other during the ride over, but I grab his wrists and tug them away when he strays under my dress. His whole body trembles like he’s ready to explode. I would be lying if I said teasing him isn’t becoming one of my favorite hobbies.
I take his arm as we walk under the red façade of Sole Nero, feeling slightly guilty about the line that snakes around the corner, the jealous women giving me looks. But then again, fuck them. They’re not Carlo De Maggio’s woman. I think about what Alda said. Queen. Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad.
An army of staff descends on us at once, falling all over themselves to help us. They take our coats and shepherd us towards a private area with couches and buckets of vodka and champagne on ice. A pair of identical suited men stand in front of the entrance to the lounge, earpieces in, with a look of deadly business in their eyes. It would be comically stereotypical if they weren’t so damn serious.
Carlo’s eyes and hands haven’t left me since the moment we left the house. He’s drinking me in with his gaze, again and again and again, like he’s a dying man in the desert and I’m the last drink of water he’s ever going to have. Once upon a time, it might’ve made me uncomfortable. I suppose it still makes me uncomfortable, at least a little bit—I’ve never met anyone who could hold a candle to Carlo’s intensity, and being on the receiving end of his full attention feels a bit like getting lit up on stage with a gigawatt spotlight.
But that squirmy little voice in my head is much quieter than it used to be. Now, I bask in Carlo’s gaze, do backflips in it. It feels good to be so wanted. It feels really freaking good.
I settle onto the couch as a bottle girl in a skimpy dress hands me a vodka cranberry. I feel that silly little jealous-bitch alarm in my head go off as I look at her. I mean, she’s objectively gorgeous, with a body to die for and those alluring lips that draw men in towards their impending doom. But when I glance at Carlo to see if he’s noticed, it’s as if there is no one in the entire club but him and me.
I shudder. He is an alien in so many ways. But he is mine. All mine. There is no need to be jealous of this girl, or of any other. Carlo truly has eyes for me and me alone.
I look down at the drink she handed me and another shiver races down my spine as I realize that I can’t drink it. For a brief moment there, I’d forgotten about the baby and about the fact that I absolutely must tell Carlo tonight.
Just when I’m tumbling in my thoughts, I feel him slide onto the couch next to me.
As always, it takes only the tiniest touch from him to light my whole body up like a Christmas tree. I feel flushed, despite the cool air, as his fingertips graze my thigh and his lips brush up against my ear.
“I’d fuck you here and now,” he growls. “With everybody in the damn club watching.”
“Watch it,” I warn him, trying not to let the sudden blast of heat through my core be too much of a distraction. I lay a hand on his chest to playfully push him away, but I can’t even bring myself to make the joke. Instead, I curl my fingertips around the edge of his shirt and pull him a little closer to me.
I can hear him chuckle beneath the steady thrum of bass in the air. “Watch you is more like it,” he retorts. I know he’s grinning without even having to look. That arrogant, irresistible grin he’s worn since the second I met him. “I can’t stop watching. I—”
“Excuse me, sir,” comes a voice from above us.
Carlo looks up to see one of his men standing there looking a little concerned. “Yes?”
“I am very sorry to interrupt, sir, but I need to borrow you for just a moment, if that is all right. A question of club business.”
Carlo snarls in irritation, but excuses himself as he extricates himself from me and stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he says to me.
I nod and watch as he steps a few yards away to whisper fervently in the man’s ear. My eyes wander to the crowd, pumping