Page 86 of My Italian Love Affair

Mark chuckles, then lifts a hand, signaling to a passing waiter for another drink.

That makes… what, five now? Six?

I try not to think about it as I sip my champagne, conscious of making it last as long as possible, but it’s hard to ignore the way his voice has changed and his shoulders have dropped into a much more relaxed than usual posture.

It’s even harder to ignore the way his friends are getting progressively louder, their jokes a little cruder, their laughter a little meaner.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, forcing a polite smile as yet another man dressed in a tuxedo approaches our group.

Another handshake, another round of schmoozing, another wealthy donor chuckling at a joke that wasn’t even remotely funny.

This is what the night is going to be, isn’t it? Endless ass-kissing and forced pleasantries while Mark and his cronies get drunk on the free alcohol.

I glance around the room, trying to subtly locate the nearest exit.

I don’t mean to find him, but across the ballroom, Matteo is deep in conversation with a man I vaguely recognise from some previous interviews. A club director, maybe?

Whoever it is, he seems completely at ease, gesturing animatedly as the other man nods along.

Mark’s voice drags my attention back to our group, and I quickly look away before he catches me staring.

"What do you say, Sinclair? Time to start putting those networking skills to use?"

I blink.

"What?"

"You’re ambitious, aren’t you?" Mark’s mouth curves into a smirk. "All these powerful men in one room. Seems like a good time to start making connections."

“Seems like a good way to start something, alright,” one of the other men pipes up.

The comment crawls under my skin, though I try not to show my discomfort.

“Or,” I say sweetly, “I could go throw myself into traffic. Same level of enjoyment.”

Mark throws his head back with a laugh, his hand briefly landing on my shoulder as he shakes his head.

"Youkillme, Sinclair."

I force another polite smile, but my skin feels hot where his fingers touched.

I need a break.

“Excuse me,” I murmur, stepping away. “I need the restroom.”

Not that anyone is listening. Mark and his friends are alreadyabsorbed in another conversation, their voices blending into the background noise of clinking glasses and classical music.

I don’t wait for permission. I just go.

*

As soon as I step into the hallway, I can finally breathe.

The main ballroom may be modernised, but out here, the building’s history is on full display. The polished marble floors echo softly beneath my heels as I make my way through the corridors, and I exhale, letting the quiet settle over me.

It’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes you stop and think, that makes you feel small in the best possible way.

If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine another time. A different century, when the halls were filled with artists and scholars, when the world moved a little slower.

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