three wishes fulfilled. Are we good now?"
Giuliano giggled. "Total soulmates."
Re threw his hands in the air. "No!" He thought for a few seconds. "Can you just say, 'Bae, I was wrong; please let's go steady.'" Margherita's eyes bulged out. "Say it once and all is forgotten."
Redness rose to her cheeks. How immature could he be? Did he want to go steady? Did he even know what that implied? Did she? Margherita opened her mouth, closed it, looked up at him, heat reaching the tips of her ears, then she looked down again, then exploded. "No, I can't! Take my apology or leave it, damn it!" She spun around and stomped out.
"Wait! Pescatore!"
Giuliano stretched, hands behind his head. "You should have accepted the apology when you had the chance."
Lollo finally spoke, "I would have. I mean, you didn't need to punch the guy. Way overboard, right?"
Re didn't hear a word; he was already running after Margherita.
She barreled down the hallway. How childish could a guy be? Three wishes? Bae? Going steady? Like hell.
"Margherita! Wait!"
She halted in the middle of the hallway, without turning, hands in fists, unshed tears she'd been unaware of in her eyes. Re caught up to her, turned her around, and hugged her for dear life.
"I'm sorry," he said. Margherita relaxed in his arms, leaning her face against his chest. He held her. "But not about punching that dick. There's more you should know."
She pulled back and looked up into his amber eyes and the anger lingering there. He broke eye-contact. "When I turned him down on his offer to go see his girlfriends, he offered to roofie your hot chocolates." He chewed on his lower lip. "Marghe, he wanted to assault Chiara and thought I'd do the same to you. I lost my shit. "
Margherita's hands flew to her mouth.
Re continued, "I made him swear he'd never see or talk to Chiara again, and I don't think it was my place, but I wanted her to be safe."
Margherita's hands shifted to his chest, outrage sinking in.
Re gripped her shoulders, though gently. "I was serious before; let's go steady and see what happens. If we don't, I'll regret it forever."
Margherita felt the same way. She made fists of his t-shirt. "I'll never call you 'Bae.'"
He grinned, yellow eyes beaming at her. "I can live with that."
He stirred her with her back against the wall, feeling a little feral. She'd said yes, and now he could kiss Margherita all the time. They hadn't kissed since fucking Christmas. In fact, he wanted to do a lot more than kissing. She turned him on in a way he hadn't known possible.
Pescatore was his girlfriend. His. Girlfriend.
With her black eyes into his, her breathing accelerated. The electricity that ran between them every time they touched was staring to spark.
The hallway disappeared as he put his hands behind her head and leaned down to kiss her hungrily. He'd thought he may have lost her; instead they were back together, lost into each other, wanting more.
"A-hem."
Margherita jumped out of her skin, but Luca barely glared at the head of security.
Murani's gaze was sympathetic as he approached the couple. "Signorotto, if you really wanted the president to find out about this arrangement, this may not be the best way."
Re's expression changed. Was Murani on his side? Had he known about Margherita? Well, that did not surprise Re, but why hadn't he told the president, then? Re did not trust Murani, yet; his proffered concern could be part of a bigger ploy.
Re nodded once, opened a door and dragged Margherita, utterly flustered, inside. They were in some meeting room.
Luca's chest rose and fell quickly. "Marghe, my birthday is coming up. Will you come to the gala? It will be here at the mansion this year."
Margherita shrugged. "Sure. Maybe I'll lose the costume this time."
"Definitely." Re held her gaze. He swallowed. "I want you to meet my mother."
Margherita was flabbergasted. "Your mother?! But doesn't she come only once a year?"
"Yes, and this is it. My birthday is right around the Salone del Mobile. My birthday is the perfect excuse for her to throw a party and touch base with the Milano Bene." The Milano Bene included the old nobility and the wealthy who lived in the old city, basically anyone who mattered.
That was sad and terrifying. "Re, no. We...just started...seeing each other, I'm—"
"You're perfect." His hands slid down to hers and so did his gaze. "I want you to meet her, for real, and in public."
Did he mean to tell his mother they were kind of going out? She was flattered and frightened. "Why?"
Heat rose up his neck and to the tips of his ears. "Margherita, I..." He deep-inhaled. "I really like you, and I'm not sure about the extent of the witch's displeasure when she finds out." Marghe's heart was pounding. "I'd rather she found out from me and at a very public function, with witnesses." Re felt terrible about putting Margherita in the eye of the storm, but it was the safest course of action, and the only option for them to keep seeing each other. "Is it too much?"
Yes. This was madness. Yet, anything was better than not seeing Re anymore.
"I'll do it," she answered. "But what if we break up later?"
Re shrugged. "Let that be on our own terms, not my mother's expectations." She nodded, timid.
Re beamed. "I'll buy you any dress you want."
"Have you learnt nothing, Vincitore?" She grinned.
"Wear whatever you like. I don't care. Will you come, then?"
She nodded again, more confidently, hoping she wouldn't regret it.
"Until then, we should probably keep a low profile, but after..." He gazed at her intently. "Well, I just can't wait to go all out."
Honestly, neither could Margherita.
Meanwhile, Sam had taken Chiara to his pottery studio. She hadn't been here in two years. The studio was on the top floor of a luxury building downtown. Chiara had been surprised to discover that Sam had lived in the apartment by himself, even as a minor. The main space was the pottery studio itself: white oak shelves crowded with vases and bowls in pastel hues and with edges like lace, a wheel in the middle, and a kiln in the corner, by the slop sink. An entire wall of windows added vibrant light to the space, already bright from the white walls. Adjacent to the studio, past a shelf, was the ample kitchen, with a central island, stools, and state-of-the-art appliances. She hadn't been past the kitchen, but the two doors implied a bathroom and a bedroom.
Chiara smiled. "Remember the first time I came here?"
"Nope," he lied. Chiara arched a skeptical eyebrow and Sam exhaled. "Yes, I put the moves on you and you turned me down."
She gloated. "Still fun to remember." She admired some new ceramic shot glasses that resembled different flowers. Each sold for five hundred euros. The boy was a genius.
"They seem so delicate, right?" He asked.
She nodded, hating to admit any more eloquently that she was charmed by his work. The last thing she needed was to encourage the player when she was at her most vulnerable.
Sam chose a white campanula and dropped it, deliberately, on the carpet. Chiara yelped, but the ceramic did not break.
Sam explained, "It's been beaten and molded into shape, then fired in a kiln at 1600 Cº; it's much stronger than it looks. Hardships make us what we are. You might be in the kiln now, but that's how you get stronger."
Chiara's face surrendered to pure bewilderment, jaw slack.
"What?" Sam asked. "You didn't think I'd be capable of empathy?"
She caught herself. "I didn't know you'd go to such lengths to charm me, but kindness suits you. Keep going."
Wait. Had she manipulated him into being a better person? Had she played the player again? He kind of liked it and felt dumb for it at the same time.
She sat at the kitchen island, chin on her hands, green eyes on him.
The seams of her tight jeans always looked a second away from bursting, particularly around her thighs, and Sam hoped to be there when that miracle occurred. Only when Chiara continued to talk, did he realize he'd remained speechless, like a rookie.
She said, "...For example, you could apply that same kindness to yourself and allow yourself to feel, once in a while."
"Oh, I feel plenty," he replied, velvety and feline. He reached in the freezer, poured two shots of limoncello, and they dunked one each.
She shivered; the liquor was sweet and tangy on her tongue, heating up her stomach.
"Thank you," she said, the hint of a smile now lighting up her features.
Sam shook himself out of his stupor. What was he doing? Had he really planned to take Chiara back here and seduce her, when she was at her most vulnerable? Was he turning into his father, whom he despised? A glance at her hinted smile told him he could not be trusted around Chiara Felice.
"Let's go out!" He blurted.
She frowned. "Out? Now? Where?"
He sighed. "Honestly, I'm having a bad day, too. Let's go have some fun." Where the hell had that come from?! Chiara didn't need to know about his shit day—no one did.
"What happened to you?" She asked.
Oof. He opened the door for her and answered evasively. "Nothing worth talking about. I visited my mom at the clinic. She's been unwell for years."
Chiara had known that through the tabloids but said, "Sorry to hear." Her comforting hand on his back radiated warmth all the way to his heart. He discreetly moved away.
In the next couple hours, Sam took Chiara for facials, manis, and pedis. Chiara had never done anything like that, nor knew men could partake in such activities, which Sam told her was incredibly sexist. "Do you think I wake up this handsome?"
They laughed and chatted, drinking champagne. Chiara knew Sam would clam up the moment she asked about his mom again, so she didn't, and it worked. By the third glass of champagne, he'd spilled the whole dark story about his father's unforgivable negligence. It seemed just the tip of the iceberg. Haircuts followed. He cut his floppy bangs and got a general trim.
Chiara was hesitant. "I don't want to take advantage—"
Sam laughed. "You'd be the first not to. Please, my treat, really, no big deal."
Well, it was a big deal for her. Sure, generosity was easy in abundance, but she didn't see rich people fighting to share their wealth with the less fortunate.
Chiara got a much needed haircut. By the time she was done, her locks fell in luscious waves. She'd always been pretty happy with the way she looked, but now she was a stunner. While he got his eyebrows plucked, much to Chiara's amusement, she got light makeup done.
Next, they went shopping. He modeled for her, and she helped him pick some new jeans and shirts, doing her best to keep her drooling to a minimum. Sam also bought some ridiculous sneaker they both loved. They were white with a hidden unicorn.
"Your turn!" He declared. Then, sensing her hesitation, he added,"Trying is free, Chiara."
Chiara donned ridiculous dresses and shoes, feeling like a queen. Of course Sam bought Chiara's favorite: a green silk slip that made her look like a Greek goddess. Sam whispered outside the changing room, "Keep the dress on for part three of the plan!"
"Part three?" He did not linger on the fact that part one had been a foiled attempt on Sam's part to be yet again a dick and seduce Chiara in his studio."For this part of the plan, you have to pretend we're dating."
Chiara blurted, "I'm not kissing you."
Sam was amused and a little hurt. "I don't think anyone's ever been this horrified at the prospect, but fine."
They left, decked out to the nines. Chiara's mood dampened slightly when Sam led her to Sergio's club.
She asked, "Why here?"
Sam's voice was serious. "Revenge."
Chiara frowned. "How do you even know whom I was dating or where he works?"
Samuele Bellocchio freaking blushed. "No more questions. Come on!"
Sure enough, Sergio was inside, flirting with some woman at the bar. The moment he saw Chiara, he spilled tequila on the bar and blurted, "Felice?" Which was Chiara's last name. "Wow, you look...yea, you got it, Babe, I'll take you back."
Sam asked Chiara, "Do you know him?"
Chiara squinted at Sergio. "I don't think so."
"Oh, come on, babe! We dated! It's Sergio, yea?"
Chiara shook her head. Meanwhile a woman sidled up to Sam. "Sam Bellocchio? I'm so sorry to bother you, but could I take a picture with you?"
Sam flashed his million dollar smile. "Not tonight, sorry. I'm on a date."
"Yea, right," some guy who'd been with the woman said. "You're always on dates."
Sam said, "But tonight I'm in love. Excuse us."
He took Chiara's hand and led her to the dance floor. Chiara knew this was an act that Sam had perfected through years of practice, so she went along. When a slow song came up, Sam put his hands on her waist, leaning his head against hers.
Chiara whispered in his ear, "Aren't you exhausted to always act the part?"
The words pierced through Sam. He'd been doing all this for Chiara, but she'd seen through his usual charade and even showed concern for him. Chiara felt him stiffen, so she unexpectedly nuzzled his neck.
Sam's knees went weak, his pants stirring.
Chiara whispered, "Don't worry, two can play this game." He moved back so that he could look into her eyes, completely entranced by her. He leaned closer but she skirted his face to whisper into his ear, "No kissing, remember? Also, I don't give a fuck about that dickwad, let's get out of here."
Sergio came to the dance floor then. "Hey, Chiara, Chiara!"
She waved him away like a fly and walked out, hand in hand with Sam.
Sergio had never felt dumber.
Neither had Sam, who wanted the one woman he couldn't have.
Author's note: Star the chapter if you liked it 🥰 Heads up, things are about to heat up...for everyone 🥵❤️🔥 See you next week!