The ride back to the mansion was conducted in a profound, heavy silence. Mark drove with his usual flawless discretion. I sat close to Fabio, savoring the residual warmth from his guiding hand on my back, my dress rustling softly with every small shift of my weight.
I had done it. I had disrupted his night again, forcing him to choose me over his professional life. The tears had been the perfect punctuation mark to the volatile music.
We pulled up to the mansion. It was nearly one am in the morning, and the house was like a mausoleum of quiet wealth.
Fabio stepped out first, Mark holding the door. He didn't wait for me to round the car; he was there, offering his hand, helping me out of the low-slung sedan. His fingers closed around my wrist, firm and warm, a necessary anchor.
We enter
