We remained arm in arm, and while I’d settled with the fact as best I assumed I could, the intimate contact left me in a bit of a daze. True, we’d had sex and done things to one another that many would have considered far more so, but they would’ve been wrong. That’d been our arrangement, the bargain struck to satiate our particular kinks. What we were doing on that walk was something reserved for people who were either friends or in some kind of relationship.

  We were neither of those things.

  And, to add to the strangeness of the situation, we weren’t alone.

  I hadn’t noticed them at first, but perhaps half the distance to the hotel, a pair of men had come to my attention. Each was large and dressed in black, much like the ones who’d retrieved the family’s luggage the previous day. I’d done my best to ignore them, but the longer they followed with their heads on a swivel, the more difficult it became.

  “Mr. Sacchi.”

  He glanced down at me. “Please, call me Michele.”

  I nodded but doubted I would. It felt too informal for whatever was between us.

  “Uh, who are those men?”

  He shifted to peer over his shoulder, spotting the pair who stood out in stark contrast to the tourists and locals who surrounded us.

  For the first time since meeting him, he seemed unsure. It’d been such a strange concept that it caused me to pause.

  He stopped at my side and when I turned to face him, he did the same, though hesitated to meet my eye.

  “They’re my security team,” he said, sounding deflated with the declaration.

  I creased my brows. “You have a security team.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  I waited for him to continue, but it didn’t seem he was willing to do so. Having let a few things already fall to the wayside, including his weak explanation about the ownership of a super-yacht, I couldn’t help but push.

  “What is it you do that requires bodyguards?”

  He could’ve been part of a political family. He could’ve been a celebrity of some kind. He could’ve been any number of things, but something told me that no, whatever the Sacchi family was, it was different from that.

  We stood in silence, Michele sweeping his hand through his hair and scratching the back of his head.

  He’s nervous…

  His gaze drifted to mine and, with resignation in his voice, he spoke.

  “My family has many businesses,” he said. “Some are quite lucrative.”

  You own a fifty-plus-million-dollar yacht. No shit.

  “But not all are the safest ventures.” His shoulders dropped. “Recently, some of our business partners have expressed their dissatisfaction.”

  I looked at the guards. “And that merits paying people to follow you around?”

  He shrugged his shoulder. “It’s unlikely anything will happen, but the precaution was prudent.”

  I turned my eye to him, cocking my brow. There were miles beneath the surface with him, untold depths that I doubted I would ever see.

  “So,” he said, hooking my elbow with his once more. “Do you and your friends have plans while in Venice?”

  “Not any I’m aware of right now, but we want to explore,” I said. Guess that conversation’s done. “Do you have any suggestions?”

  “Many.” He smiled. “Venice has a lot to offer.”

  We rounded a corner and were presented with a bridge that would take us across the canal. On the other side sat my hotel, the sign prominently displayed for those who needed it.

  I briefly wondered which of the windows that overlooked us belonged to the room I’d reserved.

  Together, we navigated the bridge, bypassing the couples who lingered at the short stone wall in tender embraces, some snapping pictures that we’d done our best to avoid so we wouldn’t interfere with the images. Others enjoyed the midday traffic through the canal.

  When we reached the hotel, Michele and I lingered on the front step. He turned to me, another soft, but kind smile on his lips. In the fresh day’s light, his eyes appeared almost honey in color.

  “I hope you enjoy your stay in Venice, Miss Hurst,” he said, handing me my bag.

  “Me too.”

  “Would…” He hesitated, slipping his hands into his pockets once more. “Would it be possible to see you while you’re here?”

  The question caught me by surprise. Given how he’d all but ensured that I would stay in Italy, I thought he planned to see me plenty of times.

  As it was, it seemed he’d done it so I had the chance to properly explore. It seemed as though he hadn’t put any expectations at all on extending my work contract.

  Oh, my God. How many thousands of dollars did he just drop keeping the crew on for two more weeks?

  Am…am I obligated to spend time with him?

  No. That’s not it.

  Looking at him had cleared my concern with the moment. There had been no arrogance, no expectation. Instead, he seemed a little uncertain, the discomfort from earlier returning while he waited for my response.

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. His expression relaxed. “I’d like that.”

  “Perfetto,” he said. He produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me. “If you need any advice on where to go or suggestions, feel free to call me.”

  Unfolding the paper presented me with a string of numbers written beneath his name. Heart fluttering once more, I did my best to ignore the heat swelling in my cheeks.

  “I appreciate it.”

  “And please, let me know when you’re free. I would love to show you the city.”

  I nodded again, and, though still unsure of how to handle the moment, I was glad to find myself in it.

  Michele leaned forward, pressing his lips to my cheeks in a very typical European-style kiss. The sigh left me before I’d had the chance to pull it back, my eyelids fluttering.

  He whispered in my ear, “Until then, bella.”

  Drawing back, he gave me a gentle nod and proceeded back the way we’d come. I wanted to linger, to watch him walk away, but the smarter side of me won out and I entered the building to check in.

  * * * *

  Lying in bed, I texted Kennia to let her know where I was and in which room. She replied that everyone was still busy with resupply and the like, but she’d let me know when they were free.

  I felt a touch guilty that I wasn’t there to help, given I was technically still an employee, but found a bit of solace in the fact that I wouldn’t have been that great of an addition. I didn’t know what was needed or what to do with it beyond purchase. The others would’ve had to tell me what to do, guide me through the tasks because I hadn’t been on The Silver Wind long enough. I could’ve been as much of an obstacle as helpful.

  Staring at my text log, I considered sending Michele a message. I wasn’t certain what to say, but I did want to speak to him. I wanted to see him.

  Opening a blank template, I filled in the number. My poor phone, an American product, wasn’t sure what to do with the strange arrangement of numbers. I could only hope it still counted. I hadn’t had to send texts to international numbers in a long time.

  Hi. It’s Bay.

  The unsettling embarrassment of constructing such a stupid message had come before I’d even finished it, but I forced myself to send it off without a second thought. If I thought about it too much, I would’ve crippled myself with anxiety and not texted him at all.

  The reply arrived sooner than I’d expected.

  Heart in my throat, I unlocked the screen and saw a blue bubble on the left of the screen.

  Hello. I’m glad to hear from you.

  My pulse quickened a little, thumbs hovering over the keypad. I wanted to send something, but nothing came to mind. In fact, my head had gone completely blank, which allowed another message to pop up.

  Have you made plans for the evening?

  A direct question gave me a path to follow, something to anchor to.

  I replied.

  No. Everyone’s still preoccupied on the boat for now. Any suggestions?

  As before, the blue bubble appeared quicker than I’d expected.

  Would you be interested in having dinner with me tonight?

  The desire to agree had come fast, boiling to the surface and nearly spilling out of me, but, just as I had throughout the whole of our conversation, I hesitated.

  I needed to be sure that my mind had drifted to the correct place.

  Are you asking me on a date?

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I sat up, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my chin on them while I waited for a response.

  Yes.

  I twitched.

  Those things didn’t belong together. I didn’t play with the men I dated, and I didn’t date the men I played with. They were such stark contrasts that I wouldn’t allow the lines to cross.

  Whenever I would introduce my partner to the world I enjoyed, their judgment shortly followed and the relationship ended not long after. And the men I played with weren’t the dating sort, generally wanting nothing more than release, like me. The one who had been interested didn’t seem capable of separating play from life, taking his role as my Dom much further than I wanted. I’d been glad to end that particular relationship.

  A long time ago, I’d learned that I could never have both, and yes, it hurt not being able to be myself with my partners, but I coped as any adult would.

  The reality was that if I wanted to be in a relationship, I had to bury that side of me deep, deep down. It wasn’t healthy in the long-run, however, which was why I’d decided dating wasn’t for me. I just stopped doing it.

  But what was I supposed to do when someone who knew my kinks, knew the exact things I enjoyed, asked me on a date? Should I turn him down in spite of how badly I wanted to agree? Should I agree, even though past events had proven disappointing?

  Conflicting thoughts bounced around in my head long enough that another message appeared on my screen, the time-stamp telling me four minutes had passed. I hadn’t realized I’d been that distracted.

  Perhaps I overstepped. I apologize.

  My stomach sank. I knew the embarrassment that came with shooting a shot only to miss.

  You didn’t, but I don’t date. You surprised me.

  May I ask why you don’t?

  With a sigh of resignation, I decided to be honest. If there were anyone beyond Kennia with whom I could tell the truth, it’d be Michele. We’d been through enough at that point.

  It’s never worked well in the past. The two sides of my life never blended.

  Well, I can only offer you dinner and company.

  That does sound nice.

  Is that a yes?

  I paused, staring at the brief conversation. Was my reticence coming from a reasonable place or not? I didn’t know, and that bothered me. I didn’t like the uncertainty and perhaps that was what guided my answer.

  Yes.

  I’m happy to hear it.

  A smile curled the corner of my lips.

  Is there a dress code?

  You can wear whatever you like.

  There’d been relief in the statement, but I still intended to dress nicely.

  I will be outside your hotel at 8 PM.

  I’ll see you then.

  My smile grew and didn’t show any signs of faltering. Any apprehensions I’d had seconds prior seemed to have dissipated, leaving me vibrating with excitement over the prospect.

  Closing the message, I opened my previous conversation with Kennia.

  I have a date with Michele tonight.

  Almost as soon as I’d sent the text, her reply came.

  On my way.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At half past six that night, I stepped out of the bathroom wearing a dress Kennia and I had found during our shopping trip. The black fabric clung to my body, soft while it shifted with each step.

  A collar curled around the back of my neck, though didn’t connect at the front and instead plunged to the center of my chest in a sliver meant to show just a little bit of skin. There were no sleeves, leaving my arms bare, and it had been sculpted to cradle my hips before ending just above my knees.

  It was simple, but beautiful with the way the lines had been arranged to accentuate the wearer’s natural shape. Whoever had created it knew how to do a lot with very little effort.

  Kennia let out a wolf whistle while lying on my bed, smiling at me proudly.

  “Thanks,” I said with an uncomfortable tremble in the back of my throat. “Maybe I should just wear my other dress, the one I brought with me?”

  “Nope,” she said. “This is perfect.”

  “This is expensive.”

  She giggled at the argument I’d been giving since we’d seen the garment hanging on a mannequin because it hadn’t stopped me from buying the damn thing. Although, many times since, I’d thought about returning it after the fact.

  “It looked lovely on the mannequin,” she said, reaching behind her back to retrieve my shoes. I took them, dropping them to the stone floor to put on. “And it looks even better on you.”

  My thankful smile flickered in and out. In the hours since I’d spoken to Michele, my confidence in my decision had begun to waver.

  While I wiggled my feet into my shoes, the same I’d brought on the trip, Kennia retrieved the other bag on the bed. Metal chains clinked and rattled inside the paper.

  “So,” she said leadingly, “you still hopin’ to use these, eh?”

  Running my fingers through my hair to guide it out of my eyes, I spotted her lifting the cuffs with a single finger, beaming with a smile so ridiculously happy that I had no doubt the crew on the boat could see it.

  My stomach fluttered while I recalled spotting them in the window of a shop we passed on the way back to the hotel. It catered to people like me, something I’d been surprised by…and enjoyed.

  The cuffs were leather and inches thick to minimize the burn of ropes or the indentions handcuffs could leave behind. They were meant for comfort and not unlike the kind that he’d used to suspend me from the bar back at Labyrinth.

  A six-inch chain separated the cuffs. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but it was plenty for me to thread through a plank or bar of a headboard.

  It may have been wishful thinking to purchase them in the first place, but if needed, I could return those, too.

  “Knock it off,” I said. She giggled. I swept my hands down my dress over and over, unable to shake the unease. “Are you sure I look okay?”

  A sweet expression took her features. Setting down the cuffs, she slid off the edge and the bed and stood, approaching me without breaking eye contact.

  “You okay?”

  “Nervous,” I said with a laugh to match. “I haven’t had a date in a while.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Define a while.”

  “Four…”

  “Months?”

  “Years.”

  She tried to hide the surprise, but it glimmered in her eyes a split second before she’d been able to rein it back.

  “Jesus, Bay. For just a date? Not even a game or anythin’ like that, but it’s been that long since you’ve gone to dinner or a movie or somethin’ with somebody?”

  My nod was slow to come but did.

  Her brows pooled and her lips parted with a sigh. Kennia had always been vocal about her desire for me to find someone with whom I could connect, so her sadness made sense. That didn’t make it easier to see, though.

  “And I’m nervous because I actually have stuff in common with this guy, but I don’t know how to act.”

  Her features relaxed. Reaching for me, she held my arms and squared herself on me.

  “Jus’ be yourself,” she said. “You’re not so bad.”

  I hugged her, squeezing her tight. She chuckled at my response, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Now then,” she said, stroking my back. “Let’s do something ’bout that hair.”

  My laugh came quick.

  * * * *

  At eight o’clock on the dot, my phone chirped with an incoming message.

  I’m downstairs when you’re ready.

  Taking a deep breath, I rolled my head from side to side to alleviate the nervous tension, but it did little to help. Being the full-grown adult that I was, I might’ve been smart enough to know the build-up was the worst part of any situation, yet that knowledge did nothing to stop me from falling victim to it.

  The end of my high, tight ponytail brushed my shoulders with each turn of my head, tickling more than I’d expected. It was the style Kennia had chosen, a slicked-back, high ponytail. It worked.

  I’ll be right down.

  I slid my phone, wallet and room key into my clutch and made my way downstairs, breathing in time with each step.

  Exiting through the front door presented me with the cool night air of Venice. A soft, warm glow surrounded the buildings, illuminating the scene with a hint of romance, and within it stood Michele.

  He turned to me, spinning slowly on his heel with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed in a bespoke black suit and a white shirt, which he’d unbuttoned just enough to show a dusting of dark hair.

  His gaze traveled up and down the length of me, missing nothing. I’d experienced that stare before, the one I swore I felt. A smile formed.

  “You look beautiful,” he said on his approach.

  “Thank you.”

  He offered his hand and helped me down the two front steps, drawing me to his chest. As he had before, he placed a kiss on each cheek, which I’d attempted to reciprocate, but had been unable to focus the moment his cologne touched my nose.