Page 220 of Sinful Lies

My smile stretched wider. “Grazie, Monica. I just needed a change of pace.”

She tilted her head. “Hmm, I understand. Angelo told me you moved in together.” Her lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with something dangerously close to maternal mischief. “I’m so happy, Jade. In thirty-six years, I’ve never seen my son in love.”

Her words hit me square in the chest, but I managed to stay upright. Barely.

She stepped closer, taking my hands in hers. “Grazie, Jade. Thank you for helping him understand he deserves love, too.”

I tried to hold it together, but a little laugh bubbled out—half sob, half disbelief.

“He’s the one who taught me I deserved it, Monica,” I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to play it cool.

She squeezed my hands, her smile so radiant it was almost blinding.

Then, she leaned in, kissing my cheek.

“Next week,” she said decisively. “Lunch and shopping. My treat. And no arguing.”

I nodded.

As she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder.

“I can’t wait for you to be part of our family one day.” She winked and left.

La famiglia.

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my cheeks flushed.

The word settled over me, heavy and sweet, like honey warmed by the sun.

I let out a sigh as the music softened into a tender ballad, couples melting into each other as they glided across the floor in perfect harmony.

I tried to make my way through them, carefully dodging sweeping gowns and clasped hands, but before I could take another step, a hand caught mine—strong, steady, and ohsofamiliar.

Before I could process it, I was spun effortlessly, my breath catching as I collided with the unyielding warmth of a chest I knew better than my own heartbeat.

I looked up, and there he was.

Angelo.

Mio Angelo.

The world faded, the glittering ballroom, the music, the whispers—they all disappeared. It was just him, with his dark eyes smoldering beneath his mask.

“Looking for me,amore mio?” he murmured, his voice a low, velvet caress.

I whispered, “Always.”

His smile, achingly tender and devastatingly beautiful, made my knees weak.

“I haven’t been much of a gentleman with you, have I?” Angelo murmured, his voice low and rich as he extended a hand. “I’ve never even taken you to dance. Shall we?”

I hesitated. “I’ve never been much of a dancer, Angelo.”

Clubbing? Sure.

That was survival mode—dim lights, sweaty crowds, and music loud enough to drown out my two left feet. I could flail like a caffeinated hyena and still blend in.

Butrealdancing? Like, actual ballroom? With rules and grace?

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