Page 18 of Vicious Vines

Aldo sits opposite me, his dark eyes studying me with an intensity that borders on unsettling. Yet, there's a warmth there, too—something that says he's more than just a contract to be fulfilled.

"Tell me, Sloane," he begins, voice smooth as aged whiskey, "what was your favorite place to visit before all this? Before our paths crossed."

I hesitate, surprised by the personal question. My mind flutters to a memory of sun-drenched beaches, but I tuck it away. This is not about sentiment; it's strategy. And yet, his gaze holds genuine curiosity.

"Paris," I answer finally, allowing myself a small smile. "I love the art, the culture... the sense of being lost and found all at once among the cobblestone streets."

"Paris," he repeats, a smile tugging at his lips. "I know it well. The city has its own heartbeat—a rhythm that matches no other."

The way he talks about Paris, it's as if he's painting a picture with his words, one so vivid I can almost see the colors blending into the landscape of our conversation. There's a passion in his voice that resonates within me, a reminder that beneath the criminal exterior lies a man of depth and perhaps even a hint of vulnerability.

"Perhaps one day we could go together," Aldo suggests, reaching across the table to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The contact is electric, sending a shiver down my spine that I struggle to ignore.

"Maybe," I say, the word slipping out softer than intended. His touch lingers for a moment longer before he withdraws, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

"Until then, we have Kingsale," he continues, gesturing to the restaurant around us. "And tonight, we have each other's company."

"Right," I agree, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. "We have tonight."

As the evening progresses, the air between us becomes charged with an energy that's hard to deny. With each shared laugh and exchanged glance, the line between business and something more blurs. But I remind myself to breathe, to stay grounded amidst the heady intoxication of Aldo's charm.

This is merely an arrangement, I tell myself firmly. Business wrapped in the velvet glove of a burgeoning romance. And yet, as Aldo leans in closer, the warmth of his breath brushing against my cheek, I can't help but wonder what it would be like to truly let go, to lose myself in this dangerous dance of desire.

The flicker of candlelight dances across Aldo's features, casting a golden glow that softens the hard edges of his straight nose and prominent cheekbones. He's speaking—something about the vineyards his family owns back in Italy. I nod along, allowing myself to lean into the sound of his voice, its velvety timbre wrapping around me like a warm embrace. Aldo is undeniably attractive, his every gesture oozing the controlled power of his underworld heritage. And against my better judgment, I feel the slow burn of attraction flickering to life within me.

But then the door opens, slicing through the cozy seclusion of our table with the chill of the winter air, and he walks in.

Liam.

His arm is draped over the shoulders of a woman who radiates elegance, her laughter tinkling like fine crystal. It's a sound that stabs at my heart, a reminder of what could have been, what I am forced to push aside.

I clutch the stem of my wine glass tighter, the cool crystal barely grounding me to the here and now. The taste of the rich red is supposed to be exquisite, but it might as well be ashes on my tongue. I'm sipping on memories, each one laced with Liam's laughter, with his touch.

Aldo's hand finds mine on the table, drawing my focus back to him. "Is the wine not to your liking?" Aldo's deep voice breaks through the fog of my reverie.

"Perfectly fine," I murmur, squeezing his hand in return. It’s a reflex, an attempt to anchor myself to the present, to this man who is my betrothed, not by love, but by necessity.

Jealousy is bitter on my tongue, tainting the moment as I watch Liam settle into his seat, his date hanging on his every word. The way he brushes a strand of hair from her face is painfully familiar, a ghost of his fingers against my own skin. I want to tear my gaze away, to bury the rising heat of envy beneath layers of icy resolve, but it clings to me like a second skin.

"Anything you care to share?" he probes gently, yet there's a sharpness to his gaze, a predator's intuition that misses nothing.

"Nothing important," I lie, feeling the weight of our engagement ring—a beautiful, cold shackle—pressing into my skin.

"Then let's toast," Aldo suggests, lifting his glass with a charming smile that almost makes me forget the sting of betrayal lurking in my chest.

"To us," he declares, his eyes locked onto mine.

"Us," I echo back, the lie tasting of merlot and regret. Our glasses clink, a high note in the symphony of my duplicity. I force the wine down, hoping it will wash away the guilt, the longing, the forbidden desire that threatens to consume me.

Because despite the pull of Liam's presence in the room, despite the ache that whispers his name, I am engaged to Aldo. I must play the part designed for me in this dangerous game of passion and power. And so, I smile at my fiancé, wrapping the iron chains even tighter around my heart.

Chapter 13

The scent of roasted lamb and rosemary hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the subtle perfume of peonies that garnish the O'Neil manor's grand dining table. Aldo sits across from me, his presence as commanding as the flickering candelabra between us. It's another dinner, another evening where the clink of silverware against fine china punctuates our conversation.

"Try the Merlot," he suggests, pushing a crystal goblet towards me. "It should complement the lamb perfectly." I take a sip, letting the rich, velvety liquid coat my tongue, its warmth spreading through my chest. It does pair nicely, and I nod in agreement.

"Your choices never cease to impress," I say, acknowledging his culinary expertise, trying to find ease in the rhythm of this new life as his fiancée.

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