Wearing a designer gown that cost a few grand wasn't an everyday occurrence in my life. Every inch of the gold shimmery fabric screamed luxury, and as I stood in front of the mirror in Rys's bedroom with my hair and makeup done and my feet clad in four-inch heeled sandals, I could barely believe the young woman in the glass was me.

The hairstylist-slash-makeup artist Rys had invited over to take care of my look had left me with my long hair in elegant side-swept waves. The champagne eyeshadow and dark brown eyeliner accentuated the color of my eyes, and my face looked more sculpted thanks to the subtle contouring.

"Wow," Rys said from the doorway.

I turned toward him and greedily swept my gaze over his toned body in a three-piece black suit. "That's what I'm saying. Wow."

A cocky smile took over his lips. He approached me, his steps even more confident than usual. "The car is here. But I wanted to give you something first."

My heart quickened its beats at the sight of a velvety box in Rys's hands. He retrieved a thin golden chain with a heart-shaped pendant. The sparkle of the stones framing the heart told me what they were — diamonds.

"Rys," I whispered as the metal touched my skin. "It's too much."

Rys fastened the necklace and kissed the back of my neck. "Last time I checked, it wasn't enough. Let's go, mi cielo."

I threaded my fingers through his. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Rys said, leading me out of the room.

The sun was low as we stepped out of the house. A black Mercedes Maybach sat in the driveway. A man in a gray suit got out of the driver's side, rounded the vehicle, and opened the door for us. "Mr. Delano. Miss Walton."

"Thank you, Clay." Rys gently rested his hand on the small of my back. "You first, mi cielo."

I sat on the white seat. A fresh citrusy scent mingled with that of leather. Rys dropped onto the seat next to mine, and once he told him we were ready, the driver closed the tinted privacy divider, and the car rolled out onto the street.

Rys wrapped his hand around mine, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.

"I never asked you where the event is," I said.

"Close to Sunlow. The first shipyard was built there, and Cohen chose that symbolic location for the grand celebration."

An hour and forty minutes later, our Mercedes slowed in a port next to a luxury mega yacht that must've been over three hundred feet long. As we got out of the vehicle, I took stock of the vessel's large windows and sweeping decks. Two uniformed crew members, a man and a woman, waited for us by the gangway, smiles plastered on their faces.

"Welcome on-board," the woman said as we stepped forward.

Rys thanked her. Inside the yacht, we took the marble stairs to the main deck. As we entered the spacious dining area, an older man in a black suit with gray peppering his temples approached us and shook Rys's hand.

"Rys. I'm glad you could make it."

"Congratulations on the anniversary," Rys said. "It's our pleasure to be here."

"Enjoy the evening." The business owner nodded with a smile and left to greet some guests that arrived after us.

Rys pressed his hand to the small of my back. "Let's look for our seats."

At least a dozen people greeted us as we weaved through the quickly forming crowd of guests. Round tables covered with beige fabric to match the color of the walls took up the dining area. We found our table and sat next to a couple Rys knew.

Aromas of food seeped into the room from the galley. Waiters brought in champagne, and Cohen, the yacht business owner who'd greeted us, came forward and stood in the middle of the room, a microphone in hand.

Rys wrapped his fingers around mine as we listened to the speech. Even though he didn't seem to notice, I registered lots of curious gazes directed at us when my attention wandered away from Cohen's words.

Once the speech was over, claps filled the dining area, accompanied by camera flashes and clicks of shutters. Cohen sat next to an elegant woman in a green dress who must've been his wife, and I pressed a palm to my growling stomach at the sight of the trays with hors d'oeuvres.

Rys put a caviar tart on my plate, smiling. "I should've fed you before leaving."

"Did you hear my stomach?" Mortification slipped into my voice, but he shook his head. "It's the hungry look on your face."

I nudged his knee with mine under the table. A warm palm slid up my leg toward my thigh, bare thanks to the slit of the dress.

"Mr. Delano." I raised my brows while a nonchalant Rys pretended to be sipping champagne.

The tarts were just as delicious as the prawn cocktail and the selection of canapes we tried next. The couple sharing the table with us addressed us only occasionally, commenting on food or the luxury interior of the yacht the designer in me couldn't stop marveling at. Nothing was out of place and every detail served a purpose — from the lacquered interior paneling to the shiny marble floors reflecting the overhead lights.

The main dish — wagyu beef — was one of the most exquisite I'd eaten. Once my plate was empty, I set my wine glass aside and pressed a napkin to the corners of my mouth.

"I think they'll wait a bit before bringing in the desserts," Rys said. "I hope so, at least."

"There should be a special cake or something."

"Let's hope for a chocolate one."

On impulse, I pressed my lips to Rys's cheek. He rewarded me with a gaze so warm my skin heated beneath the thin dress. Chairs scraped, interrupting our moment, and several people stood, probably to take a break from so much food. So did Cohen. I discreetly nodded in his direction, and Rys gave me a lopsided grin.

"I don't want to leave you sitting here alone."

"I need to use the bathroom. Go congratulate him again. Later he might be too buzzed to talk business."

He hesitated for a moment, glancing from me to his prospective customer.

I nudged his ribs. "Go. I'm a big girl. And I really need to use the ladies'."

To drive the point home, I stood, and my date shook his head, tracking my every step with his blue eyes until I turned and strolled out of the hall.

A narrow hallway stretched on my right. My heels clicked on the marble as I headed to the bathroom. It was just as magnificent as the rest of the place with its gilded mirror and potted plants. After I emptied myself of the many glasses of champagne and wine, I left the stall and stood by the sink next to a dark-haired girl in a purple dress.

"Your gown is spectacular," she said.

My hands froze under the stream of water, either from the unexpected compliment or suspicion she needed an opening line to talk about something else.

I finished washing my hands and pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser to dry them. "Thank you. Yours is beautiful too."

It was true. The royal purple was an eye-catching color, and it matched her eyeshadow perfectly. Her sense of style showed in every detail of her outfit.

I pulled a lip gloss out of my small clutch. The girl stalled, then sighed. "I hope you don't take it the wrong way. I'm just really happy for Rys. He deserves to have more than work in his life. You two look beautiful together."

A stupid question along the lines of How do you know each other? danced on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it just in time. She wouldn't have said anything if she hadn't been with him at some point in the past.

"He deserves the best," I said instead.

"He really does." The girl smiled. Although it seemed genuine, I had no desire to talk about Rys with anyone, least of all another woman. "Enjoy the evening."

"You too."

As soon as the door behind her closed, I applied two coats of gloss, trying to push the encounter to the recesses of my mind. Rys had a past. I had one too, except mine was still partly embedded into my present and reminded me of itself with texts I deleted and calls I didn't answer. I wouldn't pull a jealous girlfriend act, but I needed a moment to myself before I looked for him.

Music and laughter floated in the air when I stepped into the hallway. Instead of heading to the dining hall, I went in the opposite direction from the noise. Glimpsing the sea through the sliding doors, I stepped onto a deck, empty save for a man talking on the phone as he leaned against the railing.

Interrupting him wasn't my intention. I backtracked, but he slid the cell into the back pocket of his dress pants before I made my way out and turned toward me.

His tanned face split into a broad grin. "Did I set a precedent by hiding here?"

A nervous chuckle rose from deep within my chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. I just needed some fresh air after..."

"Too much food, right?"

Tension fled my muscles. "Way too much. Not that I'm complaining."

"Who'd complain? Tutto squisito."

Only now that he said something in Italian with what seemed like a flawless accent did it dawn on me that he likely wasn't from here. Curiosity pushed me to approach him and stand by his side. "You speak Italian."

"Born and raised in Milano, known for its fashion. You?"

"Born and raised in Wickhampton, known for its...nothing."

The man burst out laughing, raking a hand through his curly hair. "My fiancé Ralph would disagree."

"Oh my God, how insensitive of me. Is he from there too?"

"Nato e cresciuto, until I came along and showed him the world. Just don't tell him that..." He paused, studying my face.

"Lyra."

"Paolo."

He extended his hand. I shook it, and for a moment, silence enveloped us.

"So, what do you think about Charlotte?" My new acquaintance broke it by asking a question that left me puzzled. Was Charlotte the girl in a purple dress? Except he wouldn't know we'd met.

"The yacht," he said, solving the riddle. "And Cohen's wife. The man is smitten."

I couldn't help grinning. "Both Charlottes are beautiful, but the design of Charlotte the yacht left me in awe. It's modern but classic at the same time, and nothing is out of place."

Paolo rubbed his chin and reached into his pocket. He retrieved a black business card I studied for a few seconds. Then I looked up at him, and he smiled with barely-concealed pride.

"You designed it," I stated the obvious.

"The interior, yes. It makes me happy that people like it. It's new, so we didn't get enough feedback yet."

"You did an amazing job. I studied design too, just not that kind. Actually, I hope to keep studying. It's funny because the school of my dreams is in your hometown."

Paolo drummed his fingers on the railing. "Which one?"

"Angelo Rizzo. Have you heard of it?"

"All the time. They're the best."

I pushed out a dejected sigh. "That's what I thought. I want to apply for their jewelry design program, but they ask for original pieces, and I don't know if I have what it takes."

"Wish I knew someone there. But if you need advice..."

"Any you could give me."

"Go the extra mile. They'll love the enthusiasm. They want pieces, give them more."

"More like...?"

He shrugged. "Anything you can come up with. A professional portfolio would be the minimum. In my job, we value images over words, and they're not different. Give them the experience. Sell it in a nice package, and you'll have them eating off the palm of your beautiful hand. Do you have a card?"

A no was about to fly off my tongue, but then I remembered I'd stuffed some in my clutch after seeing Rys put some cards of his in his wallet. I took one out and gave it to Paolo. "Here. This was my design. Do you think something like this could do for a portfolio?"

He squinted, studying the card. Now that the sun hid, the only light came from the interior of the yacht.

"I love the fonts, but your name should be bigger. Don't be scared of showing the world who you are. When are you going to Milano?"

"September, if things—" I shook my head and wrapped my fingers around the railing. "No, forget it. Just September. Finding a job there wouldn't be impossible, would it? I studied how to make things pretty, Milano is the capital of pretty things..."

Paolo's laughter echoed on the deck. "That's the attitude, and no, a job isn't out of reach. Be brave."

He squeezed my shoulder. Behind us, the door slid open. My heart fluttered at the muffled sound of confident footsteps as if it knew who they belonged to.

Paolo dropped his hand. Rys drew closer and draped his arm around my waist. "Mi cielo. You had me worried."

His grip was gentle but firm. Possessive. This wasn't the usual tender Rys. Not the businessman Rys, either. I examined his face — the hard set of his jaw, eyes blazing with something like...jealousy?

"It was my pleasure to meet you, Lyra." Paolo must've read the room. "See you around."

"Likewise," I said. "And thank you."

Paolo vacated the deck.

"Like hell he will," Rys muttered under his breath.

I tilted my chin up. "Excuse me?"

Rys cupped it and kissed me with such intensity my knees buckled, already in jeopardy because of the heels I'd give anything to get out of wearing. His minty taste and spicy scent finished the deal, making me close my eyes and wrap my arms around his neck. He pressed me against the railing — and him — and kept exploring my mouth with his expert tongue until my inappropriate, helpless moans broke free, and he stopped.

"Feels good?" he asked, chest heaving, while my lips tingled from the assault of his mouth.

I kissed him slowly. It had the desired effect because Rys responded to every gentle swipe of my tongue with one of his, the earlier intensity gone.

I rubbed his cheeks with my thumbs. "Feels amazing. But Paolo is in a relationship with a guy. So next time you lose it..."

Rys blew out a breath. "I didn't—"

"You did."

"Fuck it. I did. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"You would never, and I love it a little rough, Mr. Delano. What I don't love is when you—"

Another kiss. Tender. Slow. "I'm sorry. I just went crazy with worry, and he was too close to you."

"He's Italian. You once told me the distance was a weird concept in Mediterranean countries. And he was just being nice and helpful. He's from Milan, and I asked him about the jewelry school."

"I overreacted. But you're the most beautiful woman here, and..."

I giggled despite myself.

Rys caressed my face with the back of his hand. "Forgive me?"

"I might want something from you in return. Something risky."

"I'm intrigued."

"First, cake. And you owe me a dance."

"We better hurry, then," Rys said, pecking my temple. With his hand on my lower back, he led me back inside.

"Wait." I halted by the dining room entrance. "What about your business talk? Did it go well?"

"My gut thinks it did."

"Hope it's better at that than detecting gay men."

Rys smirked, gaze lowered to his feet. "It's just you. Making me behave like a teen figuring out how to deal with his emotions."

"I'm sure Paolo understands."

"Paolo," Rys mumbled. "What's his last name?"

"One I have no intention of telling you. You can ask him yourself if he's still here."

"You'll be the death of me."

I brushed my lips across Rys's clean-shaven jaw. "Hardly. But teasing you feels good."

He mouthed cruel as we entered the room in the middle of a slow dance. Cohen and Charlotte were dancing to the ballad the orchestra played, and Rys pulled me into his embrace, molding his body against mine. His palm mapped my bare back as if memorizing every inch, and I let him dictate the steps, following his lead.

We weren't alone. There was a flash of an already familiar purple dress, and Paolo's curls peeking from behind the marble column. But each time Rys skimmed my jaw with his lips, the surroundings blurred more, until his face and blue eyes were the only things in focus, and everything but him ceased to exist.

Hi! Rys and Lyra are back. I'm still kind of meh, but writing happened, so hope you like the chapter. Don't forget to tell me what you think and hit that little star if you're enjoying the book!