A Valdrighi?

Mia

The door creaked open and the last person I expected to see stood before me, shirtless, glistening with sweat, and looking like sin itself. My stomach dropped and my eyes locked on his chest, on the sheen clinging to hard ridges of muscle and on the fine trail of sweat that ran down to the band of his joggers. It was the stranger from the restaurant. The arrogant one. The one with the deep voice and devil-may-care smile who made me spill my heart out and almost cry from sheer embarrassment.

Now here he was, in Matteo's apartment. My jaw hung halfway to hell.

What kind of workout left a man looking like he’d just fought a war? I swallowed hard, mentally kicking myself for even entertaining the thought. This was inappropriate. Incredibly inappropriate.

"Mia!"

I spun around just in time to see Matteo coming to the entrance, a big smile plastered across his face. He kissed my cheek and wrapped his arm around me like he was trying to prove to the world, especially the stranger, that I was his.

"You’re here this late," he said, then turned toward the sweaty demigod behind me. "But since you are already here, let me introduce you. Mia, meet my brother, Rafael. Rafael, this is Mia, my fiancée."

Boom. The floor may as well have given out beneath me. His brother? I blinked once and then again. And then one more time for good measure. Matteo continued, oblivious to the way I’d turned to stone. "He ran away some years back because some idiots scared him," he added with a snort. "Still a drama queen."

I could hardly hear anything else. My ears rang, my vision tunneled, and all I could see was Rafael’s face. The cold in his eyes and the way his jaw ticked like he was seconds away from snapping someone's neck, maybe mine.

This wasn’t just any man. He was the Valdrighi heir. The Rafael. The one from every gossip magazine cover. The one the whole of Italy whispered about as the runaway prince who left his legacy behind like it was trash.

And I had been rude to him. I had called him names. I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Nice to meet you," I murmured, barely able to look him in the eye.

He said nothing. Not one damn word.

Instead, he looked at me like I wasn’t even worth the effort. And yet, his silence was louder than Matteo’s voice. That sharp stare that looked flat, cold and murderous lingered a second too long. And just like that, I was sure he wanted me dead.

He wouldn’t even have to try. One phone call, and I’d vanish. So I did what any sensible gold-digging fake fiancée would do.

I stayed glued to Matteo’s side like a lovesick puppy all night. During dinner, Rafael sat across the table like a king enduring peasants. Matteo filled the silence with jokes and random stories while I stole glances at the man I was now terrified of.

Rafael didn’t laugh. He barely even smiled. He just pushed food around his plate and muttered the occasional comment when Matteo addressed him.

I studied his face properly this time. The scar I’d once heard about was faint now, almost healed. Maybe that’s why I didn’t recognize him at the restaurant. The girls in the bathroom had said he was scarred and monstrous. But they were wrong. He wasn’t ugly. Far from it.

That scar didn’t make him hideous. He looked like someone who'd walked through hell and lived to tell the tale. Like pain and rage had carved their names into his skin and left the rest of the world to guess what was behind those haunted eyes.

I wanted to ask him what happened. I wanted to know the story. And I wanted to hear it from him. But I also wanted to leave the table before he flipped it and stabbed me with a fork.

Later that night, I took a shower and changed into my robe. Matteo was already in bed, scrolling through his phone. I stood there, waiting for him to toss it aside, pull me in and kiss me. But he did nothing. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I’m exhausted, babe. Big day tomorrow."

Then he turned over and started snoring like a damn tractor. I lay there for a moment, blinking into the darkness. Really? Nothing?

That’s I heard the door opposite ours creaking, then closing. I knew it was Rafael.

My mind betrayed me again as I remembered him shirtless. Those huge arms and that torso that looked like it had been sculpted by the devil himself. I imagined him wrapping those arms around me, lifting me off the floor, pinning me to the wall—No.

Stop.

He hates you, Mia. You’re the girl marrying his brother for money. I groaned and rolled out of bed. I went to the drawer, pulled out my toy, and locked myself in the bathroom.

But even there, with the lights dimmed and water running in the background, all I could think about was Rafael’s glare. His sharp jawline, his scar and his voice.

I got frustrated halfway through and gave up. I ended up going to bed restless, annoyed, and slightly turned on in the worst way.

The next morning, I was supposed to go cake tasting. Matteo had promised to come, so I got dressed in a lemon-yellow sundress that made my skin glow and styled my hair with soft waves.

Matteo stood near the mirror, buttoning his shirt.

"Babe, something’s come up," he said, barely looking at me. "Work stuff. But I asked Rafael to go with you."

"What? No. Matteo, come on—"

He kissed me quickly and whispered, "Please, it’ll mean a lot to me. I’ll make it up to you."

Before I could argue further, he was out the door. I waited and paced, while biting my nails. Finally, Rafael’s voice echoed from the hallway. "Get dressed. We leave in ten."

I was already dressed, but I didn’t correct him. I found him by the staircase, phone in hand. He glanced up, and his gaze lingered for a second too long. Just one second. Then it vanished.

He turned around without a word and walked out. He didn’t even open the damn door. What a gentleman. Still, I followed. And somehow, the silence between us in the car was louder than the engine rumble as he drove me toward a cake shop I wasn’t even sure I still wanted to visit.