~Anne's POV~
I woke up unusually warm and cozy. The night had been cold, I remembered closing the windows just to make sure I didn't freeze to death in my sleep. But the closed windows and duvet simply weren't enough to make me feel this amount of comfort.
It took a second for me to realize what it was. An arm was draped around my waist, pulling me close against something firm and warm. My breath caught in my throat. Slowly, I turned my head, and my heart nearly stopped.
Riccardo.
He was lying right beside me, his chest rising and falling steadily, his face just inches from mine. In sleep, the sharpness of his features had softened. The furrow between his brows was gone, leaving him looking almost… peaceful. His hand rested lightly on my stomach, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the fabric of my nightshirt.
I froze.
Panic rushed through me, hot and quick, and I shot upright, his arm falling away from me. The sudden movement stirred him. His lashes fluttered open, and confusion flickered across his face before his gaze found mine.
"Anne?" His voice was low, rough from sleep.
I opened my mouth, ready to demand an explanation, to yell at him for daring to—
But then it hit me.
Last night. The nightmare. The panic. I remembered thrashing awake, drenched in sweat and unable to breathe. I remembered him running to my aid. He'd held me when I couldn't stop shaking, had whispered something I couldn't quite recall now… and somehow, I had fallen asleep against him.
The anger that had been bubbling up inside me faltered, replaced by something else—embarrassment, confusion, maybe even a strange kind of gratitude I didn't know how to express.
"I—" My voice cracked, and I looked away, clutching the blanket tighter around me. "You should've… gone back to your room."
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy hair. There was a faint, tired smile tugging at his lips. "You wouldn't let go," he said quietly. "I tried."
My face heated instantly. "I—what? I didn't—"
But even as I tried to deny it, a faint memory surfaced—
"Don't go…please…" those were the words I had whispered to him last night.
God. What had I done? I screamed at myself inwardly while I fought hard to stop the embarrassment I felt deep inside from showing.
"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I was just trying to help—"
"No, it's fine." I cut him off calmly and offered him a smile. "You were just trying to help."
There was a long second of silence after my reply. I could still feel the warmth of where his arm had been around me, his touch lingering on my skin. Riccardo leaned back slightly, the sheets slipping low enough for me to realize that he wasn't wearing a shirt.
My breath hitched.
It wasn't as though I hadn't noticed before, but now, in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, there was no ignoring it. His build was immaculate—broad shoulders tapering down to a perfectly sculpted chest, each muscle defined and taut beneath smooth skin. His hair was slightly tousled, and there was a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw that only made him look more impossibly attractive.
I swallowed hard, my eyes betraying me as they trailed lower than they should have.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
The corner of his lips curved upward into that infuriatingly knowing smirk. The kind that told me he was perfectly aware of what I'd been looking at.
"I—" I stammered, my composure cracking as my fingers clutched the blanket tighter around me. "I need to change," I said quickly, forcing the words out sharper than I intended. "So, I'd appreciate some privacy."
Riccardo chuckled under his breath, the sound low and rich as he stood up. Even then, he didn't seem in any hurry, stretching lazily before grabbing the shirt he'd discarded somewhere by the edge of the bed.
"Of course," he said softly, his voice laced with that same teasing calm. "I'll wait outside."
I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the blanket until the door clicked shut behind him. Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding, pressing a hand over my racing heart.
What was wrong with me? Why did the sight of him have to make my pulse quicken like this? He was definitely something, and it seemed his charms even worked on me.
But he seemed different, I had judged him a little too quickly. Or perhaps I was right and all of this was an act, to make me forgive him and open myself up to be used as a pawn once again. It was never wrong to assume that the latter might be the case, men like him and Thomas barely valued women, especially ones like me.
It would be stupid to mistake this act of his to be anything special. He had probably been with countless women, so he would know how make one feel special.
I climbed down from my bed and headed for the shower. I needed to cool my head and get my thoughts right, there was no need in overthinking any of this. He was my boss after all.
By the time I was done showering and getting dressed, I thought I had regained a bit of composure. The memory of waking up in Riccardo's arms was still fresh, but I told myself to push it aside, to act normal, to keep things professional.
At least, that was the plan.
The faint aroma of something delicious reached my nose the moment I stepped into the hallway. I frowned, tilting my head slightly. Coffee… eggs… and was that butter? My steps quickened, curiosity pricking at me as I made my way downstairs.
The sight that greeted me made me stop dead in my tracks.
Riccardo stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, a pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. The man who could command rooms with a single glance was now flipping pancakes in my kitchen at that!
"Riccardo?" I blurted out, more alarmed than impressed. "What are you doing?"
He looked up at me with that infuriatingly calm smile of his. "Making breakfast," he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"This wasn't necessary," I rushed to say, moving closer to him. "You didn't have to—"
"Relax," he interrupted gently, his voice smooth. "I wanted to."
I blinked, unsure what to say to that. My gaze dropped to the counter — eggs scrambled to perfection, toast stacked neatly, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the room. Everything looked… perfect.
He was surprisingly a good cook. Thomas couldn't even lift a kettle even if it would save his life. Perhaps Riccardo might be really different…
For a few seconds, I just stood there watching him. The ease with which he moved, it didn't fit the cold, calculating man I had met before. And that thought only made my curiosity grow stronger.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked finally, tired of pretending like this was something ordinary.
He didn't look up right away. "Doing what?"
"This," I said, gesturing to the stove, to the kitchen, to everything. "Going out of your way to be… nice to me. You're my boss, Riccardo. You don't have to make me breakfast, or comfort me in the middle of the night, or—"
Before I could finish, he turned off the stove and closed the distance between us in a few slow, deliberate steps. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. I had no idea why this man commanded this much control over me. Since Thomas, I had promised myself not to fall for any advances coming from a man, especially men like Riccardo. Yet for some reason, Riccardo always seemed to crack through my defenses. Maybe it was the respect I had for him, maybe it was fear, I really couldn't tell.
He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could feel the faint heat of his body.
"Maybe," he said quietly, his voice dropping low, "it's because you're… different."
"Different?" I echoed, my breath catching.
His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek, fingers grazing my skin in a way that made it impossible to move. "You're a new sensation to me, Anne," he murmured. "You're different, and I like things that are unique"