“No. But it’s different when it’s strangers. I don’t care what they think.” She hugged herself and gave him a disgruntled side-eye. “I worry what you think, though.”
His stormy gray gaze was too intense to hold. “Why? Do you have something to hide?”
“No.”
He left an expectant silence for her to fill, but she didn’t know what he wanted her to say. Her heart panged with unexpected and acute inadequacy. And yearning. He was even more of a mystery to her than she was to him.
This was the crux of her worry about his effect on her, she realized. He touched her as though she was delicate china, brought her to the heights of pleasure and gave her free rein to explore his body. He let her sleep in his bed and share his bath and gave her his Wi-Fi password, but there was an invisible wall between them. He kept himself deeply guarded and impenetrable, but expected her to somehow reveal her whole self to him.
When she didn’t say anything, he rolled close and encircled her wrist with his loose grip. “You said you were struggling for blog content. Wouldn’t traveling help?”
“I could take a trip on my own if I thought that was the answer.”
“Would you please quit arguing?” His eyes turned pewter with molten emotions. “If you’re pregnant with my child, I want to look after you both.”
And there went her knees turning to gelatin again.
“What happens if I am? We’ve known each other four days, Giovanni.”
“Then things will accelerate even more.”
Her choked laugh was more a sob of helplessness.
“Many couples have unprotected sex for years and don’t conceive.” The stiff defensiveness in him cut through better than anything else might have. “This is very much a long shot, Freja.”
“It’s not that I don’t want your baby, Giovanni. Only that I’m still figuring out my own life. It makes it hard to imagine being responsible for someone else’s, especially one so vulnerable.”
“You won’t be doing that alone. That’s why I want you to come with me.”
She shook her head, unable to believe she was doing this, but she knew she would regret it if she didn’t take this chance to spend a little more time with him, to see if it could turn into more.
“Okay,” she agreed.
Pregnant?
It shouldn’t be such a shocking possibility for a woman who was having regular sex, but Freja was completely unprepared for the idea. She fell inward as she processed it, existing in a sort of meditative state, barely participating in the real world beyond the necessary preparations for travel with Giovanni. She quit her catering job and advised her students their schedule would be changing. She leased her apartment and put a few things in storage.
Giovanni told her not to pack more than one case, which was hilarious because she always traveled light, but he added, “My people will ensure you have everything you need.”
Even her father hadn’t been that arrogant. He’d paid her for odd jobs and photos, then sent her along to the local shops to find her own feminine products and shoes that fit. She had saved up for her own laptop as a teenager, rather than using her father’s castoff, but that was as materialistic as she got.
So relying on Giovanni and letting his schedule dictate hers felt both natural and challenging. When she tried to imagine adding another body and personality to the equation, her brain shorted out and wandered down impractical paths of potential baby names instead.
Not that she could resent Giovanni for turning her life upside down. He might be formidable, but he was also remarkable. He commanded respect not just for his wealth or the confidence that carried him along so well, but for the person he was beneath.
He might not reveal much about himself, but she was catching glimpses. He made dry remarks that had his physical therapist snickering and came up with fresh solutions over conference calls with his development teams. He even generously shoehorned a last-minute charity event into his packed schedule.
“You’re on board with that?” she dimly heard him ask. His voice firmed. “Freja?”
“Hmm? Sorry, I thought you were talking to someone else.” She was barely tracking what was going on in his stylish, contemporary villa on the outskirts of Milan. She’d slept on the plane, so she’d been awake half the night. Now the stylist was turning her in circles, taking her measurements while someone else made notes. Another assistant flashed swatches while yet another was in a huddle with the young man who seemed to be charged with organizing Giovanni’s calendar. She kept hearing color-related questions like, “Red carpet? Black tie or white?”
“Ciau. Welcome back to the conversation,” Giovanni teased as she blinked at him. “I know I said we would use today to recover from jet lag and get your wardrobe started, but I’m accepting an invitation for this evening. It’s a good cause. A sport program for child amputees.”
“Oh. Yes, I heard you say that. So you’re going out tonight? Of course. Do whatever you normally would. I’ll probably be asleep before dinner.”
“We are going out,” he said dryly. “But you can nap this afternoon if you need to. Can you have something ready by then?” He directed that to the stylist.
“Of course. Shall I book one of my technicians to help with hair and makeup?”
“Thank you.”
Freja would have argued that she was capable of putting on her own lipstick, but someone else came in with a call for him and they weren’t alone again until several hours later. By then, they’d flown to Monaco.
The flight was less than an hour, but it added to her sense of disorientation. They were given a penthouse in the hotel. It was very swanky and staff were buzzing around, shifting furniture and taking orders.
Giovanni caught her stifling a yawn, and said, “Go lie down. I’ll join you as soon as I finish my calls. The desk will wake us when your dress arrives.”
That was indeed what happened, tying her up for another hour. By the time she joined him in the lounge, she was more scattered and overwhelmed than ever.
His head went back and he raked his gaze down the one-shouldered dress in a color the stylist had called “Egyptian blue.”
“I thought you were beautiful in a catering uniform that did you no favors. This...” His attention came back to her face and his brows snapped together. “Are you unwell? If this was too much for you, you should have said.”
“It is too much, but not in the way you mean. This is an evening gown, Giovanni!” She plucked at the beaded silk, accidentally opening the slit that climbed to midthigh.
“Call me old-fashioned, but when I’m on a date, I prefer to be the one wearing the tuxedo.”