A Jealous Lover

The courtyard conservatory held the last of the evening light. Glass panels overhead filtered the sky into soft gray and pale gold. Vittoria sat in one of the wrought-iron chairs near the center, a history book open on her lap and her laptop balanced on the small table beside her.

She had been reading for nearly an hour, making slow notes in the margins of a pad, when the quiet sound of footsteps reached her.

Cassian appeared in the open doorway. He had already removed his jacket. The white shirt underneath looked slightly wrinkled from the day, sleeves rolled to the forearms. He stopped just inside the threshold and looked at her for a moment without speaking.

“You’re back early,” Vittoria said, glancing up.

“The meeting finished sooner than expected.” He walked toward her, the soles of his shoes quiet on the brick path. “What are you working on?”

“Trade regulations. Fifteenth century.” She tilted the book so he could see the page. “Trying to make the language less ambiguous before I send the next section to Dr. Aris.”

Cassian came around behind her chair and leaned over her shoulder. His hand rested lightly on the back of the seat.

The familiar scent of tobacco and cold air drifted around her. She felt the warmth of his chest near her back as he looked at the open pages.

Then his gaze shifted to the laptop screen.

A new email notification had appeared in the corner. The sender line showed Liam Hart. The subject read simply: Group project timeline – still need your notes on the Florence section.

Cassian’s posture changed instantly. The hand on the chair tightened. He reached past her and closed the laptop with a single motion. The click of the lid sounded louder than it should have in the quiet space.

Vittoria turned her head. “What was that?”

“Who is Liam Hart?”

“A classmate. We were assigned the same group for the midterm presentation. He’s just asking about the notes I promised to send.”

Cassian straightened. His expression had gone flat and cold in a way she recognized. “He has your email.”

“Yes. Everyone in the seminar has the group list. It’s normal.”

“Nothing about another man messaging my wife is normal.”

Vittoria stood as the history book slid down her lap. “It’s for a group project. That’s all. He’s not—”

“I don’t care what he thinks it is.” Cassian’s voice stayed low. He took her wrist and drew her up from the chair. “You don’t answer messages from men who think they have a reason to seek your attention.”

She pulled back slightly against his hold. “Cassian, it’s a group project. I can’t ignore the entire class because you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.” He stepped closer, crowding her space without raising his voice. “I’m stating a fact. No other man gets to text you. No other man gets to ask for your time or your notes or anything else. If he needs something for the project, he goes through the professor or he waits until Enzo delivers the material for you.”

“That’s not how things work.”

“That’s the rule.”

Vittoria stared up at him. The conservatory suddenly felt smaller. The glass walls that usually gave a sense of openness now seemed to press the air in around them. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“Am I?” He guided her backward until her shoulders met the cool stone of the interior wall. His hand came up and rested at the side of her neck, thumb resting lightly against the hinge of her jaw.

The grip was not painful, but it left no question about who controlled the space between them. “You live under my roof. You carry my name. That means the rest of the world stays at a distance. Especially men who think they have the right to contact you.”

Her pulse beat against his palm. “He’s twenty-three. He lives in a dorm and he’s not a threat.”

“Any man who looks at you is a threat until I decide otherwise.” Cassian’s eyes stayed locked on hers. “I don’t share. Not your attention. Not your time. Not even the small pieces that feel harmless to you.”

The argument continued for a moment. Vittoria could feel the heat of his body, the controlled tension in the hand at her neck. The jealousy she had expected to push against had already shifted into something more intimate.

“You can’t control every email I get,” she said, softer now.

“I can control how you respond to them.” His thumb moved once along her jaw. “Delete it. Or forward it to Enzo and let him handle the academic logistics. Those are the options.”

“And if I don’t?”

Cassian leaned in until his mouth was close to her ear. “Then I will. And Liam Hart will receive a very clear message about what happens when he oversteps.”

The words should have made her angry. Instead they sent a slow current of heat through her. She was still frustrated, still aware of how extreme the demand was, but the absolute certainty in his voice pulled at something deeper.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“I’m consistent.” He drew back just enough to look at her again. The dark possessiveness in his expression had not faded, but it had changed shape. It no longer felt only like a warning. It felt like a claim. “You belong to me. Every part of your day that touches the outside world still answers to that fact.”

Vittoria’s hands had come up to rest against his chest without her fully deciding to move them. She could feel the rise and fall of his breathing under the white shirt. “I wasn’t encouraging him.”

“I know.” His free hand settled at her waist, fingers spreading against the fabric of her blouse. “But he still reached for you. That stops now.”

The conservatory was silent except for the soft drip of water somewhere among the plants.

Cassian’s thumb stroked once more along the side of her neck, slower this time. “Tell me you understand,” he said.

She held his gaze. The frustration was still there, but it had melted into the tension that always rose when he stood this close and spoke in that quiet tone.

“I understand,” she said.

Cassian’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, the kind of kiss that finished the argument without needing more words. His hand stayed at her neck, holding her in place while the other pressed her more firmly against the stone. When he finally eased back, both of them were breathing a little harder.

“Good,” he murmured against her mouth. “Then we won’t need to have this conversation again.”

He stayed close for another moment, forehead nearly touching hers, before he released her neck and stepped back just enough to give her room to breathe.

Cassian glanced at both the closed laptop and the history book, then back at her. “Come inside. Dinner will be ready soon. And leave the group project messages for Enzo to sort in the morning.”

Vittoria nodded once. She collected the book and the laptop without opening the latter again.

Cassian waited, one hand resting lightly at her waist as he guided her out of the conservatory and toward the main house.