Page 30 of I'm sorry, Princess
Serena
Iended the day immediately after the meeting with... him. Just thinking about it makes my stomach churn. Seeing who my client was, unexpected doesn’t even begin to cover it.
Why on earth would they assign me to assist him? I have no real experience, no deep understanding of how to handle someone like that. It feels like a cruel joke.
I try to push him out of my mind, but it’s harder than I’d like to admit. What I need right now is a drink, something strong enough to drown out the memory of his piercing blue eyes and the infuriating smirk that still lingers in my head.
My phone buzzes and I see Sienna’s name flash across the screen. FaceTime. Without a second thought, I hit answer. God, I already miss her. She told me the momentshe landed in Japan, but between her schedule and my disaster of a day, we hadn’t had time to really talk.
“How was your first day? Tell me everything!” Sienna practically squeals, her face filling the screen, her enthusiasm so bright it cuts through the haze that’s been hanging over me since this morning.
Sienna is my ride-or-die. Always has been since last year, when our mothers, two women who thrive on status and appearances, dragged us into their New Year’s spectacle of a party. That’s when we clicked. She’s vibrant, unfiltered, the kind of person who makes you forget the weight of the world pressing on your chest.
And of course, she’s stunning. Unfairly stunning. She’s taller than me, about 5’5”, with caramel waves cascading down her back like a damn shampoo commercial. Long legs, tiny waist, curves that make heads turn without effort. Her green eyes glitter like gemstones, and she laughs like she knows every secret in the world. Standing next to her, my B-cup breasts and simple frame feel… ordinary. But it’s impossible not to admire her. She’s magnetic, and men orbit around her like she’s the sun.
“Uhm… interesting,” I mumble, distracted, the memory of him creeping back in like smoke seeping under a locked door.
Her brows lift immediately. “Interesting?” She leans in closer, her mischievous grin already forming. “Don’t you dare hold back. Who was your client?”
The name slips out before I can think. “Moretti.”
Her mouth drops open. “Moretti? As in… the Italian dessert?”
I nod, heat already creeping up my neck. “Yes. Lorenzo Giovanni Moretti.”
Sienna freezes. “Oh. My. God.” Her green eyes sparkle as she zeroes in on me, and when she sees my blush, she bursts out laughing. “Why are you blushing?”
My face burns hotter. There’s no hiding it.
“Is he that hot?” she presses, practically bouncing with excitement. “What did he do? What did he say? Spill!”
I bite back a nervous laugh, my chest tight with both embarrassment and something darker. “He asked me… if I wear underwear.”
Sienna’s jaw drops, and then she erupts into hysterical laughter. “No way. No way! What did you say?”
“I told him he wasn’t my type,” I say with a straight face, though the corner of my mouth betrays me.
Her laughter only gets louder. “Serena, please. That man is everyone’s type. You’re such a terrible liar.”
“I don’t have a type.” At least, I don’t think I do. “If I did, it would be a man who’s… respectful. Affectionate. Someone who acts like a man but isn’t… you know…” I pause and grin wryly. “In jail.”
She snorts as I pull a bottle of Sangria from the fridge, pouring myself a glass. My favorite. Sweet, rich, dangerous in how easily it slides down. One glass turns into two. Then three.
By the time Sienna finishes telling me about her photoshoot in Tokyo, about how much she loves Japan and how much she still hates Knox, I’m drunk. Definitely drunk.
And it doesn’t help.
The alcohol doesn’t blur my thoughts, it amplifies them. Instead of drowning him out, Lorenzo Moretti consumes me. His face. His mouth. His voice. The way his eyes saw straight through me, stripping me bare without laying a finger on me.
I imagine his hands on my skin, claiming me, branding me, like I already belong to him. I imagine the weight of hisbody, the danger in his kiss, the destruction he promises with a single touch.
How the hell is this happening? How can a man I barely know crawl under my skin like this? Infect my veins, my thoughts, my body?
Am I sick?
No. I’m drunk. That’s all. Just drunk.
But the realization slams into me like ice water, I’m alone. Alone in this bed. Alone in this house. Alone in a life that feels hollow no matter how I try to fill it.
