Sinfully Yours

Chapter 4: Emerald and Ice

The heavy silk curtains slid open with a soft swish, and sunlight poured into the room like liquid gold.

Katherina groaned, rolling away from the warmth that now felt too invasive, too bright. She stretched her arms lazily over her head, her back arching against the sheets.

“Good morning, beauty.”

The deep, smooth voice cut through the haze of her half-sleep. Her eyes flew open. She turned sharply, heart skipping a beat.

Antonio was sitting on the couch in the corner of the room, one ankle casually resting over the other knee, his posture infuriatingly relaxed. A cup of espresso sat on the low table beside him. His dark eyes hovered beneath thick, perfectly carved brows, watching her like a predator who had been waiting.

“How long have you been there?” she demanded, brushing a few hair strands away from her face.

He smirked. “Long enough.”

Her glare was ice. “Wow. Seems like we share the same room now.” Her tone dripped annoyance, her mind flashing to yesterday’s vicious act.

“Not my choice,” he replied coolly, though his gaze lingered on her longer than it should have. “But it does make mornings… interesting.”

She sighed nonchalantly. “What do you want?”

Antonio rose from the couch with unhurried grace, the kind of movement that made it obvious he was a man who had never rushed for anyone.

“We’re leaving for Catania in two hours,” he said, his voice a velvet drag over gravel. “The Romano Palace is hosting a private gathering. Friends, business partners, and people whose names you’ll hear whispered long after the music stops. Our parents suggested...” he gave a pointed pause, “we attend together.”

Katherina slipped her legs over the side of the bed but didn’t stand. She wanted him to think she was considering his words when in reality she was wondering how long it would take to throw the espresso at him.

“Suggested,” she repeated, her tone edged with mockery. “Is that your polite way of saying ordered.”

Antonio’s lips curved faintly. “You’re catching on.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she stood anyway, rolling up her sleeves as she stepped toward the dresser. “And what makes you think I care?”

“I don’t,” he said without missing a beat. “But I do think you like keeping your father’s temper contained. Or should I call him now and tell him his daughter prefers sulking in bed to meeting some of the most influential people in Sicily?”

She froze mid-step, her back to him. A dozen cutting replies swirled through her mind, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing them. Instead, she reached for the wardrobe handle, only to stop when his shadow lengthened beside her.

“I’ll make this simple, bella ribelle,” he murmured, the words grazing her ear. “You get dressed, you come with me, and you smile. You don’t have to like it, but you will do it.”

Katherina tilted her head toward him just enough to catch his expression, calm, but with that spark in his eyes that said he enjoyed the push and pull.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll enjoy making you regret it.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t stick. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you,” he said, stepping back, “are late. We’re stopping at Bellini Boutique before the gathering.”

“I’m not doing this because you said so,” she stated, her tone flat but her eyes sharp. “Just know that.”

He held her gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression, then turned on his heel and walked out without another word.

Two hours later, they arrived at Bellini Boutique, one of Catania’s most exclusive fashion houses. The air was laced with the subtle scent of leather and expensive perfume, a quiet promise that everything within these walls was meant for those who didn’t bother checking price tags. Two of Antonio’s suited guards lingered outside, and one inside, their eyes scanning the room while pretending not to notice the racks of couture gowns.

Katherina trailed behind Antonio, her steps slow and deliberate. “You could have sent someone to pick a dress,” she muttered.

“And let someone else enjoy the view when you try it on?” His tone was deceptively casual, but she didn’t miss the flicker of something darker in his gaze.

She ignored him, wandering toward a display of a black silk gown. A saleswoman appeared instantly, offering polite greetings in rapid Italian before leading Katherina toward a private fitting room.

The first gown was sleek but modest, and Antonio dismissed it with a single glance.

“The slit’s too low. She’s not going to a funeral.”

Katherina scowled. “It’s my dress.”

“And my evening,” he countered. “Try another.”

The second dress was a disaster of sequins. The third is too plain. By the fourth, Katherina was ready to walk out barefoot in her oversized tee.

Then the saleswoman handed her an emerald-green gown.

The emerald-green gown slipped into her hands like something from a dream, its fabric rich and alive, as though it had been spun with secrets and allure. As she slid it over her skin, the material seemed to mold to her curves, accentuating every line and every dip, and embracing her like it had always belonged to her. The bodice clung yet allowed freedom, while the daring neckline flirted with danger, exquisite but teasing. A high slit ran daringly up her left thigh, the smooth skin exposed with each step, catching the light as she moved. The silk trailed behind her like a whisper, soft as a lover’s touch, cascading effortlessly to the floor. It was a gown that didn’t just fit, it commanded attention.

She took a steadying breath before stepping out.

Antonio was mid-conversation with one of the guards, but the moment his gaze landed on her, the words died in his throat. His eyes roamed, slow and unapologetic, from her bare shoulder down to the slit, lingering just a beat too long.

Katherina felt it, not the kind of attention that made her feel beautiful, but the kind that pressed against her skin like heat. Her stomach tightened, not in flattery but irritation, because she knew exactly what that look meant.

“Too much?” she asked, voice flat, though her chin was tilted in defiance.

“Preferable,” Antonio said, his voice low, almost unreadable. But his jaw flexed, and she caught the smallest twitch in his fingers as if he’d stopped himself from reaching out.

That flicker, he tried to hide it, but she saw it.

And it only made her want to ruin his night.

They left the boutique with Katherina still in the gown, her heels clicking against the pavement. The guards opened the black Maserati’s doors, and she slid into the backseat without waiting for Antonio.

The city blurred past in gold and terracotta, the scent of sea salt mingling with the faint spice of his cologne that had somehow filled the car. She kept her gaze out the window the entire ride, ignoring the weight of his eyes on her.