Page 137 of The Italian Obsession

“I just know what I want.”

I look over at him. “And what is it that you want?”

“You, bella.” He puts one of my fingers into his mouth and sucks it slowly as his dark eyes hold mine. My sex clenches. “Only you.”

________

The cavalcade of cars pulls into a driveway. Huge wrought iron gates greet us, and Enrico stops at the little security house. They open the gates and wave him through. We are at his house in Lake Como—the one he was desperate to get me to right away. At his insistence, we packed up my hotel room life into my suitcase and made our way here.

It’s late—just past 11:00 p.m.

We drive through the gates, up the long driveway, and I peer out the window like a scared child.

“This is your house?” I ask as I feel the confidence drain from me and run down into the car seats. The property is incredible, with manicured gardens and spotlights lighting up the beautiful trees.

“Yes, this is where we will live.”

“Why don’t we just live in Milan?” I frown. It took us an hour to get here.

He smiles over at me. “You’ll see.”

We turn the corner, and I see a stone pillar covered in vines with a large copper sign hanging from it.

Villa Oliviana

I turn to him. “Your house is called Oliviana?”

His eyes dance with delight. “Our house, and yes. This house was the first thing I bought when I took over the family business.”

“After we met?”

His smirk is slow to rise. “The name of the property was why I bought it. It reminded me of a beautiful woman I once met.”

I smile dreamily. Oh, man, could this guy get any swoonier if he tried? “Only a bit fancier than me,” I add. From the back of my mind a little voice whispers.

Slow down.

He smiles to himself as we continue up the driveway. At the top of the hill is a gigantic cream-colored house. It’s classically Italian. Out the front is a large, circular driveway with an undercover awning. It’s so grand, it looks like a hotel.

He parks the car undercover, and two men come out. Rico gets out of the car.

“Ciao, per favore, porta i bagagli di Olivia al piano di sopra,” Translation: Hi, please take Olivia’s luggage upstairs.

“Si, signore.”

Rico opens my door and grabs my hand to help me out. I smile nervously at the men.

“Ciao, Miss Olivia.” They nod in greeting. “Hi.”

I look around at the opulent luxury. It’s like a movie. Sandstone pillars and marble floors and gorgeous hanging lanterns line the space. Large, impressive potted plants are positioned all around. I don’t know where to look first.

This place is out of this world. Next-level, fucking over-the-top.

“Come, my love.” Rici leads me up the stairs, where two lion statues sit proudly, guarding either side of the house. Gosh, this place is like ancient Rome. We go up onto the sandstone terrace and in through the large double doors. I look up in awe as we pass through them. They would have to stand thirty feet tall, and they’re black with a big gold knocker on each one.

Enrico watches me, and I tighten my cardigan around my shoulders.

“You’re very quiet,” he says. He smiles softly. “Thoughts?”