Chapter 23: 23

Isabella's POV

Inside the villa I was surprised by how ‘warm’ it was. There was none of Aaron's usual dark, fortresslike furniture in evidence here; to the contrary, this space seemed enviably welcoming. Soft fabrics, comfortable chairs, artwork selected for beauty and not intimidation.

"How often do you come here?" I inquired as we stood in the airy living room.

"Not often enough. I have business to hold me in the city."

“Well, I’m glad you brought me.”

The words fell out more heartfelt than I had meant them to. Whatever Victor had me doing, I feel my conscience weighing heavy from it, but something about this place made me wish I could forget everything but the man next to me. But I couldn't forget. Victor was counting on me.

Aaron took me up a spiral staircase to a corner suite with panoramic views of both ocean and gardens. Most importantly, I saw that his room is right down the hall. It was near enough to what I was planning.

“We’re having dinner on the main terrace tonight,” he said, standing in my doorway. "The sunset view is spectacular."

"Perfect."

I was alone in the room and I lay across the bed, attempting to ground myself. This was my shot to gain Aaron’s trust, to convince him that I was finally making peace with our marriage. As we re-entered the house, Victor would have my access to his study.

So the plan sounded pretty simple: be warmer, more interested in Aaron as a person rather than someone I was just uncomfortably married to. Prove to him that I was beginning to come around to our deal.

I chose a pale blue dress that Aaron had bought me and I had never worn — more feminine than I usually dress. As I turned out on the balcony I noticed his approving regard.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, standing to pull out my chair.

The table was set with candles and fresh flowers, the infinite ocean beyond the railing. The environment made my ruse seem both simpler and more sinful.

“It is incredible,” I said as I bent to appear genuinely enthusiastic.

"Even better at sunrise. We could maybe listen to it together tomorrow.”

"I'd like that."

At dinner, I prodded myself to show up as I truly was. "Tell me about this place. Why did you buy here?’

“I was cruising along the coast after a brutal meeting when I saw it. There was just something about it… that spoke to me.”

"That doesn’t sound like the real world Aaron Romano I know."

“There’s parts of me you don’t know yet.”

I watched his face in the candlelight. "Maybe there are."

"What about you, Isabella? What calls to you?"

I did a double take at the question. "What do you mean?"

"What makes you happy? What are you dreaming of when you are by yourself?”

I knew I had my secret sketchbook in my closet, packed with pictures of clothes I would never own. “I used to want to design clothes,” I said.

"Used to?"

"It's not practical. My father told me it was a useless hobby of rich girls who don’t know the real world.”

“Your father says many things that aren’t necessarily true.”

His gentle reproach startled me. “You think I should go after it?”

“But I think you need to do whatever really makes you happy.”

His seriousness about this tightened the muscles in my chest. When was the last time someone had faith instead of laughing at my wishes?

"What about you?" I made myself recall my purpose. "Who were you before you turned into … this?"

"An architect. I wanted to build buildings that would last for hundreds of years.”

"Why didn't you?"

"Family obligations. The Romano heritage doesn’t have space for individual dreams.”

"Do you regret it?”

"Sometimes," he said quietly. “But then I think about what I’m able to save, the stability I bring to our family, and it always seems worth it.”

"Even if it destroys your own happiness?"

“Who said I’ve given up my happiness?”

The expression in his eyes as he spoke made my heart dance.

After dinner, Aaron wanted to take a walk on the private beach. The way down was steep and rocky, and when I stumbled, he grabbed my hand to keep me from falling.

“Be careful,” he whispered, threading his fingers through mine.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” I said when we reached the sand.

"Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure you would."

"Why wouldn't I?"

“It’s just that you’ve been making it pretty clear that spending time with me isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “I’ve not given you a very good deal, have I?”

“You have been honest about your feelings. I can respect that."

“And what if that was transforming?”

The question slipped before I could catch it. Aaron stopped in the middle of a walk and looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"My feelings. What if they were changing?"

I looked into his eyes, they were darker against the moon so I was lost in them for a heartbeat, everything else, Victor, missions, hidden agents discarded for a moment.

"Maybe," I whispered.

Something hopeful and open passed over Aaron’s face—a look I had never seen.

"Isabella..."

“We need to get back," I said sharply, the word dangerous-territory plopping down hard between us. "It's getting late."

The walk back was one of charged silence, my body acutely conscious of Aaron beside me and the sideways glances he was stealing as if he could read my thoughts.

He paused at my bedroom door. "Sleep well," he said softly.

"You too."

"And Isabella?"

"Yes?"

“Whatever is going on between us, just … I want you to know I am grateful for it.”

When he left, I sat on the bed and pored over my emotions. It was working—Aaron was visibly responding to the attention and clearly warming up to me. But something seemed wrong, too designed, too easy to fall into conversation with him, to walk alongside him, to smile at him.

And it wasn’t supposed to be a performance anymore, you see.

My phone buzzed: "How's your romantic getaway going? Sounds like you're making headway on the husband."

I felt guilt as I read the message. I was here to use Aaron, to earn his trust so I could betray it later. But, sequestered in this beautiful room, recalling the way he’d fostered my dreams and shared his vulnerabilities, the lie seemed more wrong than ever.

I texted back: "Everything's fine. Will update when we return."

But as I got ready for bed, I knew none of this was OK.

The next morning Aaron had coffee and pastries on the terrace just the way I liked them. How did he always know that about me?

“Morning,” he said, grinning as soon as he spotted me. "Sleep well?"

"Very well, thank you."

“We’re going to do some exploring today,” he said, placing my coffee on the counter. “There’s a little market in the village, a few galleries, perhaps lunch with views of the harbor.”

"That sounds wonderful."

And it was wonderful — that was the issue. I was officially pretending to have fun, except — oopsie — I was having a blast.

The day played out as if it were a romantic movie. We strolled through the village market, Aaron purchasing me my own silk scarf, the one that I had endlessly admired, holding on to our things. We found a little restaurant by the harbor, and we ate and we talked, both of us trying to put the whole complicated business of our arranged marriage to one side.

“There’s something else about you here,” I said as we walked near the waterfront.

"Different how?"

"More relaxed. Less... intimidating."

"Is that how you see me? Intimidating?"

"Sometimes. When you’re in business mode, you are kind of scary.”

"But not now?"

"Not now."

He smiled, the first real, unself-conscious smile I had ever seen on him.

That night, Aaron prepared dinner: fresh pasta with seafood and market vegetables.

“I had no idea you knew how to cook,” I said, as I looked on at him in the kitchen at the villa.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.”

"Like what?"

“Perhaps I’ll tell you one day, when you’re ready to hear it.

There was something in his tone that piqued my curiosity, but before I could delve further, he asked me to lay the table.

It was a tasty meal, made that much tastier by Aaron's evident delight in my praise.

“Where did you get the hang of cooking?” I asked.

"My mother, before she died. She told me I needed to learn how to take care of myself and the people I love.”

"She’s a smart woman," I said

"She was. She would have liked you."

"How can you be sure?"

“Because she always said the right woman would fight me, make me want to be more than I am.”

The compliment echoed through me in ways I wasn’t ready for.

On the terrace we lingered with wine, talking about books, dreams of travel, small preferences couples should know about each other

“I really ought to go to bed,” I said at last, observing the time.

"Of course."

Aaron escorted me to my room again, and this time the pause at my door seemed heavy with potential.

“Thank you for today,” I said to him. "It was perfect."

"It was, wasn't it?"

For a second I thought he was going to kiss me. Part of me wanted him to. "Nope," he replied and just pushed a lock of hair out of my face.

"Sweet dreams, Isabella.”