THE ONLY WOMAN HE WOULD EVER CHOOSE
At six-ten that evening, I stood in Luca Moretti’s private dressing room holding a red evening gown that probably cost more than my first car.
“No.”
Sienna Bell, Luca’s head of personal security, looked up from her phone.
“No what?”
“No to this dress.”
“Why?”
I held it farther away as if it might explode.
“Because I can see most of it.”
“That’s generally the purpose of clothing.”
“I can see through parts of it.”
She smiled.
“They’re called strategic panels.”
“They’re called unemployment.”
“You’re not wearing it to the office.”
“I’m wearing it in front of my employer’s grandmother.”
“Alessandra Moretti survived the seventies. She’ll cope.”
I stared at the gown again.
Deep red.
Sequined.
Backless.
Elegant enough for royalty and dangerous enough to ruin a woman’s judgment.
I had expected to go home after work, pull something respectable from my closet, and meet Luca at the party.
Instead, two hours after agreeing to this disaster, I had been transported to his penthouse, handed over to a stylist, and informed that Luca had selected the dress himself.
That detail bothered me far more than it should have.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Getting ready.”
“He owns seventeen black suits. What could possibly take that long?”
Sienna’s mouth curved.
“You sound like a girlfriend already.”
I pointed at her.
“Don’t.”
By seven, my hair had been swept into a loose updo, my makeup had somehow been transformed into something glamorous without making me look like a stranger, and diamonds I had repeatedly refused had been replaced with ruby earrings from Luca’s private jeweler.
When the stylist finally left, I turned toward the mirror.
Then stopped.
The woman looking back didn’t resemble Luca Moretti’s efficient assistant.
She looked dangerous.
The dress hugged my waist before falling toward the floor in shimmering red fabric. The back dipped dramatically, framed by jeweled straps. My lipstick matched the deepest shade of the gown.
I hated how much I liked it.
The bedroom door opened.
I turned.
Luca stopped walking.
That was all.
He didn’t whistle.
Didn’t compliment me.
Didn’t smile.
He simply stopped.
And for a man whose control bordered on supernatural, that reaction felt enormous.
He wore black.
Of course he wore black.
Black suit.
Black shirt.
No tie.
The collar was open just enough to reveal the edge of the tattoos across his chest. His dark hair had been pushed back loosely, and a silver watch sat against one wrist.
I suddenly understood why intelligent women made terrible decisions.
Sienna looked from him to me.
Then she quietly left.
Coward.
Luca’s gaze moved over me once.
Slowly.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No.”
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
My pulse stumbled.
“At least pretend this arrangement is professional.”
“I selected that dress. I’m taking responsibility for the consequences.”
I folded my arms.
“You picked this?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
His eyes returned to mine.
“Because red suits you.”
Two simple words.
Ridiculous effect.
I picked up my clutch.
“We’re going to be late.”
He didn’t move.
“Emma.”
“What?”
“When we arrive, there will be questions.”
“I know.”
“My family can be intrusive.”
“I’ve spoken to your grandmother.”
“Then you understand.”
“I once spent twenty minutes explaining why you didn’t call her every Sunday.”
“She still believes that was your fault.”
“She blamed me?”
“She likes you.”
“That explains the interrogation.”
He stepped closer.
“One more thing.”
I immediately became suspicious.
“What?”
“They will expect physical familiarity.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Explain that sentence carefully.”
“Hand-holding. Touching. Standing close.”
“That sounds suspiciously convenient.”
“It’s theater.”
“No kissing.”
His eyes flickered.
“I didn’t mention kissing.”
“I’m mentioning it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“No kissing.”
The ease of his agreement annoyed me for reasons I refused to examine.
We rode the private elevator downstairs.
For most of the trip, neither of us spoke.
Then Luca extended his hand.
I looked at it.
“What?”
“You’re supposed to be comfortable touching me.”
“We haven’t even arrived.”
“Exactly.”
“This is rehearsal?”
“Yes.”
I placed my hand in his.
Mistake.
An immediate, catastrophic mistake.
His fingers closed around mine.
Warm.
Strong.
Steady.
I had touched Luca thousands of times accidentally—passing papers, adjusting a jacket before meetings, handing him his phone—but I had never deliberately held his hand.
The elevator suddenly felt much smaller.
He looked at me.
I looked at the numbers above the door.
“This is ridiculous.”
“You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You reorganize your purse when you’re nervous.”
I looked down.
My free hand was rearranging the contents of my clutch.
I stopped.
“I dislike you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The elevator opened.
His hand stayed around mine.
Outside, a black car waited.
Snow was falling harder now, softening Manhattan beneath a layer of white.
During the twenty-minute drive uptown, Luca reviewed the family members who would be present.
His grandmother Alessandra.
His aunt Sofia.
His younger brother Julian.
Three cousins.
Two uncles.
Several families I recognized from newspaper society pages.
Then he said one name differently.
“Isabella Rinaldi.”
I glanced toward him.
“The woman Julian sent me?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll be there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“My grandmother invited her family.”
I watched the city lights streak across the window.
“Were you and Isabella ever together?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
“No.”
“Promised?”
His silence answered before he did.
“Not officially.”
I turned toward him fully.
“What does that mean?”
“Our families have discussed the possibility for years.”
“And Isabella?”
“She understands the expectation.”
Something tightened in my chest.
“Does she want to marry you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You never asked?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to marry her.”
The answer was immediate.
Cold.
Final.
I should have been relieved only because it simplified the performance.
Instead, the relief felt personal.
Dangerously personal.
The car slowed.
Through the window, the Moretti mansion appeared behind iron gates wrapped in Christmas greenery and tiny golden lights.
I had been there before.
But never like this.
Luxury cars lined the circular drive.
Photographers stood beyond the gates, hoping to capture arriving politicians and business leaders.
Guests in eveningwear climbed the marble steps.
Luca looked toward me.
“Last chance.”
“To run?”
“Yes.”
I considered it.
Then I looked at our still-joined hands.
“You’d never survive your grandmother without me.”
“That’s true.”
“And someone needs to prevent Julian from introducing you to every single woman under thirty-five.”
“Also true.”
“And you owe me an enormous Christmas bonus.”
“That can be arranged.”
I smiled.
“Then let’s ruin your family’s plans.”
Something warm appeared in his expression.
The car door opened.
Luca stepped out first.
He reached back.
I took his hand.
Camera flashes exploded beyond the gates.
My smile froze.
“You said no photographs released by your office.”
“I’m not releasing them.”
“That technicality is why people hate billionaires.”
He leaned toward me as we climbed the stairs.
“Smile, Emma.”
“I am smiling.”
“You look like you’re planning my murder.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Better.”
Inside, everything glowed.
Crystal chandeliers.
Marble floors.
Red roses.
Pine garlands.
Champagne.
And the largest Christmas tree I had ever seen rising through the center of the ballroom.
Conversation slowed almost immediately.
People recognized Luca.
Then they noticed me.
Then they noticed his hand at my waist.
Silence traveled across the room like a wave.
I felt every stare.
Luca bent his head near mine.
“Still want to do this?”
I whispered without moving my smile.
“Absolutely not.”
His eyes warmed.
“Too late.”
Across the ballroom, an elderly woman wearing emerald silk rose slowly from her chair.
Alessandra Moretti.
She stared at us.
Then at Luca’s hand.
Then at me.
Her eyebrows climbed.
Julian Moretti appeared beside her.
He took one look at us and nearly choked on his champagne.
“Oh,” he said loudly.
Several heads turned.
Julian grinned.
“This is going to be the best Christmas we’ve ever had.”
May you like
And standing beside Luca under a thousand golden lights, I suddenly had the terrible feeling that he was right.
---
Related Stories
Chapter 3 - The Lie at the Top of the Stairs
Chapter 4 - Dinner with the Morettis
Chapter 5 - The Woman His Family Expected
Chapter 6 - The Paper Hidden in Luca’s Desk
Chapter 7 - When the Christmas Lights Went Dark
Chapter 8 - The Morning Everyone Believed the Lie
