The dance

The moment Alessandra placed her hand in Matteo's, silence rippled through the grand ballroom. Gasps, hushed whispers, and sharp intakes of breath spread like wildfire, but nothing was louder than the piercing glare of Isabella Ricci.

Her mother's expression was a carefully controlled mask of fury, but Alessandra knew better. Knew that beneath that poised exterior, Isabella was seething.

And Luca—

He hadn't moved, hadn't even exhaled. But the way his fingers tightened around his glass, the slight tick in his jaw, the unreadable glint in his stormy eyes—it was worse than an outburst.

Alessandra swallowed hard, but Matteo?

Matteo thrived in the chaos.

The corner of his lips curled as he pulled her closer, his grip firm yet deceptively gentle. The scent of his cologne—dark, rich, and intoxicating—wrapped around her, tightening the already suffocating air between them.

"Did you hear that, principessa?" he murmured, his breath ghosting against her cheek. "That's the sound of scandal."

Her pulse betrayed her.

"Let go," she whispered, though her fingers curled against his.

"Too late," Matteo said smoothly, leading her toward the dance floor. "You made your choice."

A shiver danced down her spine as the orchestra shifted into a haunting waltz. Eyes followed their every move, but it was Isabella's burning stare that Alessandra felt the most.

"Alessandra."

Her mother's voice, clipped and sharp, cut through the air.

Matteo halted with an amused expression, as if he had been waiting for this.

Alessandra turned slowly. "Mother."

Isabella approached with the grace of a queen, her emerald gown flowing around her like a storm, her perfectly styled auburn hair framing her sharp features. She was beautiful, regal, and terrifying.

"Step away from him," Isabella ordered, her voice laced with warning. "Now."

Alessandra's breath hitched.

Matteo's hold on her waist didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened.

He was enjoying this.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Ricci," Matteo said smoothly, his voice drenched in amusement. "Your daughter and I were about to dance."

Isabella's eyes flicked to him—calculating, cold, as if he were an insect she wished to crush beneath her heel. "The only man my daughter will dance with tonight is her fiancé."

A deadly pause.

Matteo's smirk didn't waver. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Isabella hissed. "And if Alessandra has any sense left, she will step away from you this instant."

Alessandra's throat tightened.

This wasn't just about a dance. It was a test.

If she pulled away, she would be bending to her mother's will. If she stayed, she would be defying everything Isabella and Luca represented.

The air grew suffocating.

But Matteo, damn him, was patient. He watched her, his thumb grazing over her knuckles, waiting.

Daring her.

Alessandra exhaled shakily.

"Mother," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "It's just a dance."

Isabella's lips parted in stunned disbelief.

"A dance?" she echoed. "With him?"

Matteo's smirk deepened.

Alessandra nodded, ignoring the way her stomach twisted. "Yes."

Her mother's eyes darkened with rage, but she didn't explode. No, Isabella was too poised, too calculated for that. Instead, she straightened, her smile cold.

"Fine," she said, her voice deceptively sweet. "Dance, Alessandra. But remember—" Her gaze flicked to Matteo, razor-sharp. "Your actions have consequences."

With that, Isabella turned sharply and disappeared into the crowd.

A shaky breath left Alessandra's lips.

"You're trembling," Matteo murmured, tilting his head. "Scared, princess?"

She snapped her gaze to his, anger and unease warring inside her. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Immensely."

"You're impossible."

Matteo chuckled. "And yet, here you are."

The music swelled, and without another word, he led her into the waltz.

Their movements were seamless—his touch guiding her effortlessly, their bodies a breath apart. The tension that crackled between them was no longer just anger or defiance. It was something else. Something much more dangerous.

"You love pushing boundaries, don't you?" she muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Matteo hummed. "I only push the ones that are begging to be crossed."

Her fingers tightened against his. "You think you know me?"

"I know enough."

"Then you should know this is dangerous."

"Everything worth having is."

Her breath hitched.

"You don't belong to him," Matteo murmured, voice low and intimate. "No matter how much they try to convince you otherwise."

She swallowed hard. "I don't belong to you either."

"Not yet."

Alessandra's heart pounded violently against her ribs.

The dance felt like a battlefield—every step, every movement, every shift in proximity was another fight, another struggle to resist.

Matteo's hand slid down the curve of her back, pressing just slightly. "Tell me, bella, when he touches you… do you feel this?"

She clenched her jaw. "Shut up, Matteo."

His smirk returned. "I'll take that as a no."

The song slowed, nearing its end.

Luca was watching.

Isabella was watching.

The whole damn room was watching.

Alessandra knew she should step away first, reclaim the control she had so foolishly given.

But she didn't.

Matteo's grip lingered, his thumb brushing against the bare skin of her back.

"Don't make me wait too long, principessa," he murmured, his lips dangerously close to her ear.

And then—

He let go.

The loss of contact sent a jarring shiver through her, but she didn't let it show.

With careful precision, Alessandra turned on her heel, lifting her chin as she strode away—back into the lion's den, back to Luca.

Every step was a reminder.

A reminder that she had just made the biggest mistake of all.

She had let the whole world see.

And worst of all?

She wasn't sure if she regretted it.