Page 62 of The Billionaire's Pact

“Tilt your head back to show your long neck. It’s sexy,” Rocco instructed.

I tried to suppress the burn on my skin as his fingers trailed down my neck. “Yes. These will work. They’re perfect, Enzo. I love them.” His praise and attention made my heart swell and my pulse quicken.

I shyly lowered my eyelids so as not to look at him. Still, I felt a brush of his soft lips on my cheek. I opened my eyes, to find his soft ones on me. “You are stunning, Adelina. You have me under your spell.”

“Rocco,” I teased. “But do we have to get all of them?”

He rubbed the pucker in my brow. “You worry too much. And yes.”

My eyes stung, and the skin on my face jumped. I lowered my head. “You spoil me.”

“Not at all,” he whispered. I looked up, and our gaze locked, electricity surging between us. I wanted his kiss, his touch. I wanted more.

His lips lightly brushed mine. “If you keep looking at me like that, we won’t make it to the race.”

My skin heated, and I tried to ignore the swell of my clit at just his words. I had never thought jewelry shopping was sensual. But with Rocco, what wasn’t?

He took my hands, and I stood.

Enzo was smiling brightly at us. “Lovely choices, but Adelina must have more. I’ll make her a priority.”

“Yes, do that,” Rocco said and hugged his friend. “Now we must go.”

I wore the necklace, pendant, and earrings out of the shop. And Enzo didn’t stop us for his payment.

“Rocco, don’t you have to pay for the jewelry?” I asked him, my voice going up octaves.

“You’re worried?” he chuckled. “Relax. We have an account. Enzo has all he needs from me, along with his bonus. We, Marinis, are generous. You’ll learn generosity and confidence go far. Every door will open with the right key.”

It was hard not to get caught up in Rocco’s impulsive stream of life. Being with him brought out a desire to live in his world and know the man. I wanted more than a passing kiss or touch. But was I ready?

Brightly colored flags billowed from the building as we drove into Siena. The red walled city had been transported back to medieval times. We passed a procession of people wearing red and green flag particolored velvet and satin garments, waving flags with a small crowd of people chanting with them that had on a similar flag around their necks. I’d learned that there were seventeen, representing the neighborhoods. But only ten would compete today. The large open square at the center of town was covered in clay creating a track with crowds lined up around it. Today was the Palio, race day.

Two security guards and a group of police officers helped to clear a path for us to reach a grand stone building. Inside was the banner, The Palio, adorned with an image of the Virgin Mary—a reward to the victorious contrada, the successful race winner, set up on a display. We were led up a grand staircase to the top, where a line of people were waiting to speak with a woman surrounded by photographers and staff. We had only made it to the line when she came over to greet us.

“Rocco Marini,” a woman in an elegant dress and heels, Mayor Louisa Calla, greeted him warmly in front of an entourage. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, her scent elegant and expensive. She was adorned with rings on every finger, and jewels in her ears and around her neck.

Rocco kissed her cheeks, and they conversed rapidly in Italian, enquiring about each other’s well-being and their families. Rocco squeezed my now damp hand, a gesture of reassurance. He had been right, Mayor Louisa Calla would have noticed my previously worn jewelry. I understood as her eyes scrutinized me from head to toe, lingering on my necklace, earrings, and engagement ring. She gave me a wide smile, which let me know that whatever her assessment had been, I had passed.

“Louisa, this is Adelina Belfiore, my fiancée,’ Rocco introduced me.

“She looks like a Belfiore, no?” Louisa said and smiled. “Large, wide blue eyes and strong cheekbones. Such rare beauties. Lovely. Lovely. So wonderful to meet you. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”

I shook her hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re first Palio?” she asked.

I grinned. “Yes. I’m excited. Thank you.”

“She’s sweet,” she murmured. “I consider it an honor to have a Belfiore and Marini at our Palio. You will stand by my side at the race.” She turned and sauntered toward the next group waiting to receive her. I stood speechless. My name meant something here. I never knew I could use it. But Rocco did. He placed his arm on my waist, and his support warmed me. “Let’s have lunch.”

We were escorted into a large formal dining room where an intimate group was now seated for lunch. The cards read ambassadors and heads of state; the guests were not only celebrities, but leaders. The meal was set with meats, fruits, sauces, and bread. A priest said a prayer, and we all started to eat. I took a sip of my glass, not knowing it was wine.

Rocco got someone’s attention, and they changed it for juice. He winked at me, and my insides warmed. After a while, Rocco became deep in a discussion of politics, and I excused myself from the table. I went to find a bathroom that a hostess directed me to. Inside, I heard a hushed conversation happening near the door; the words were barely audible, but the tone suggested something secretive.

“Did you see Rocco Marini? Gurl, that man keeps getting hotter,” a woman’s voice exclaimed, filled with a mix of admiration and amusement.

“Yes, ma’am. Got himself a beard,” a man said and cackled.

---