Page 37 of Good Girl Gone Bad

Chapter Twelve

“Look at you. You could pass for a pro,” Arietta said, behind her.

Lily took a deep breath. She had watched a few YouTube tutorials to refresh her rusty memory, and doubted she’d have pulled it off if her audience had been more discerning. The little kids, though, enjoyed her visit, and her idea of observing and encouraging them instead of putting on a demonstration had paid off.

“They’re children,” she said. “It’s more liberating to let them work freely than restricting them to one way of doing things.”

“True,” Arietta said. “Feel free to give them tips, though, to make their sculpting process more efficient. Even though you aren’t getting paid yet in the United States, you must have some time-saving tips.”

Lily squared her shoulders. No way would she pretend more than she knew and fall into Arietta’s trap. “Art is art anywhere in the world, and it can’t be rushed. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Lily said, walking past the woman to check the stations. Phew.

For some reason, Marco’s cousin wanted her to fail. She wanted her to admit she didn’t know much and certainly couldn’t add any to what these kids already knew. A few times she had to pull answers out of her ass, but she hoped plastering a smile on her face while she did it helped her convince them.

She didn’t want to screw things up for Marco.

Instinctively, she turned her head in his direction. For the past half an hour, he had been assisting an adorable young boy, maybe six or seven. Her heart filled with bursting bubbles of joy. She hadn’t seen him with kids yet, and had expected him to be the kind of guy who treated little ones as adults and miss out on the quirks of childhood.

She’d been wrong.

He hadn’t found an excuse to get rid of the boy, or asked for someone else to facilitate. They’d been working hard together, and she wished she could speak Italian to understand what stories he told to make the boy laugh with gusto.

“How are we doing?” she asked, inching closer to them.

Giuseppe—that’s what his name tag said—looked up at her. He spoke quickly, gesturing with his hands in a frantic attempt to tell her something.

“What is he saying?” she asked Marco while touching the boy’s hair to acknowledge him.

Marco sighed. “He feels bad we’ve been trying to do a perfect vase for his mom, but the edges still came out rough,” he said, pointing at their imperfect piece. Giuseppe spoke again, and Marco translated. “He wants her to be proud of him.”

She kneeled down and lifted Giuseppe’s chin up. “Can you please tell him I’m proud of him?” She looked into the boy’s eyes but spoke to Marco.

Maybe Giuseppe sensed her approval, for a shy smile formed on his lips.

“Tell him sometimes when we start our process, we have an image in our minds of what the final piece will look like. We work toward that goal, then things change. They don’t go as planned, and that’s absolutely fine.”

Marco translated her words in his dreamy voice.

“Tell him this bowl is unique because he made it and his mother will love him for it. If she doesn’t, she can talk to me. I’ll set her straight.”

Giuseppe giggled, and even before Marco told him what she’d said, she knew he had understood her intent.

When she peered at Marco again, she noticed a strong emotion flashing in his cocoa eyes. Flecks of gold sparkled in his irises, like shooting stars in a dark sky. Her heart stopped in her chest, and she watched him, hypnotized, unable to speak and ignoring everyone around them.

The need to hug him, to kiss him, to claim him, ignited at her core and spread madly throughout her body. Her own words played in her mind like an old broken record. We work toward that goal, then things change.

Shit. The situation hadn’t changed—they were still in Italy pretending to be committed to each other when the only thing drawing them together, besides scorching sexual chemistry, remained a calculated contract. No, the situation hadn’t changed, but she had.

Oh, crap. I’ve fallen in love with Marco.

…

“You were great with the children. Arietta didn’t suspect a thing,” he said, as they entered their suite.

The day had been long, with him showing her the sights then the stop at the art studio. All she wanted was to throw herself in his arms, but they had one last activity—a mandatory one. His aunt had planned for everyone to go on a boat trip along Lake Como, with drinks and more fancy appetizers, she imagined.

“Thanks. What should I wear tonight? I’m assuming it’s not a jeans-and-sneakers type of event, right?”

He shook his head then opened the armoire where he’d placed some personal items. Even though they had a walk-in closet with enough space, Marco had preferred to keep some of his things locked. She doubted he suspected the housemaid would rob his stuff. Did he think she would?

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