Page 120 of The Grand Duel

“Lissie.”

“It is really nice to be fair.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his jaw as he eyes the room. “I think the en suite in the other bedroom was bigger than this.”

“It wasn’t.” I chuckle. “But this is definitely cosy.”

“Is the bed even a king?” He runs his hands through his hair. “There’s not even a sofa.”

“Charles,” I say, my voice playful. “It will be fine. We’ll figure it out.”

He looks at me at a loss and then tilts his head to the side. And if I had to guess, I’d say he’s fighting to keep his gaze on my face.

“Are you comfortable sharing a bed with me?” I ask.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, taking a second glance at the bed. He nods his head. “Of course I am.”

I smile. “Good. I’m happy to share, too.”

He continues to nod. “Good.”

I purse my lips, trying to contain the laugh bubbling up inside.

“What?” he snaps.

“Will you relax? What happened to fun Charles?”

He passes me and steps into the tiny bathroom, coming to a stop at the door. “There isn’t a fun Charles.”

“There is. I’ve had him almost all night.”

He leans in and turns on the shower. “What are you going to sleep in?”

When he turns, I hold up the fabric of my dress between my fingers. “It’s this or nothing.”

He can barely look at me. “You can wear my shirt.”

I make a meal of tracing the width of his shoulders and then his torso. “A dress for a dress. Thank you.”

“Wear whatever you’re comfortable in,” he tells me before quickly shutting the bathroom door in my face.

I roll my eyes and walk across the room to the small window, pushing it open to let the breeze slither in through the gap.

Tonight has been one of the best I’ve had in years. And up until Charles handed me that shot and started opening up to me, showed me that he can loosen up and have fun, that title belonged firmly to my time with the stranger at The Nightingale.

I haven’t even thought about the man in days, and that’s because of Charles. My boss. If you’d have told me when I first met him that I’d not only like him one day, but I’d want to actually spend time with him, I’d never have believed it. And yet I’m here, in Italy, sharing parts of myself I’ve never shared with anyone with that same man. Walking home at midnight with pizza and a bottle of champagne, not caring that I might be borderline obsessed with him.

Not caring because I’m pretty sure he’s borderline obsessed with me, too.

I wait with ease, happily gazing out through the window at the small cove the hotel resides in, golden lights glowing as the groups of people gathered on each of the boats on the water talk or dance. When the bathroom door eventually opens, and I hear Charles step out, I turn with a tired smile on my lips.

“What took you so long?” My eyes widen then move from his face down to his exposed chest and stomach, the towel wrapped around his hips. He’s defined and strong but not bulging muscle anywhere. He’s perfect really.

My eyes meet his again, his face so serious. “Hi, Charles,” I say with a smile, feeling like I’m seeing him for the first time.

Definitely this version of him anyway.

He walks to where I’m standing and hands me his shirt, the room feeling twice as small as it did a moment ago.