VALERIA
She eyes me lazily, like she's doesn't expect to find anything exciting about me.
"Alessio," I smile brightly, wiping my hand. "Good to see you. You look unusually calm today."
Her eyes snap at mine. "– Did someone finally slip Ven into your coffee?"
"Oh, Valentino, I don't drink coffee," she says in a matter-of-fact way, flipping hair over her shoulder. "Too much caffeine. But you wouldn't know, you're too Colombian for that." She psts, waving off my comment.
Right. Colombians and tea. How original.
"Ha! You're right," I say, lips curving. "I'll cut down on caffeine, but you know your Italian men." I roll my eyes in mock tiredness. "Dante tasted my coffee once and can't get enough. Nothing beats Colombian coffee, I guess." I only realize the double context when a flicker of envy flashes through Alex's eyes. Her neck is set at a stiff angle, lips twitching, eyes narrowing.
"Nice meeting you," I give her a small wave, leaving her behind. The bathroom door slams behind me – angry footsteps follow.
"You're just a cheap thrill. If you think he'll marry you, you're more delusional than they said." Angry venom seethes through her voice, heavy and poisonous.
I pause in my tracks and turning to face her.
"You mean the cheap thrill he dumped you for?" I arch an unimpressed brow. "Surely you can do better."
"Shut your trap, Valeria." Her jaw ticks, and she takes a threatening step forward.
"Ah," I place a hand on my chest, a small pout on my lips. "I'm glad we've finally cut through the wrong-name bullshit and are calling things how they are."
She straightens, arms folded as she gives me a pointed look. "Dante could pick a better choice for a wife, but I guess when a random girl threw herself at you for a one-night stand is willing to stoop lower, you take advantage of the opportunity."
Alex's smile grows to a smirk, then lowering her voice, she adds, "If I were you, I wouldn't be so confident. Word is you're just a contract partner—from a poor family, no less." She flips her hair over her shoulder, eyes shining with satisfaction.
"Dante and I might have our fights, but he doesn't keep much from me. Ciao, Valentino!"
Alex spins around, heels clicking as she makes her dramatic exit. I wait—just long enough for her to pass, then reach out, tapping her shoulder lightly. She pauses.
Leaning in close, I whisper against her ear, my smile never faltering. " You should really stop mentioning me so much, Alex. People might start thinking you're obsessed."
Her shoulders stiffen before she walks off faster.
Bitch.
It takes every fucking ounce of self-control not to whack her with my bag. I let my mask slip long enough to glare a hole into her dumb blonde head. Confusion and anger root me in place. How did she know we met at the club? And the fucking contract? Diego is the most secretive soul I know; it can't be him.
My stomach churns with dread; no one is supposed to know about the contract. Could Dante really have told her about it?
I blow out a breath, wondering if Florence told her about the contract when I remember Dante didn't deny or affirm her assumption. But even that would be enough to start a rumor, wouldn't it?
Shoving my curls back, I march straight to Dante. He's right where I left him—talking to an older man and a much younger woman. The sound of chatter and soft R&B drowns out their conversation, but as I draw closer, it gets more audible.
"About that," I hear Dante say before he turns to face me, eyes lighting up immediately. "– Here she is, my girlfriend." He has on that rare smile that's annoyingly dazzling—probably the one he uses on investors.
"I was just telling the Smiths about you." His hands glide easily to my waist. I straighten my spine at his contact, the heat of his body suddenly alluring, and my anger reduces by a notch. "Wallen, Nicole," he tips his glass at the older man and his wife, "this is Valeria. Valeria, Wallen and Nicole Smith, the hosts."
I smile sweetly, ignoring the way Mr. Smith, who's probably pushing seventy-five, eyes me greedily like he could eat me on the spot. Gross. His wife is no better, openly eyeing Dante like he's candy. Her over-whitened teeth won't stop flashing unsolicited smiles, eyes batting seductively.
"It's nice to meet you both," I say with a forced grin.
"Nice to meet you too." Nicole's smile tightens. "She's… very pretty," she says finally, voice coated in sugar. Her gaze flicks to Dante, and for a heartbeat, something bitter flashes behind her smile.
"Now I see why you've been hiding her, son," Mr. Smith chuckles, taking my hand. "She's stunning."
Dante laughs humorlessly, the sound smooth but laced with warning. "Guilty. Hard to introduce someone when everyone tries to steal her." His hand settles at my waist, firm.
Wallen—or more like Grandpa Smith—kisses my knuckles, leaving a slobbery trail and I silently curse Dante for bringing me here when Wallen proceeds to send me a small wink.
Dante's gaze darkens. "I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself, Wallen." The older man laughs it off, but I catch the subtle twitch in Dante's jaw before his expression resets into that investor smile.
Nicole either doesn't care or pretends not to since she's sending Dante every body language in history, practically radiating lust. I smile at her to meet a frown.
Well, well.
"Can I have a quick word with you, babe?" I say softly, placing a hand on Dante's chest. A flicker of amusement passes in his eyes, brow arched subtly.
"Sure thing, Bellissima," he murmurs, then turning to the Smiths, "Excuse me for a second." We move away, and the minute we're out of earshot, I make a move to jab at his rib, but he grabs my wrist mid-air.
"Talk," he hisses, yanking me close.
"That's for not warning me your ex would be here," I hiss, glancing around to be sure no one can hear us.
"Alex," he says thoughtfully, raking a hand through his hair.
"Dante, she mentioned our agreement." His eyes snap to mine, cold and calculating, grip tightening on my wrist. "She knows you picked me from the club. She also said everyone here knows we're a contract couple." I gulp hard, breath heavy in my chest. "I haven't told anyone, I swear, so it has to be from your end," I rasp.
Dante goes still, the lines on his forehead forming into shallow ridges. A tick forms in his jaw, angular lines hardening his features as thick green veins pulse along his neck. His grip loosens, and I take a step backward.
Dark green eyes meet mine. "Get in the car."
"Dant–"
"Now."
His voice is deadly calm, leaving me no room to argue. For the first time, I say nothing—and obey.