DELUCA

TEN

Giselle fussed over Eleanor with a concentrated expression, her hands moving deftly like a seamstress making last-minute adjustments. Eleanor felt like a doll being prepped for display.

It had been a long day, and Francesco's sudden dinner invitation left her scrambling. Now, as Giselle straightened the hem of her dress, Eleanor couldn't shake the growing nerves in her stomach.

She hadn't realized her mistake until it was too late. Asking Giselle for a dress had been her downfall. Eleanor had nothing remotely suitable for the kind of high-society event Francesco would be attending.

The problem was, Giselle's wardrobe wasn't exactly designed for Eleanor's fuller figure. The dress, though lovely, clung to her body in a way that felt a little too intimate.

When Eleanor complained about the tight fit, Giselle had only smirked.

"That's the point," she said, her eyes gleaming with approval. Eleanor, on the other hand, was keenly aware that one wrong move could result in her giving an entirely unintended show.

The dress itself was simple yet striking. Black, with thin straps, it cinched at her waist and exaggerated her hourglass silhouette.

The fabric gathered just enough at her chest to push her cleavage up, though Eleanor felt it bordered on excessive. And given that Giselle was taller, the hem of the gown skimmed the floor, covering her stilettos—only flashing her feet when she moved.

Giuseppe, ever the perfectionist, had swept in to style her hair. With a curler, he crafted large, soft curls that framed her face, flipping her curtain bangs just right. By the time they finished, Eleanor felt like Cinderella on her way to the ball.

Though she wouldn't exactly call Giselle and Giuseppe her fairy godparents, they had worked magic in record time.

Despite the glamorous transformation, Eleanor's nerves hadn't settled. She wasn't sure if it was the thought of Francesco's reaction to her dress or the lingering tension from her awkward encounters with his mother. As she descended the grand staircase, both Giselle and Giuseppe followed close behind, whispering like excited birds, eager for Francesco's verdict.

Francesco appeared suddenly as if summoned by the very air. His presence, powerful and magnetic, filled the room.

He was dressed in a sharply tailored suit that emphasized every inch of his lean, muscular physique. His hair was still damp from the shower, slicked back from his face, allowing Eleanor an unimpeded view of the man she found herself longing for more than she would admit.

"There you are," Francesco started, his tone mildly scolding. "You know I can't be late—"

His words faltered the moment his eyes landed on her. His gaze darkened, moving slowly over her from head to toe, lingering in a way that sent a shiver down Eleanor's spine.

It was the way he looked at her—possessive, hungry. Lust.

Eleanor's skin prickled with heat, her n*****s tightening against the fabric of the dress.

She gripped the railing for balance, not daring to break eye contact as she descended the last few steps, her heart pounding in her chest. When she finally reached him, she took his hand, her fingers trembling slightly.

"Okay, be home before midnight!" Giselle called, her voice echoing through the hallway.

"And stay safe!" Giuseppe added, though his attention was on Francesco's expression, which hadn't quite recovered from its initial shock.

Francesco's movements were stiff, almost mechanical as if he was still trying to process what he had just seen.

"And if you have s*x in my dress, keep it!" Giselle added with a mischievous grin. Giuseppe immediately scolded her, giving her a playful shove as they bickered their way out, the sound of the door closing behind them.

Eleanor couldn't help but laugh softly, though the heat from Francesco's intense gaze had yet to fade. She glanced up at him, curious, and slightly unnerved by the effect she seemed to have on him.

Francesco's breath was slow and deliberate as if he was attempting to regain control of his usual composure. The look in his eyes, though, was still burning. He leaned closer, his voice low and strained. "Let's go before I change my mind about that dinner."

Francesco found his usually well-compartmentalized mind utterly overwhelmed. His senses were flooded the moment he first saw Eleanor descending the stairs, like he had taken a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of him.

From the first day they met, Francesco found Eleanor beautiful—too beautiful.

It was a thought he had spent months pushing to the back of his mind, reasoning that she was someone to protect, not to desire. His endgame was clear: get her out of this chaotic world as fast as possible.

But controlling his thoughts about Eleanor was harder than expected. Every smile she gave him ignited something within.

The serene relief he felt waking up next to her was a quiet pleasure he didn't want to acknowledge.

And then, there was the sheer physical desire—the tightening in his pants when she innocently shifted closer to him in bed, her body pressing into his during the night.

Francesco would lie still, forcing himself not to move, afraid of what might happen if he let go of his self-control.

He indulged in these moments in his mind only, letting himself experience those peaceful connections without action. He hadn't felt this way about any woman before, which terrified him. His protective instinct toward her, though?

That felt primal—like something hardwired into him. His feelings for Eleanor were no longer something he could ignore.

As Eleanor stepped out of the car, grabbing his hand, Francesco felt a surge of electricity run up his arm. His body responded instinctively, a raw hunger building.

He wondered if she knew how regal she looked, her hair swept into an elegant bun, soft strands framing her face in the humid air. T

he clutch she held proudly showed off her engagement ring—the only visible mark of their connection, as false as it was in their arrangement.

But tonight, she is mine, Francesco thought.

Or at least, she looked like she belonged to him. He corrected himself. She is not mine. But the thought lingered.

"Is something wrong?" Eleanor's voice broke through his haze, bringing him back to the present. The valet had already whisked away their car, leaving them standing on the grand steps of the venue.

"I'm fine," Francesco rasped, his voice betraying him. He cleared his throat and tried again, a bit more convincingly. "I'm fine."

Eleanor gave him a look, unconvinced, but let it go. She glanced toward the dining hall, where clusters of guests were mingling. Most had already gone inside. Francesco watched her breath hitch slightly, her nerves finally showing.

He squeezed her hand gently. "Are you?"

Eleanor released a shaky breath, her lips curving into a hesitant smile. "A little nervous. You didn't even tell me where we're going."

"We're meeting Paolo and his family," Francesco explained, pulling her a step closer.

Eleanor's eyes widened in disbelief as she took in the grand scale of the event. "Is his family every person in this building?"

Francesco chuckled despite himself. Her wide-eyed innocence, mixed with sarcasm, had become one of her charms. "No. This is a banquet. You'll see." His smile faded when his gaze fell on the neckline of her dress—plunging, revealing, and leaving very little for his imagination. "Just stay close to me tonight. That dress may cost a life."

A blush rose on Eleanor's cheeks, spreading down to her chest, and Francesco's mind wandered dangerously. Did she blush like that all over? He needed to get control of himself.

The interior of the banquet hall was dazzling. A stunning chandelier of blown glass hung from the ceiling, casting iridescent light over the room.

Servers weaved between the elegantly dressed guests, offering champagne and hors d'oeuvres. The setting was extravagant, even by Francesco's standards. Paolo loved excess, and this "dinner party" was no exception.

Francesco's instincts immediately kicked in as they moved through the crowd. He scanned the room, watching for any familiar faces, any potential threats.

Paolo's sudden invitation had been suspicious, especially since he had insisted Eleanor attend. Francesco didn't like the unknown variables, and with no additional security allowed due to Eleanor's presence, all he had was the concealed gun at his waist. He felt exposed but tried to focus on keeping her safe.

They approached the bar, and Eleanor's attention shifted to the menu.

"Oh, look! They have themed drinks." Her voice carried a playful excitement as she scanned the options. Francesco ordered a Coke, needing to stay sharp.

"I don't even know what I ordered," Eleanor said, holding up a glass that was misting dramatically. "The bartender doesn't speak English."

Francesco smiled and led them toward their assigned table, his hand never leaving Eleanor's lower back. They reached Paolo's table, where Francesco's business associate stood to greet them, his grin wide and lecherous.

"Eleanora!" Paolo bellowed, pulling her into a tight embrace before kissing both of her cheeks in a way that made Francesco's skin crawl.

His temper flared, and he pulled Eleanor back, positioning himself between them. Paolo only smirked, brushing off Francesco's warning glare.

"My friend, you made it! I was about to send someone to fetch you," Paolo said with a wink that made Francesco's fists clench. It was always hard to tell if Paolo's comments were meant as veiled threats or just tasteless humor.

Francesco guided Eleanor into her seat, keeping a protective hand on her shoulder as Paolo prattled on. Dinner was served, and as the courses rolled out, Eleanor charmed him again with her curious commentary about the intricate, tasteless dishes.

He had never enjoyed an event like this so much. The constant stream of conversation between them made him forget the crowded room, Paolo's lurking presence, and even his own calculated plans.

With Eleanor, he saw the world anew, her humor and candor a stark contrast to the stiff, orchestrated affairs he was used to.

As the evening wore on, Paolo tried once more to draw Francesco into a private conversation. "You should take Eleanora on a tour of the city," he suggested, his words dripping with some hidden implication. "Let her see where the magic happens, hm?"

Francesco's protective instincts flared again. He pulled Eleanor closer, masking his growing tension with a tight smile. "We'll consider it."

The night dragged on longer than Francesco wanted, but finally, they were able to leave. As they stood outside, waiting for the valet to bring the car around, Eleanor let her hair down, the dark waves cascading over her shoulders. The valet stared openly, and Francesco's arm snaked around her waist, pulling her against him possessively.

"You don't have to pretend," Eleanor teased, her voice light.

Francesco smirked. "I know." His voice dropped lower. "But this dress..."

Eleanor laughed, and something in her playful grin sparked the final unraveling of his restraint. Without thinking, Francesco pulled her closer, his lips crashing down on hers. Her surprise lasted only a second before she melted into him, her body soft and pliant against his.

It felt like coming home.

"Mi scusi, signore," the valet stammered, awkwardly holding out their keys.

Francesco took the keys, feeling a surge of triumph. Eleanor was his tonight, if only in this moment. As they climbed into the car, he felt Paolo's eyes on them from across the room, and one last thought crossed Francesco's mind: Eleanor was more than he bargained for, but there was no turning back now.