Chapter 7- Moving In
Lucia
The glass elevator mended silently through Dante’s penthouse lower, offering an increasingly spectacular view of the city below. Forty floors up, and I still hadn’t reached his our–Banr, Of course Date Romana lived in the clouds.
Mrs. Chen, bis impossibly efficient housekeeper, stood beside me, her posture as pristice as her pressed uniform “Mr. Romane occupies the top three floors,” she explained, her voice carrying just the righ note of respectful professionalism. The main living areas are on fifty two, private quaners on filly three, and his home office takes up fifty–four.”
Three floors. Because God forbid the great Dante Romano live like a normal millionaire in a single–floor penthouse.
The elevator doors opened to a sight that made me pause mid–eye–roll. Floor to ceiling windows wrapped around the entire floor, flooding the space with morning light. The city spread out below like a kingdom, all glittering rowers and winding streets, it was breathtaking
But it wasn’t just the view. The space itself defied my expectations of tacky bachelor pad howary. Clean lines, open spaces, and a sophisticated palette of grays and blam created an atmosphere of understated power. Modern artworks–1 recognized a Rodliko that probably cost more than my foundation’s amual budget–hung at precise intervals on the walls
Everything was perfect. Ten perfect.
“As you can see,” Mrs. Chen continued, leading me through the space, the main floor inclocks the living room, dining room, kitchen, and Entertainment areas. Mr. Romano prefers everythine kept in exact under.”
I could tell. Every object seemed placed with obsessive precision–symmetrical arrangements of books and sculptures, perfectly aligned furniture, not a cushion out of place. It was like living in a museum of mascatine minimalism.
Two men in dark suits – Taylor and Martinez according to Mrs. Chen–stood discreetly near the security station. They nodded respectfully as we passed Great. Personal bodyguard Becuse this wasn’t enough like a gilded prison already.
I glanced at the moving boxes being carried in by the staff. My colorful throw pillows and eclectic an pieces would give this sterile perfection
Indurain Good
“I think,” I said sweetly, pulling out my favorite ceramic fish sculpture, this would look perfect on that console table.”
Mrs. Chen’s perfectly composed face twitched slightly. “Mr. Romano is particular about the decor.”
“Is he now“” I placed the electric blue fish next to a probably priceless Ming vase. “How Encinating. Oh, and I brought my collection of Moronian pouls for the living room. So much cozier than all this leather and chrome, don’t you think?“
The look of barely concealed horror on her face was almost worth the whole forced manage thing Almost
“Your private quarters are upstairs,” she said quickly, probably eager to contam my decorative rebelion. “If you’ll follow me
The elevator ride to the fifty–third floor was silent except for the soft hun of machinery. Mrs Chen led me down a hallway of dark wood and recessed lighting to a ser of double doors.
“Your suite,” die said, opening them with a flourish.
I stepped inside and felt my carefully maintained snark falter.
The room
perfect. Not Dante’s version of perfect with its ngid symmetry and masculine minimalism. Perfect for me.
Cream–colored walls provided a warm backdrop for the morning light streaming though floor–to–ceiling windows. A seating area with curved velvet chain fared the park view I’d always dreamed of having, built–in bookshelves waited to be filled with my architecture books and magazines.
But it was the workspace that made my breatheads. A mussive drafting cible, positioned to catch the natural light, dominated one corner. Every tool an architect could dream of was arranged on the custom–designed storage wall–precise rows of termical pens, drafting took, and materials. A top of the line computer setup included the exact software used for my design.
“Mr. Romano þad it prepared specially,” Mrs. Chen said softly. “He was most particular about the details.”
Something twisted in my chest. Damn hiar. This would be so much easier if he’d just given me some genen guest room. If he’d stayed the cold, calculating businessman I could happily hate.
“Will there be anything else!” Mr. Chen asked.
I shook my head, not trusting my voice. She slipped out silemly, leaving me alone in this space that somehow fel more like home than anywhere else in this tower of glass and steel.
Trank onto the bed–ling sized with the exact kind of soft but supportive mattress preferred – and stared at the ceiling. The events of the past few days trashed over me in waves. The wedding, the drunken night, the forced engagement, Mark’s messages…
Mark. I’d managed not to think about him for almost two hours. A new record.
But now, lying here in this too–perfect room, other memories insisted on surfacing, Memories of two nights ago. Of Danie’s hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck, the way he’d….
I groaned, pressing a pillow over my face. How long had it been before that night? Six months Light Long enough that my body had apparently decided to betray me by remembering every scorching detail of my drunken mistake.
A knock at the door made me bolt upright.
Chapter 7 Moving In
“Decent Dante’s voice carried through the wood.
“Unfortunately,” I mustered, then louder, “Come in
eyes swept the room, then
He filled the doorway in another perfectly tailored suit, this one a deep charcoal that probably cost more than a car. His eyes Ended on me with an intensity thou made my skin wan
“Satisfied” he asked.
“With my gilded cage?” I gestured around the room. “It’s very well–appointed, I’ll give you that. Though I see you’ve been busy redecorating the living room.”
His jaw ticked. “The blue… fal thing?
“Isn’t it delight! Wait until you see the macramé wall lunging brought for the dining mom
He took a step closer, and waddenly the room felt much smaller. “Playing games, cara!”
“Me? Never,” I stood, refusing to let him loom over me, “Just adding a woman’s touch to this monument to masculine overcompensation you call a home.”
Another step. “Careful” he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that did things to my insides. “You’re not the only one who can play games.”
He moved closer still, backing me against the drafting table. His hand came up in brush a strand of hair from my face, the touch sending electricity down my spine.
“What are you doing“” I meant it to sound sharp, challenging, Instead, it came out breathless.
Testing a theory. “His fingers traded down my neck, following the path his lips had taken that night. Memory and reality blurred as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above mune
I could feel his breath on my lips, smell that maddening cologne that had haunted my dreams. My eyes started to close
He pulled back abruptly, his businessman’s mask sliding perfectly back into place. “We have a campaign event tomorrow. I’ll be giving a speech at the Downtown Business Alliance at soon. Wear something conservative hut not stuffy. Navy would be good.”
1 gaped at him, my heart still racing from the almost kiss. “Are you seriously giving me a dress ende right now?”
“And weed to coordinate our statements about the engagement. I have my PR team send over the talking points” He straightened his already perfect tie. Dinners at seven if you’d care to join me. Mrs. Chen makes an excellent asso buco
With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me clutching the drafting table for support, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me
“Bastard.” I whispered in the empty room.
But my reflection in the window looked flushed and flustered, and I couldn’t quite convince myself I meant in
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