The bass throbbed back to life. Lorenzo’s hand lingered at the small of my back a second longer than necessary before he guided me down into one of the low velvet chairs that ringed the Sala delle Piscine.
“You good?” he asked, barely interested.
His dark eyes flicked over me once then shifted back to the crowd already pretending nothing had happened.
I nodded. My pulse was still racing, but it was not at all from fear. Adrenaline, maybe. Or something dangerously close to satisfaction.
Carlo appeared at my side, handing me a glass of water. “Drink,” he said softly, a soft expression etched on his face. “You’re shaking.”
I wasn’t. But I didn’t correct him.
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
Across from us, Eve lounged in a way only a woman who knows every eye in the room belongs to her
