Page 177 of I'm sorry, Princess
Shame. Rage. And the unbearable fear that I’ve just lost her forever.
Chapter Forty-six
Serena
After leaving Lorenzo, I rushed home, my thoughts spinning so fast they tangled into knots I couldn’t undo. I had gone there with one purpose: to tell him to stay away from me. To cut the last thread binding us together. Instead, I ended up in his bed. Again.
And God help me, I don’t regret it.
The moment I saw Ashley in his room, lounging like she belonged there, my blood boiled. Then he stepped out of the shower, wet curls clinging to his forehead, water dripping down his carved muscles, nothing but a towel around his hips, and jealousy sank its claws so deep into me I thought I’d lose my mind. The idea of him touching someone else, especially her, made me sick. He had paraded her at the Moretti’s Anniversary like she mattered, andit burned me alive.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I surrendered.
That’s why I agreed when Kylie mentioned the party at Cursed. A huge, glittering, mindless distraction. Exactly what I needed. A comeback. A chance to feel alive, to laugh with my girls, to drown the ache inside me with music and lights instead of tears. Because lately, all I’ve done is cry, starve, sleep, and pour myself into my novel like a woman possessed. I’ve ignored my friends, ignored life, ignored myself.
Everything is falling apart, my job, my family, my future, us. And yet my heart refuses to let him go.
Lorenzo gave up on us so easily, and it shredded me. But I understand, too, at least part of me does. Still, it hurts. God, it hurts so much I can barely breathe sometimes. And the worst part? Even knowing the truth, even knowing who he is, what he does, how dangerous he can be, I still want him.
I saw Ian’s face, swollen and bruised, and I couldn’t deny it anymore: Lorenzo is not just ruthless in business. He is lethal. He is a man forged in violence, unafraid to stain his hands with blood. And yet… I want him anyway.
Because I’ve also seen the other side of him. The Lorenzo who smiled like a boy in Florence. The man who danced with me in the rain, careless and free. The son who nearly broke at his father’s grave. The protector who carried me in his arms and whispered I love you like it was a confession, like it cost him pieces of his soul.
I’ve seen all of him, his tenderness, his rage, his cracks, his shadows. And I love him.
I love him so much it terrifies me.
And maybe it’s shameful, maybe it’s insane, but the dangerous part of him… excites me. My life before him was dull, scripted, suffocating. He is chaos, fire, and storm, and every second with him makes my heart pound and my blood race. Being with Lorenzo is dangerous. Addictive. Obsessive. And I don’t care.
Because no matter what happens next, no matter how much this love destroys me…
I don’t want safe.
I don’t want ordinary.
I want him.
All of him.
Tonight, I dressed to kill. A short dress clinging to every curve, hugging my body like it was made for me. My hair falls in soft curls down my back, swaying when I move, and my nude make-up makes my features sharper, sultry, effortless. I look hot, and I know it. Hot enough to give Lorenzo a heart attack. And, that’s exactly the reaction I want from him.
It’s just me, Sienna, and Kylie tonight, Clara stayed home. She said she wasn’t feeling well, and though part of me wanted to drag her out anyway, Kylie swore it had something to do with her brother. So we decided to give her space, let her come to us when she’s ready.
The drinks are strong, maybe too strong, and I’m definitely more than tipsy. Kylie disappeared into the crowd, wrapped around some guy she’s been shamelessly flirting with all night. That leaves me and Sienna on the table, dancing like sinners on display, the music vibrating in our bones.
And then, him.
The moment I caught Lorenzo watching, all controlled fury and clenched jaw, my night became perfect. I wanted to see him break. To see him fume. And he did. His icy blue eyes burned holes into me as I danced with Sienna and even with Lev, letting their hands linger, letting their attention feed my performance. Every glare from Lorenzo made me smile harder, move slower, arch deeper.
And then I went further, dancing for him. Every sway of my hips, every flick of my hair, every wicked glance, all for him. His face hardened, that beautiful face sculpted with rage and desire, and my stomach twisted with the thrill of it. Women would kill for that face, for even one look from him in the morning. But he was looking at me. Only me.
And I loved it.
I loved knowing that I still had that power over him, that no matter what he said, we’re over, I could still make him burn. That even when he hated me, he couldn’t stand another man touching me, looking at me, breathing the same air as me.
When he finally yanked Lev down from the table, I should’ve been relieved. Instead, I was disappointed. Because what I wanted, what the drunk, reckless part of me was screaming for, was for him to drag me down. To grab me, claim me, punish me. To remind me exactly who I belong to.
But he didn’t.
