Page 15 of Tower of Temptations

"He did. Even when he got sick—cancer, not the heart problems everyone thought it was—he tried to keep things normal. Mom and I would bring books to his hospital room, sit with him while he worked. He always made me feel like I was helping somehow." I traced the book's spine, remembering. "Lookingback, I think that's when I really started learning about the business."

"And your mother?"

"She tried her best. But watching someone you love die like that..." I shook my head. "It broke something in her. That's when Vittorio swooped in. He was so careful about it, so strategic. Started with business advice, then lunch meetings that turned into dinner dates. Flowers, little gifts. He even bought me this ridiculous teddy bear—I hated it, but Mom thought it was sweet."

"How old were you?"

"Ten when Dad died. Eleven when they got married. Everything happened so fast. One minute we were grieving, the next we're living in Vittorio's estate and I'm not allowed to use the Divino name anymore." The bitterness crept into my voice. "It all seems so obvious now, but at that time…"

"At the time, you were just kids who'd lost everything." His voice was oddly gentle. "Trust me, I understand about manipulative fathers."

Something in his tone made me look up. "Tell me," I said softly. "About growing up Barbieri."

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Then: "You ever feel like nothing you do will ever be good enough? Like you're constantly chasing this impossible standard?"

"God, yes."

"That's my father. Everything has to be perfect, has to fit his vision of what a Barbieri should be. Take over new territory? Should have done it faster. Make a good deal? Should havegotten better terms. Even now, running half his empire..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes I catch myself doing things just because I know they'll please him, and I hate myself for it."

"But you still do them."

"Yeah." He gave a harsh laugh. "Pathetic, right? I'm twenty-nine years old, and I'm still that kid desperate for a 'well done' that's never going to come."

"It's not pathetic." I set the poetry book aside. "We all want our parents' approval. Even when we know we'll never get it."

"Is that why you stayed? With Vittorio? Even after..."

"After my mother's overdose?" I curled deeper into the chair. "Partly. But mostly I just... didn't know how to be anything else. He spent years shaping me into his perfect daughter. The right clothes, right manners, right everything. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I can't even remember what I looked like before."

"What would you change? If you could?"

The question startled me. "What?"

"If you could be anything, wear anything, do anything—what would you choose?"

"I..." I fidgeted with the book's worn spine, not quite meeting his eyes. "You'll laugh."

"Try me."

"I always wanted to wear ripped jeans—the kind Vittorio says make people look homeless. And those chunky sneakers everyone has. Maybe try a different hairstyle..." I touched my long locks self-consciously. "Vittorio monitors everyappointment with his approved stylist. Every cut, every shade has to be 'naturally elegant.'"

"What else?"

"This is embarrassing, but... I always wanted to try those horrible sugary lattes everyone drinks. The ones with whipped cream and caramel and everything."

He actually smiled. "Anything else?"

"A million things. Read whatever I want. Go to a real concert. Learn to drive—can you believe I don't even know how? Order pizza at midnight. Wear sweatpants. Paint my room some ridiculous color..." I stopped, feeling my cheeks heat. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"Don't apologize." He leaned forward, eyes intent on my face. "It's nice seeing the real you."

"Is it? Because sometimes I'm not even sure who that is anymore."

"I think," he said slowly, "she's right here. The girl who wants silly coffee and midnight pizza. Who gets excited about books and quotes Shakespeare. Who survived years of Vittorio's control without losing her soul." His hand found mine, thumb tracing patterns on my palm that made me shiver. "I think she's fucking magnificent."

I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only stare at where his hand touched mine, sending electricity up my arm. "Giuliano..."

"Tell me to stop." His voice had dropped lower, making heat pool in my belly.

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