Page 117 of The One
He’ll find out soon enough, though, of that I’m sure. Probably sooner than I’d like, especially when I don’t answer his call tonight.
The nervous knots in my stomach tighten. Defying Father is something I’ve never dared to do. Add to that the uncertainty of what Mateo might expect from me tonight, and it tempers my excitement about going out for the first time.
What if I don’t belong here? Will I stand out like the sheltered girl I am, especially on the arm of someone like Mateo De Marco?
I look up at said man and a sexy smile spreads across his face. He leans in closer, and for a fleeting moment, I panic, thinking he’s about to kiss me right here for everyone to see.
Yes, I want his lips on mine again, but I can’t risk people drawing the wrong conclusions about us. I can’t afford to be seen as his latest plaything. Not if I want to outlive my father.
To my simultaneous relief and disappointment, Mateo’s mouth veers toward my ear instead, his breath warm as it brushes against my skin, sending a shiver down my body.
In a voice so low only I can hear, he says, “Dolcezza, there’s no need to be nervous. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
I frown. How does he know I’m nervous?
Can he read my mind? I wouldn’t put it past him. He is that observant.
But I’m released from my delusion when Mateo points at our joined hands. My fingers are squeezing his so hard my nails have turned white.
“Sorry,” I say, a little embarrassed, and loosen my grip.
But I don’t let go. Not that Mateo would let me, his fingers holding mine firmly.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing pulse. It works for all of two seconds. Then Mateo presses a tender kiss to my forehead and my heart goes wild again.
My eyes lift to search his. For what, I’m not sure. What I find is a heavy-looking emotion I can’t pinpoint. Though with a blink, it’s gone.
“Come on,” he says, taking half a step back, and I immediately miss his warmth.
Pulling me with him, with my hand firmly in his, Mateo strides ahead as one of his men opens the door for us.
As we step into the corridor, the energy of the place envelops us instantly. The faint hum of bass reverberates through the sleek, polished walls, promising a more vibrant pulse inside. Mateo’s hand glides from my hand to rest lightly on my back, guiding me as we move down a softly lit hallway with black marble floors that gleam beneath discreet, golden sconces.
When we reach the main floor, I stop and take it all in, sensing Mateo’s gaze on me. The ceiling soars high above, with crystal chandeliers dripping elegance and casting a soft light that glitters off mirrored surfaces. The bar stretches along one side with glowing backlit shelves, showcasing more bottles than I’ve ever seen in my life. Rich leather seating is arranged in cozy, private clusters, exuding exclusivity.
Gentle pressure on my lower back makes me move again, and we make our way through the crowd. Men in impeccably tailored suits and women in stunning dresses that could dazzle on the runway are in conversations, laughing, flirting, and dancing.
It feels like hundreds of eyes are on us as Mateo guides us to a roped-off section at the back of the club. It’s like a world of its own here, glamorous and untouchable, a place where secrets are shared and deals are made under the cover of dim light and sparkling drinks.
Is this what’s going to happen tonight? Is this why we’re here?
As if he heard my question, Romeo appears next to Mateo. “Sorens texted. They’re late. They’ll be here in half an hour,” he informs him. “I’ll make use of that time and have Veronica wrap her lips around my cock.”
My eyes widen in shock.
I mean, I knew both Mateo and Romeo were playboys. I’ve just never been around someone who talks about sex so openly.
Mateo squeezes my hand. “Excuse him. He doesn’t have a filter,” he says, as we watch Romeo walk away.
He stops, scanning the club briefly before taking determined strides toward a woman in a waitress uniform, someone I wouldn’t have pegged as Romeo’s type.
“That’s Veronica?” I ask, somewhat surprised. I’d pictured a busty blonde in a skimpy outfit, complete with bold red lips to match the name, not someone so unassuming and everyday-looking.
“No, that’s most definitely not Veronica,” Mateo replies with a chuckle, stepping up behind me so my back is flush against his chest.
I glance up at him over my shoulder, questions burning at the tip of my tongue. How does he know this isn’t Veronica? Has he been with her? Is that why he’s so certain?
The sudden flare of jealousy catches me off guard, and I have to remind myself that just because I kissed Mateo doesn’t mean I have any claim to him. He will never be mine.
