Chapter 116: Welcome to the Upper Class Circus

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By the time we returned to the hotel, I had arrived at some significant conclusions.

Firstly, it seemed that Parisian rain had the power to transform my husband into someone who thought kissing me in a shadowy alley was a perfectly acceptable way to spend his evening.

Secondly, I realized I was never going to hear the end of it. Lastly, my hair was a complete mess.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a towel draped around my shoulders, gazing at my reflection as droplets continued to descend from the tips of my hair.

The whole bathroom had a light scent of rain mingled with steam, and I noticed the marble countertop fogging at the edges.

"This is still your damn fault," I declared.

Lorenzo, who was behind me taking off his watch, glanced at our reflection. "My fault?"

"Yes."

"And how exactly did I cause your hair to get wet?"

"You encouraged me to go out."

"If I recall correctly, you pulled me into the rain."

"Details, details...who cares."

A slight grin appeared on his face and Lorenzo approached me, stopping just behind my shoulder. He gently separated a few damp strands of hair that clung to my forehead. "You look fine, really."

"Fine? I look like I had a brawl with a swimming pool."

"An extremely attractive swimming pool, at that."

I turned to face him, noticing how satisfied he seemed with his words. "Are you planning on bringing that up every chance you get?"

"I’m not sure what you’re talking about."

"The alley incident."

He maintained an innocent look. "What happened in the alley exactly... can’t remember? Care to remind me, my love?"

I stared at him for several moments, then groaned and turned away. "You are truly impossible to deal with."

He chuckled softly. It was amusing how much I appreciated that sound. Despite everything we had been through, there were still times when Lorenzo’s laughter caught me off guard.

He had spent most of his life being perceived as distant, composed, and intimidating, and seeing him enjoy something as trivial as my disheveled hair felt incredibly personal.

I had just finished drying my hair when he re-entered the bathroom. "The shower’s ready."

"Great!"

I started to step toward it but paused when I realized he was still standing there watching me. "You’re not going to just stand there and watch, are you?"

"I was also planning to shower."

"Oh!"

There was a moment of silence, and then I narrowed my eyes. "You’ve become quite the pest since we arrived in Paris."

"I could say the same about you."

I shook my head and stepped into the shower. Within minutes, the bathroom smelled of steam and warmth, and our earlier teasing became quieter.

There was something oddly domestic about sharing the warm water, especially after a day spent running around Paris like carefree tourists.

Lorenzo helped rinse the rain from my hair, his fingers occasionally brushing the back of my neck. I caught his wrist when his hand lingered. "You keep doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Touching me and shit."

His green eyes locked onto mine. "I like touching you."

My cheeks flushed. "That’s a bit inconvenient."

"Why’s that?"

"Because now I have to act like it doesn’t bother me."

His thumb softly slid over my skin. "You don’t need to pretend with me."

I averted my gaze, suddenly captivated by the shower tiles. This was becoming a sticky situation.

I could debate with Lorenzo about almost anything, but he was frighteningly adept at dropping simple comments that made my defenses crumble before I could retort sarcastically.

When we finally emerged from the shower, I felt much more like myself, even though Lorenzo’s lingering scent mixed with the fading trace of a mark on my neck.

I noticed the mark while drying off. It had faded quite a bit but was still visible enough to remind me of just how close we had been in that alley. Quickly, I averted my eyes.

Of course, Lorenzo caught on. His gaze followed mine to the mirror. He stepped closer. "Does it hurt? It’s fading away."

"No."

His fingers hovered near the mark without touching it. "Good."

The softness in his voice made my heart squeeze. "I’m fine," I assured him.

"Good." He said with a mischievous smirk, "That means I can put another mark on you tonight."

With that he lifted me and tossed me over his shoulder despite my protests and and basically threw me on the Parisian bed, then he landed on top of me.

"Now..." He said, spreading my legs. "Like I asked before. Remind me what exactly happened in the alley, vita mia."

Lorenzo had been invited to a gala again, during our past year of ’marriage’, I’d gone with him countless times. But somehow...I couldn’t help but feel like this was different somehow.

Maybe because, on those times... Lorenzo and I couldn’t give two shits about eachother. Or maybe he did give a shit and had started falling for me little by little as the months passed. But I was probably to engrossed in getting that sweet, sweet seventy million to really notice.

This gala full of rich people, Lorenzo was invited to was evidently one of those affairs where everyone was expected to appear as though they had never once dealt with a spot of discomfort in their lives.

I mean, the Sinclairs were rich too. But let’s face it, discomfort had always been my family’s motto... so the Sinclairs being rich didn’t fucking matter.

I stood before the mirror in the dark suit Lorenzo had chosen for me as I fiddled with my cuffs the next morning.

Lorenzo emerged from the dressing room in a tailored black suit that made him resemble exactly what everyone assumed...a fearsome mafia Don. His long, pale hair was pulled back neatly, with only a few wispy strands framing his face.

I felt my heart skip a beat and I sighed at my own reaction.

I compared him to my own reflection. "We look a bit suspicious, don’t we?"

"We are suspicious," he replied.

"I was speaking of us together."

He stepped closer, taking my wrist. "Your cufflink is crooked."

"No, it isn’t."

He adjusted it nonetheless, then straightened my collar, my tie, and then paused, his fingers grazing the spot where the mark lay concealed. I swallowed hard.

"You look perfect." He whispered. The compliment slipped out so effortlessly that it left me momentarily speechless. Lorenzo noticed my quietness, and his lips curved into a smirk. "Ready?"

"I suppose."

He offered me his arm, and I took it. "Let’s go and make some rich folks uncomfortable, shall we?"

The gala took place within a grand hotel ballroom overlooking one of the most glamorous parts of Paris. As soon as we stepped through the entrance, the atmosphere shifted entirely.

The warmth of our hotel suite dimmed behind us. Here, everything gleamed. Crystal chandeliers adorned the ceiling, casting light on finely tailored suits and elegant dresses.

Waiters moved through the crowd, serving champagne and intricate appetizers that looked far too exquisite to eat.

Conversations intertwined under soothing music, each laugh measured and every smile meticulously crafted. It was precisely the kind of venue where everyone knew what was expected of them.

And it appeared that quite a few guests recognized Lorenzo. Heads turned as we walked in. Some patrons greeted him immediately. Others scrutinized me with lingering curiosity.