When in Rome Pt. 3

The heavy oak door of the restaurant swung open, and the warm hum of conversation behind them was replaced by the cool Roman night air. Kiara stepped out first, the heel of her shoe clicking sharply against the marble threshold, the hem of her dress brushing lightly against her bare knees. The faint scent of truffle oil and red wine still clung to her as Lucian followed, holding the door with a casual ease like it weighed nothing.

They barely made it down the steps before the first bright staccato burst of camera flashes caught them—white light popping from across the street. Not aggressive, not a swarm—just a handful of photographers standing awkwardly near the curb, lenses trained on her. They hadn’t even bothered to disguise themselves. Kiara’s eyes flicked toward them for a fraction of a second, long enough to register their posture, their distance, their calculated patience. They weren’t here for anyone else.

Her lips curved—not a wide smile, just a controlled, knowing one—before she looped her arm through Lucian’s. The move was smooth, practiced, but she let herself press in slightly closer than necessary, feeling the warmth of his suit sleeve against her bare skin.

The cameras answered immediately with a second round of flashes. Kiara tilted her chin fractionally toward Lucian, letting her hair catch the light as they descended the last few steps together. He didn’t react, didn’t flinch—just kept walking as if it was a nightly routine for him. His gait was unhurried, grounded, making her look like the one leaning into him instead of the other way around.

They slid into the back of the waiting taxi without a word, the driver already pulling away as the door shut. Kiara exhaled quietly, feeling the subtle vibration of the city under the tires. Lucian sat back with that same quiet confidence, one arm resting loosely along the seat back.

Before the silence could stretch too far, he picked up right where he’d left off inside the restaurant, continuing his half-told story from earlier. Something about a junior analyst who had gotten caught—pants literally down—in the CEO’s office after hours.

“…and of course, she had her heels still on, like that was going to make it more professional,” Lucian said, his mouth curving into that understated, private smirk he was so good at.

Kiara let out a small laugh, shaking her head, the earrings at her lobes catching faint streetlight as they passed under a row of lamps. “No way. You’re making that up.”

“I wish I was,” he replied smoothly, his voice carrying just enough amusement to keep it light. “Security walked them out. The next day HR had an ‘ethics refresher’ meeting for the entire department.”

She laughed again—just a soft, breathy one this time—and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear without thinking, posture angled toward him despite the open space in the cab.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught another pair of photographers lingering near the restaurant entrance as they’d left. She imagined those shots already—her close to Lucian, his hand at the small of her back, the easy rapport between them. Exactly the kind of image she’d been aiming for when she’d said yes to dinner.

The taxi rolled smoothly over cobblestones, the ride quiet now except for the muted hum of the engine and the occasional distant motorbike. Kiara let her gaze drift to the window, where the narrow Roman streets unspooled under the glow of lanterns and neon. Her reflection stared back at her faintly in the glass—eyes subtly lined from the makeup she’d so carefully done earlier, lips still touched with gloss despite the hours of talking and sipping wine.

Dinner had been… calculated, and yet strangely easy.

She’d let him order first—grilled branzino with lemon and herbs—and followed with something equally refined, a delicate saffron risotto. They’d shared an appetizer of thinly sliced carpaccio, the meat melting against her tongue under the drizzle of olive oil. He’d poured the wine himself, a rich Barolo, and the conversation had flowed effortlessly—threads of business, little barbed jokes about the industry, and the kind of dry humor that made her smirk without realizing it.

Lucian never rushed a sentence. Never filled a pause out of discomfort. That composure of his was infuriating in its own way, the way it made her want to lean in just to see if she could crack it. And somewhere between the second glass of wine and the dessert espresso she hadn’t planned to order, she realized she’d been answering him in a tone that was softer, warmer, than she’d intended. Not flirty in any overt way… but undeniably comfortable.

Now, with the city sliding past in a muted blur outside, she kept her hands folded loosely in her lap and told herself she was only tired from the travel. Only thinking ahead to tomorrow’s event.

And yet, every so often, her gaze shifted—just briefly—toward the man sitting next to her.

The taxi eased to a smooth stop beneath the golden-lit awning of the hotel, the warm hum of Rome’s late-night traffic a soft backdrop. Lucian was out almost before the driver cut the engine, his long stride carrying him around the front of the cab. Kiara sat with one hand delicately draped across her lap, watching him approach through the open door. When he extended his hand to her, not just for balance but with that old-fashioned flourish, she couldn’t help the small, surprised giggle that escaped her. It was the kind of sound that didn’t belong to Kieran at all—light, airy, instinctive, almost shy.

As she rose, her gown shifted against her skin with a whisper of silk. The cool night air slipped over the bare skin of her shoulders. But before she could adjust her posture, Lucian’s arm slid easily, naturally into hers—this time without asking, without waiting for her to offer. The gesture felt proprietary, protective, and utterly confident. They strolled together toward the glass doors, the warmth of his forearm against hers a subtle pressure she didn’t try to pull away from.

Just shy of the entrance, Lucian stopped, pivoting slightly to face her under the glow of the hotel’s lights. “You are so beautiful tonight,” he said, his voice low and certain, “but I feel like I’ve told you that already.”

Kiara tilted her head, lashes low. “You told me twice already—once when I walked out of my hotel room, and once at the restaurant.”

He smiled faintly, that maddening mix of casual and deliberate. “Guess I’ll have to start counting, then. I’m at three… but I’m not done yet.”

Before she could answer, he let their arms untwine and instead rested both of his hands at her waist. His palms were warm through the thin silk, anchoring her in place. Her hands—without thought—came to rest on his shoulders. The fit felt disconcertingly natural, like muscle memory she didn’t remember learning.

“I’ve only ever seen you in beautiful, fancy clothes,” he said, eyes sweeping her with unapologetic appreciation.

A small smile curved her lips. “Well… you only take me to fancy places.”

“We could change that tomorrow,” he said easily, with a quiet finality that suggested it was already decided.

She gave a mock tilt of her head, feigning intrigue. “Oh? Could we?”

He didn’t answer with words. His gaze locked to hers for a long, charged beat before he leaned in. She felt her own head angle toward him—not much, but enough that a tiny flicker of doubt flared in the back of her mind: had she met him halfway? She dismissed it before it could form into anything sharper, because then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was unhurried but firm, the kind that closed out the rest of the world. His lips pressed into hers with a deliberate steadiness, a quiet dominance without ****. The faintest pull, then a subtle push. The gentle parting, his lower lip catching lightly on hers before sealing again. She felt her own lips shape to him, answering without thinking, the soft yield that Celeste had drilled into her without ever putting it into words. Her nails, resting against the fabric of his jacket, curled slightly.

When he drew back, he did so slowly, almost reluctantly, and there was the faintest curve of a smirk. “I promised you no funny business tonight,” he murmured.

That earned another giggle from her, softer than she meant it to be.

“Then tomorrow,” he said, holding her gaze, “after the event… I want to take you on a proper date, officially. Not a fancy one this time. May I?”

Her answer was out before she could think. “Yes.”

And only then—half a beat later—did she tell herself it was just to keep him happy.

Lucian’s smile bloomed wide and genuine, enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle. Then his hand slid higher along her back, pulling her closer, and he kissed her again. This time it was deeper, still measured but more intimate. His lips pressed into hers with a slow rhythm, a faint sway, the barest movement that sent warmth curling low in her stomach. She was kissing him back, firmly, mouth shaping to his, telling herself it was only to keep him happy…

…right?