The Romano Bride

Chapter 9

ISABELLA

Sophia unpacked her duffel bag like she owned the place, humming as she tossed her sweater onto the couch and kicked off her shoes. I watched her with a mix of affection and dread. She had no idea what she’d walked in on. Or maybe she did, judging by the way she kept glancing at me with a grin that made my stomach twist.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Girl talk. Bedroom. Now.”

I groaned. “Soph—”

“Nope. You owe me. I saved you from… whatever that was.”

Heat shot up my neck. “Nothing was happening.”

She snorted. “Bella, you were sitting on his lap like you were auditioning for a romance novel cover.”

I slapped her arm. “Shut up.”

She giggled and dragged me into the guest room she’d claimed. The moment the door closed, she flopped onto the bed and patted the space beside her.

“Okay,” she said, eyes sparkling. “Start talking.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Liar.”

I sighed and sat beside her, pulling my knees to my chest. The adrenaline from earlier had faded, leaving a strange ache in its place — a mix of embarrassment, longing, and something I didn’t want to name.

Sophia nudged me. “So… Daniel.”

My stomach tightened. “What about him?”

“You two were together for a long time,” she said softly. “You loved him. He loved you. Do you still…?”

I stared at my hands. “Yes,” I whispered. “I love him. And he loves me.”

Sophia’s face fell. “Bella…”

“If not for the duty,” I said, voice cracking, “I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be engaged. I wouldn’t be—”

I swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t be living someone else’s life.”

Sophia’s eyes filled with guilt. “This is my fault.”

“No,” I said immediately. “Don’t you dare. I’m doing this for you. For our family. For your future. Not because of anything you did.”

She wiped her eyes. “I hate that you have to sacrifice everything.”

I forced a smile. “I’m not sacrificing everything.”

She sniffed. “Okay, but… can I ask something?”

“No.”

She ignored me. “Did you and Daniel ever… you know…?”

I froze.

Sophia leaned closer, whispering like the walls might listen. “Did you two have s*x?”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I opened my mouth to answer—

—and a floorboard creaked in the hallway.

Sophia didn’t hear it.

I did.

Adrian.

He was awake.

And he was listening.

I lowered my voice. “Sophia, not now.”

She pouted. “Fine. But you’re telling me later.”

I didn’t respond.

She shifted, studying me. “Bella… do you really not feel anything for Adrian anymore?”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Feel anything? He’s infuriating. He’s controlling. He’s arrogant. He thinks he knows everything. He moves my things without asking. He assigns people to follow me. He—”

“He cooks for you,” she said.

I glared. “That doesn’t count.”

“He looks at you like you hung the moon.”

“That’s manipulation.”

“He said please.”

I hesitated.

Sophia smirked. “See? You don’t hate him.”

“I do,” I insisted. “He’s impossible. He’s—”

“Hot,” she said.

I choked. “Sophia!”

“Like, drop‑dead gorgeous,” she continued, completely unbothered. “And tall. And broody. And that jawline? Bella, come on.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Stop.”

“And I think,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially, “you two are going to make beautiful babies.”

My entire body flushed.

Images I didn’t want — couldn’t want — flickered through my mind. Adrian’s hands on my waist. His breath against my neck. His mouth on mine. The way he’d looked at me like he was starving.

I shook my head hard. “Sophia, go to sleep.”

She giggled. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Goodnight.”

She curled under the blanket, still smiling. “I think you’re still in love with Adrian,” she whispered. “And this Daniel thing… I don’t think it’s meant to last.”

I froze.

Sophia didn’t see it. She was already drifting off, her breathing evening out.

But I sat there, staring at the wall, her words echoing in my skull.

Still in love with Adrian.

Not meant to last with Daniel.

I wanted to deny it.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to run.

Instead, I lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment from earlier — the kiss, the heat, the way my body had betrayed me.

Sleep didn’t come.

Not for a long time.

**

When I woke again, the room was washed in late‑morning light. I blinked at the clock on the nightstand — nearly eleven. I never slept this late unless my body was wrung out, and last night had left me tangled in thoughts I couldn’t escape. Sophia’s side of the bed was empty.

I stretched, groaning softly, and slipped out from under the covers. She was probably in the kitchen raiding the fridge. The thought made me smile. I tied my silk robe loosely around my waist and padded barefoot down the hall.

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

I stepped into the kitchen — and stopped.

Adrian sat at the island, one hand wrapped around a mug of coffee, the other resting on the counter. His sleeves were rolled, his hair slightly mussed like he’d run a hand through it too many times. He looked… softer in the morning light. Less like a Don. More like the boy I used to know.

But Sophia wasn’t there.

He looked up when he heard me. And for a moment — just a moment — he forgot how to breathe. His eyes swept over me, slow and unguarded, taking in the cream silk nightdress, the robe slipping off one shoulder, the way the fabric clung to my skin. Heat flickered in his gaze before he forced it away, jaw tightening.

I felt my face warm. “Where’s Sophia?” I asked, clearing my throat.

“She left about half an hour ago,” he said, voice low. “Your mother called. Something about an appointment they needed to get to.”

“Oh.” I nodded, trying not to feel abandoned. “Okay.”

I glanced around. “Where’s Mara?”

Adrian’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, but close. “It’s just the two of us. Mara went to get groceries.”

Just the two of us. My pulse stuttered.

I became painfully aware of the thin silk against my skin, the cool air brushing places it shouldn’t, the way his gaze kept flicking back to me even when he tried not to. I crossed my arms instinctively — which only made the robe shift, revealing more skin.

Adrian’s breath hitched. He looked away sharply, standing so fast his chair scraped the floor. “Do you want coffee?”

The abruptness startled me. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he said, already reaching for another mug.

I watched him move around the kitchen, controlled, careful, like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, his hands steady only because he was making them be. He was avoiding looking at me. And somehow, that made the air between us even hotter.

“You don’t have to act weird,” I said quietly.

“I’m not acting weird.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I’m giving you space.”

“You weren’t giving me space last night.”

He froze. Just for a second. Then he set the mug down with a soft clink. “Last night,” he said, voice rough, “you were on my lap.”

Heat shot through me.

“And this morning,” he continued, still not looking at me, “you’re standing in front of me wearing… that.”

I swallowed. “It’s just a nightdress.”

“It’s silk,” he said. “And you’re…” He exhaled sharply. “You’re not wearing enough.”

My breath caught.

He finally turned to face me. His eyes were darker than they’d been last night. Warmer. Hungrier. But he kept his distance, hands braced on the counter like he needed the support.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said softly.

“You’re not.”

His jaw flexed. “You think I don’t notice you?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You walk in here,” he said, voice low, “half asleep, hair messy, wearing silk, and you look at me like you’re daring me to touch you.”

“I thought you already left! I’m not—”

“You are,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’m trying to be good. I’m trying to give you space. I’m trying not to scare you.”

My heart hammered.

He stopped a few feet away — close enough that I could feel the heat of him, far enough that he wasn’t touching me. “But you make it very hard,” he murmured.

Silence stretched between us, thick and electric.

I swallowed. “Adrian…”

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Just—sit. I’ll get your coffee.”

He turned away again, putting distance between us like it was the only thing keeping him sane. And maybe it was.

I sat slowly, pulse still racing, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way he breathed like he’d just run a marathon. He handed me the mug without meeting my eyes.

“Careful,” he said. “It’s hot.”

“So am I,” I almost said. But I bit my tongue. Barely.