Chapter 24 The Drive to Tuscany

Chapter 24 The Drive to Tuscany

Marcella's POV

The car was too small.

That was my first thought when Lorenzo opened the passenger door of the sleek black sedan and gestured for me to get in. Not one of his usual armored SUVs with tinted windows and enough space to pretend he wasn't there. This was intimate. Close. The kind of car where I'd feel every shift of his body, hear every breath.

"Vito's taking a different route," Lorenzo said, reading my hesitation. "We need to look like a couple on holiday, not a don with his security detail."

I climbed in without argument. What choice did I have?

He slid into the driver's seat, and immediately the space felt smaller. His presence filled the car, his cologne blending with the leather and something uniquely his own. He'd dressed down for the trip, dark jeans, a fitted black Henley that showed off his arms. The serpent tattoo peeked out from under his sleeve.

I looked away, focusing on my own outfit. Simple jeans, a white blouse, my hair loose around my shoulders. I'd packed light, just enough for two days at the vineyard.

Lorenzo started the engine, and we pulled away from the estate.

The first hour passed in silence. I stared out the window, watching Sicily blur past. Rolling hills, ancient villages, the sea appearing and disappearing as the road wound north.

I could feel him looking at me. Glances when he thought I wasn't paying attention. Each look made my skin prickle with awareness.

"You're quiet," he finally said.

"I'm thinking."

"About?"

"About how we're supposed to fool Giovanni's mistress into thinking we're a normal couple when we can barely stand to be in the same car."

He laughed, the sound low and unexpected. "Is that what you think? That I can barely stand to be near you?"

I didn't answer.

His hand left the steering wheel and settled on my thigh. Heavy, possessive, burning through the denim.

"Marcella, look at me."

I turned my head slowly.

His eyes were dark, intense, flicking between me and the road. "The problem isn't that I can't stand to be near you. The problem is that I want to be too close. Always. It's distracting."

My breath caught. His hand squeezed my thigh, thumb stroking in small circles.

"So no," he continued, "fooling Claudia won't be hard. Keeping my hands off you while we're there? That's the challenge."

He pulled his hand back and shifted gears, leaving me burning in my seat.

\---

Another hour passed. The silence felt different now. Charged.

"Tell me something," Lorenzo said suddenly.

"What?"

"About your first time."

I jerked my head toward him. "Excuse me?"

"Your first time. With a man. How old were you?"

Heat flooded my face. "That's none of your business."

"We're supposed to be a couple, remember? Couples know these things about each other."

"We're not a real couple."

"Aren't we?" He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "We're married. We live together. And last night, you told me you wanted me."

My stomach flipped at the reminder.

"So answer the question, Marcella. How old?"

I crossed my arms, staring straight ahead. "Nineteen."

"Where?"

"Florence. My sophomore year."

"Was he good to you?"

The question surprised me with its gentleness.

"He was... fine. Nice. It was fine."

"Fine," Lorenzo repeated, his tone suggesting that "fine" was unacceptable. "That's it? Your first time was just fine?"

"What do you want me to say? It was awkward and quick and not particularly memorable."

"And after him?"

"There were two others. Both in Florence. Both..." I trailed off.

"Fine?" he supplied.

"Yes. Fine."

He made a disapproving sound low in his throat. "Three men, and none of them knew what they were doing."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." His hand returned to my thigh, higher this time. "Let me guess. They were careful. Polite. Asked you constantly if you were okay."

My silence was answer enough.

"And you never came," he said bluntly. "Not once. Not with any of them."

"Lorenzo"

"Am I wrong?"

I wanted to lie. But something about the way he was looking at me, the dark promise in his eyes, made the truth spill out.

"No. You're not wrong."

His grip tightened on my leg. "Cristo. Three men and not one of them made you scream."

"Maybe I'm just not"

"Don't." His voice was sharp. "Don't finish that sentence. There's nothing wrong with you, Marcella. They were just boys who didn't know how to touch a woman."

He pulled his hand back to shift gears, and I immediately missed the weight of it.

"When I touch you," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "you'll know the difference. You'll feel it everywhere. And you won't have to wonder if it's good. You'll know. Because you'll be begging me not to stop."

My thighs pressed together involuntarily.

He noticed. Of course he did.

"Your turn," I said quickly, desperate to shift the focus away from the ache building between my legs. "Tell me about you."

"What do you want to know?"

"How many women have you been with?"

He considered the question for a moment. "Not as many as you probably think."

"That's not an answer."

"Six. Maybe seven."

I blinked. "That's it?"

"I don't sleep with women I don't trust. And trust is rare in my world."

"So who were they?"

"The first was when I was sixteen. One of my father's associates' daughters. We were both curious and stupid." He smiled slightly at the memory. "The others were... strategic. Women who understood what it meant to be with me. No expectations of romance or forever."

"And was it good? With them?"

His eyes cut to me. "It was satisfying. Efficient. I made sure they were taken care of. But was it good?" He paused. "No. Because there was nothing at stake. No risk. No real want."

"And you like risk."

"I like intensity," he corrected. "I like knowing that what I'm doing matters. That it means something."

His hand returned to my thigh, this time sliding higher, his fingers brushing dangerously close to where I was aching.

"With you, Marcella, everything means something. Every touch. Every look. Every time you try to hate me and fail."

"I don't"

"You do." His fingers pressed harder, and I gasped. "You want to hate me. But your body knows better."

He pulled his hand away, leaving me trembling.

\---

We stopped for lunch in a small village halfway to Tuscany, a tiny trattoria with checkered tablecloths and the smell of fresh bread and garlic.

Lorenzo ordered for both of us in rapid Italian, charming the older woman who owned the place. She beamed at him, then at me, and said something that made him laugh.

"What did she say?" I asked after she left.

"That we're a beautiful couple. That she can tell we're newlyweds by the way I look at you."

"How do you look at me?"

He leaned across the small table, his eyes locked on mine. "Like I'm starving. And you're the only thing on the menu."

The food arrived before I could respond. Pasta with fresh tomatoes, crusty bread, and local cheese. Simple and perfect.

Lorenzo watched me eat, his gaze intense and unwavering.

"What?" I finally asked.

"Nothing. I'm just noticing."

"Noticing what?"

"How your mouth moves. The way you close your eyes when something tastes good. The little sound you make."

Heat crept up my neck. "I don't make sounds."

"You do." He reached across the table and wiped a drop of sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Then, holding my gaze, he brought his thumb to his own mouth and licked it clean.

My entire body went hot.

"See?" he murmured. "That's the sound. Right there. That little catch in your breath."

I couldn't look away from him. From the darkness in his eyes, the promise in his smile.

When the server brought dessert, a small chocolate torta, Lorenzo pulled his chair around to sit beside me instead of across from me.

"What are you doing?"

"Eating dessert." He cut a piece of the torta with his fork, then held it up to my mouth. "Open."

"I can feed myself."

"I know. But I want to do it."

I opened my mouth, and he slid the fork between my lips. The chocolate was rich, dark, and melting on my tongue.

"Good?" he asked.

I nodded, unable to speak.

He cut another piece, feeding me slowly, his eyes on my mouth the entire time. When a small piece of chocolate stuck to my lower lip, he didn't use his thumb this time.

He leaned in and kissed it away.

The kiss was brief, barely there, but it sent electricity through my entire body.

"Lorenzo," I whispered.

"Yes?"

"We're in public."

"I know." He kissed me again, deeper this time, his hand sliding into my hair. "I don't care."

I should have pulled away. Should have reminded him that this was an act, that we were only pretending.

But I kissed him back instead.

His tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of chocolate and possession. His hand tightened in my hair, angling my head exactly how he wanted it.

When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard.

"That's how it's going to be at the vineyard," he said quietly. "I'm going to touch you. Kiss you. Act like you're mine. Because for the next two days, you are."

He stood and threw money on the table, then held out his hand.

I took it, letting him pull me from the chair and out into the afternoon sun.

The rest of the drive passed in a haze of tension. His hand stayed on my thigh. Sometimes moving, sometimes still, but always there. A constant reminder of what was coming.

\---

We arrived at the vineyard as the sun was setting. It was beautiful, rolling hills covered in grapevines, an old stone villa at the center, the whole place glowing gold in the fading light.

A young woman came out to greet us. Claudia. She was even more beautiful than I remembered from family gatherings. Blonde, curvy, with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Welcome," she said in accented English. "You must be the De Lucas?"

"That's us." Lorenzo's arm slid around my waist, pulling me against his side. "Thank you for accommodating us on such short notice."

"Of course. We always have room for guests who appreciate fine wine." Her eyes flicked between us, assessing. "You're on your honeymoon, yes?"

"Newlyweds," Lorenzo confirmed, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I promised my wife a romantic getaway. Somewhere quiet."

"Well, you've certainly found quiet." Claudia gestured toward the villa. "Let me show you to your room."

We followed her inside. The villa was rustic but elegant, all exposed beams and stone walls. She led us up a narrow staircase to the second floor.

"This is our best room," she said, opening a heavy wooden door. "Private bathroom, view of the vineyards, and very comfortable bed."

The emphasis on "bed" wasn't subtle.

I looked at Lorenzo. He looked completely unbothered.

"Perfect," he said.

Claudia handed him the key. "Dinner is at eight in the main dining room. Please, make yourselves at home."

She left, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

I walked into the room slowly. It was beautiful. Romantic, even. Soft lighting, gauzy curtains, and yes, one very large bed in the center of the room.

The door clicked shut behind me.

I turned to find Lorenzo leaning against it, his arms crossed, his eyes dark with unmistakable hunger.

"Well," he said softly. "Here we are."

My heart hammered in my chest.

"One bed," I said stupidly.

"Yes."

"We're sharing it."

"Yes."

"Lorenzo"

He pushed off the door and crossed the room to me in three long strides. His hands framed my face, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones.

"I told you last night that I was done waiting," he said. "And I meant it. So here's how tonight is going to go. We'll have dinner. We'll play the happy couple. We'll get whatever information we can from Claudia."

His thumb traced my lower lip.

"And then we'll come back to this room. And Marcella?"

"Yes?"

"You're going to sleep in my arms tonight. And if you think that's going to be easy, if you think I'm not going to spend every second fighting the urge to do much more than hold you, you're wrong."

He kissed me then. Hard and deep and absolutely claiming.

When he pulled back, I was dizzy.

"Get changed for dinner," he ordered. "Something that shows you're mine."

He grabbed his bag and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me standing there, my lips swollen, my body aching, and my mind screaming that I was in serious trouble.

Because I wanted exactly what he'd just promised.

And that terrified me more than anything.