Chapter 4

Claire~

The restaurant doors burst open, plunging us out into the chaos beyond. Flashes of light seared my vision as the roar of the crowd outside reached deafening proportions. 

How were there so many people in one location?

The blinding lights were accompanied by a barrage of voices yelling over one another.

“Claire! Over here!”

“Is it true you’re engaged?”

“How long have you been together?”

Their words barely registered before I felt his hand on my back—firm and steady, guiding me forward. 

I tried not to lean into his touch, but my feet were jelly and the warmth emanating from that small point of contact made it almost impossible.

"Keep your head down,” Giancarlo murmured softly, his voice controlled as his even warmer breath fanned my ears, making me weak in the knees.

I tried to follow his lead, but the noise was suffocating. 

Panic clawed at me, my breaths turning heavy.

“Hang on," he said, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me closer to his side as he shielded me from the onslaught with his other arm. "We're almost there,” his voice was unwavering as we edged through the mob like it was nothing.

Finally, the car door opened and I was practically lifted into it.

We zoomed off, leaving the chaos behind, yet my heart continued banging against my ribs as though it wanted to escape the situation as well. 

I peered out the tinted window for something to do—watching the city lights blur past, as I tried my best to make sense of what happened.

“What the hell was that?” I asked finally, turning to him. I sounded shaken, even to my own ears.

“The paparazzi,” he repeated simply, his gaze fixed forward. 

But I already knew that. The question was why? 

On the other hand, Giancarlo didn’t even appear rattled at all. In fact, he seemed almost bored by it. 

“It happens.”

Not to me, it doesn't.

Or, wait..

Could this be because of my proposal?!

I didn't want to consider that possibility, because then that'd mean all this was my fault. But if there was a chance…

I started to ask, but—

“I know what you're thinking. And no. None of this is your doing.”

My eyes widened. “How did you—”

“It's written all over your face.” He smirked faintly, his eyes flicking to me, then away again.

“If it's not that, then why—”

"You're with me." His calm, confident voice broke through my panic. "Naturally, that's all it takes.”

~~~~~

We arrived at what could only be called a state-of-the-art penthouse a few moments later—the decor so lavish that I almost fainted!

“After you,” Giancarlo said before stepping out of the elevator after me.

From the marble floors to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the interior design radiated wealth and grandeur! Everything else was just as immaculate, coldly elegant and undeniably magnetic—just like the man who owned it…

“Fine place,” I remarked, keeping my tone casual despite my awe. “Must be tough slumming it like this.”

Giancarlo smirked as the elevator doors closed behind us. “I manage.”

Moving to the bar, he took his time pouring two glistening glasses of wine, his movements fluid and precise. “Drink?”

I hesitated for a beat before accepting. “Why not? It’s not every day I’m whisked away to a millionaire’s penthouse.”

"Billionaire, actually." He corrected with an amused chuckle as he handed me the drink. So much for modesty. His fingers brushed mine in the process, and I couldn't tell whether or not the touch was deliberate.

“You know…” he began, leaning against the bar—his dark gaze lingering on mine as I took a cautious sip. “You didn't have to come with me. But you did.”

I shrugged. “The alternative was being cornered by the paparazzi all night. I figured this was the lesser evil.”

“Lesser evil,” he repeated, as though testing the words. “You sure about that?” His voice dropped a note as a slow, almost devilish smile touched his lips.

I should’ve moved when he stepped closer, but my feet stayed rooted to the marble. 

I smelled leather and woods—not strong enough for cologne but too expensive to be just deodorant or soap. Carefully chosen body wash, maybe—but it made it hard to think clearly, either way.

“You’re staring,” I said, setting my glass down on a nearby table to mask my nerves.

“So are you,” he replied instantly, his voice low, and his gaze trailing over my figure in a way that heated my skin.

I folded my arms. “You should stop.”

He tilted his head, studying me with a faint smile. “Stop what, Claire.”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly am I looking at you?”

My breath hitched at the question.

I felt cornered. 

What was I supposed to say to that?

It was a clear challenge. He was baiting me—daring me to spell it out, to admit what it was I was seeing in his gaze. But beneath the teasing, there was an edge of confidence, a maddening certainty that I wouldn’t call his bluff. That I'd back out.

But whatever game he thought we were playing, he was wrong about one thing—I wasn’t about to back down. 

“Like you want to do more than just… look,” I said, determined to play it cool even as my pulse quickened. I sounded breathless even to myself.

His eyes darkened, and the distance between us seemed to vanish. 

For a moment, the air crackled with something so electric, it felt almost dangerous. My heart rate tripled and I hated how tempted I was—but just before I could step back and break whatever spell he thought he had me under, I heard the elevator chime again. 

A sharp, masculine voice cut through the air. 

“Are you insane, Fiore?! Do you know what kind of chaos you’ve caused tonight?”

A tall man of almost similar build to the one in front of me strode into the penthouse. He was dressed immaculately, with dark hair and bad-boyishly handsome features that screamed trouble.

“Good evening to you too, Lorenzo,” Giancarlo replied dryly, his tone laced with sarcastic irritation. 

“My social media’s been fucking flooded ever since you—” Lorenzo stopped mid-rant, his eyes landing on me. For a brief second, his expression froze, and then something wickedly amused flickered across his face. “Well, well,” he said, fully facing me. “And who’s this?”

Giancarlo’s jaw clenched. “None of your business—”

“Claire Bennett,” I cut in, extending a hand. “And you are…?”

“Lorenzo Russo.” Lorenzo laughed, taking my hand in his. “Don't mind my friend—he’s such a grump, no?” His grip was warm, his smile disarming. “And I can see why he's been acting so out of character. You're stunning, caro!”

I gave a hearty laugh at that. 

If I wasn't mistaken, caro was Italian for ‘dear.’

“Aren't you a charmer,” I remarked with a pleased smile, noting that I should’ve pulled my hand away already, but something about his easy charm made it hard to. He held my gaze a beat too long, and I could practically feel Giancarlo’s irritation from where he stood—his gaze practically burning into the back of my neck.

“So, Claire,” Lorenzo said, finally letting go of my hand, “what’s the story? How did my friend here convince someone like you to spend the evening with him?”

Another laugh.

“Convenience?” I said with a small smile, ignoring Giancarlo’s glare. “I needed an escape, he offered one.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Fair enough—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Giancarlo cut in, his voice sharp. “Claire’s tired. She doesn’t need you interrogating her.”

“Interrogating?” Lorenzo echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Sure you are,” Giancarlo muttered, stepping between us.

I watched the silent exchange between them, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. From their banter, you could tell they were tight—but it wasn’t hard to see the competitiveness simmering beneath the surface.

“Well,” I said, breaking the silence, “it’s been a long day. I’m going to bed.”

I didn’t wait for a response from either of them, before turning on my heel and heading straight in search of the guest room. 

Both men watched as I walked away, and I hadn't fully disappeared when—

“Careful, Fiore,” Lorenzo’s voice was low and playful. “I have a feeling she might not be as easy to handle as you think.”

“That’s not your concern.”

“Maybe not,” Lorenzo replied. “But you wouldn’t blame me if I decided she was now, would you?”