What happened between us last night is forbidden in so many ways I couldn’t even begin to explain.
I feel like a foolish Elizabeth accepting Mr. Darcy’s hand as she steps from a carriage. Well, it was a wall—and his hand was elsewhere—but the feeling is the same.
The urge to stay and to run at the same time.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I’m not hating the idea of being a married man.”
“We’re not even engaged yet.” I’m definitely nervous.
“Formalities, my dear,” he says, louder. “How are the engagement preparations going?”
“Excited, brother?” Arturo teases.
“Why not?”
“He should be. Either his father retires—or he does,” Fiamma says. “We’ve given everything we had to the association and Parola Rosso. It’s time for new blood. I’m sure Lorenzo and Valentina will live up to expec
