Chapter 3

Giancarlo

I didn't know what it was about Claire that intrigued me.

Ordinarily, she wasn’t the type of woman I usually dealt with—too bright, too unpredictable, too… real. But there was something... compelling about her that kept me seated here, instead of putting an end to this ridiculous situation and heading off a long time ago. 

This farce was a distraction I didn’t need. And yet, I’d somehow found myself asking her to dinner. She’d hesitated before saying she’d already made reservations for two somewhere else—likely for her and the fool she’d been seeing.  

That she'd mentioned the reservation at all kind of amused me more than I cared to admit. None of the women I knew would've risked pointing it out and passing on the chance at dining somewhere far superior—especially with a man like me. But I’m learning… 

Claire wasn't like most women. 

I’d offered to take care of it though, seeing no sense in letting her effort go to waste. I had no obligations to—I wasn't a man who acted without reason afterall, but for some reason I was happy to help. A word from me would ensure she’d be able to return anytime she pleased, with anyone she chose. But to my surprise, she’d dismissed my offer to extend the reservation, suggesting instead that she went along with me. I could've laughed. I'd almost obliged though, finding her consideration adorable—but if this charade was to continue, I'd rather it be on my terms. 

So I’d brought her to one of my favorite restaurants—an exclusive place with soft lighting and impeccable service. 

Catching her wide-eyed expression as she glanced around I asked, “Have you been to a place like this before?” already knowing the answer.

“Only in my dreams,” she admitted with a small, embarrassed laugh. Something about her answer caught me off guard, even though I’d anticipated it. 

The truth was she was refreshingly transparent, and that kind honesty was almost disarming to me. It wasn’t something I was used to, and it left me realizing I’d have to tread carefully with her or risk losing my head too soon.

When the waiter arrived, I watched her eyes widen even more as she scanned the provided menu. She bit her lower lip, an unconscious habit, and for some reason, my gaze lingered here for longer than was necessary.

“What would you like?” I asked, clearing my throat. If she noticed my attention, she didn't mention it—which was good, because I wouldn't have been able to explain myself either.

“Whatever you want is fine,” she said quickly, her voice tinged with nervousness.

A faint smile touched my lips. She was trying to play it cool as well—but failing miserably. We both were.

“Bring a little of everything,” I told the waiter.

During the meal, I caught myself watching her—not just her expressions, but the way her hands moved as she spoke, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders when she laughed. She was beautiful, I realized—something I hadn’t allowed myself to notice before. 

Unlike the polished women I was used to, she had this… softness to her. An unrefined kind of charm that only made her all the more captivating.

I also observed she had a hearty appetite—something else about her that piqued me. The women I was accustomed to were picky eaters—models and media personalities. Always watching their weight. Claire didn't seem concerned by those things. In fact I think, “You stress eat,” I remarked subconsciously and noticed her freeze mid-bite.

It made sense. She was perhaps one of those individuals who ate a little more when feeling stressed or under pressure—though, I couldn’t be sure which her situation was at the moment. 

For all I knew, this could simply be how she normally ate—that would certainly account for the curves, which I found myself appreciating more than I should. Speaking of—my eyes rested on the seductive arc of her shoulders, bared by the exquisite sequinned dress that appeared to be superglued to her exotic curves. 

I must have reacted without realizing it because her smile faltered, her brows knitting together. “What? Is there something on my face?”

A soft chuckle escaped me. “No, I was just thinking… I don't believe I've told you how exquisite you look tonight.”

Her laughter followed at that, light and easy, breaking the momentary tension. “Why, thank you.” She blushed. "And yes, I do stress eat—but only sometimes. You're very observant."

“So I've been told." I said, before asking, "And is tonight one of those times?” 

For some reason, I found myself curious to know—against my better judgement. In my experience, such type of mindless curiosity never ended well.

“So-so.” She supplied, with a contagious twinkle in her eyes. It wasn't a direct answer, but I found myself smiling along regardless.

Even when she began ranting about her ex, rather than be put off by it, I listened—not out of politeness, but because I found her unfiltered frustration oddly entertaining. Her words came quickly, animatedly, tumbling over one another as though she couldn’t stop herself.

"And do you know the worst part?" she asked.

"What?" I prompted, leaning back slightly, intrigued despite myself. As it was, I should be on my way—or done with her by now, at the very least. Time was ticking, and I was a very busy man—but then…

“He didn’t even have the decency to deny it! When I confronted him, he just shrugged! As if cheating on me's the most natural thing in the world!” She attacked the meat on her plate with such aggression that I almost felt sorry for it. “You know he also accused me of being the problem?” 

I frowned at that piece of information, feeling a sudden unwelcome surge of anger in my chest. 

“That I made him cheat because I did too much? What does that even mean?!” Her hands flew up at that, nearly knocking over her glass of water—but she caught it just in time.

I raised an eyebrow, my voice deceptively calm. “He blamed you for his infidelity?” 

“Yes! Can you believe it? Like I forced him to crawl into someone else’s bed!" She paused, her breath coming in short bursts. “And don’t even get me started on the woman he cheated with.” The thought of someone treating her that way made my jaw clench, and I found myself wanting to teach her ex a lesson he wouldn’t forget, but for now—

“Go on," I prompted while still grappling with the absurdity of my intense reaction to her frustration. I barely knew this woman, yet I felt a strange, almost instinctive protectiveness toward her.

By the time she was done ranting, she sighed heavily—her shoulders sagging as some of the fire drained out of her. “I’m sorry. I must sound like a lunatic,” she blushed, glancing down at her plate and avoiding my eyes. “I’m not usually like this, you know?” I didn’t, but I guess that was good to hear. “It’s just… been a lot to take in. I don’t know why I just told you all of that.”

I don't know why either, honestly—but I didn't hate it. 

I should have been bored. Instead, I was transfixed by the way her lush lips moved, the shift of emotions on her face. Hell, even her voice—it had a soothing quality that I found irritatingly addictive.

She was a storm of emotions, and I found myself drawn to the chaos.

“I don’t mind,” I said truthfully. “You interest me, Claire. Not many people do.”

Her head snapped up, surprise flickering in her eyes at that, but I didn’t elaborate.

As dinner neared its end, I found myself reluctant to leave. That was new. Usually, I couldn’t wait to escape the company of others.

“You mentioned a Maldives trip earlier,” I said, watching her reaction carefully. “What if we go together? To save face, of course.”

Her jaw dropped. “You’re serious?”

I smirked. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. But…” I leaned forward slightly, letting the weight of my words settle. “You’ll owe me a favor in return.”

But before she could respond, the restaurant erupted in flashes of light. Turning to the windows, my eyes narrowed immediately at the chaos outside. Damn.

Paparazzi.

News must've spread quicker than I imagined—but of course, these people were nothing if not meticulous.

“What’s going on? What do we do?” Claire asked, her voice tinged with panic. “Who’re those people?”

“The paparazzi,” My voice was steady as I leaned forward. I didn’t want her to panic any more than she already was. “It's alright, Claire. I’ll take care of it. But it's not safe for you to go home tonight.” My voice softened slightly, but the urgency remained. “Or to work for the next few days, either. If you go out there, you’ll be swarmed.”

“But why?” Her brows furrowed—eyes wide with confusion. “What do you mean? Where am I supposed to go?”

“My place,” I said without hesitation. “This is most likely because they believe you're my fiance.” I sighed. “It’ll be safer there.” At her look of protest, I added, “I’m not asking, Claire. It’s the only option.” 

I let the words hang heavily between us as I stood up, signalling for the check. "We’re leaving now.”