Chapter One 

Jenna 

I scrawl my signature on the paper and push it toward my lawyer, folding my arms and leaning back. There's nothing but quiet resignation in me and relief that this is finally over.

Tom, on the other hand, has a pleading look on his face as he tries to beg me. I turn away, having no interest in his theatrical show of repentance.

Nine months ago, I might have listened after I caught him in bed with his colleague—the woman he told me not to worry about. I may have taken him back, choosing to save my failing marriage.

But he had no remorse then.

In his eyes, I was the bad person. I pushed him into the arms of another woman because I worked too long. A nine-to-five job was too long for him to remain faithful.

"Alright," my lawyer says, wearing her winning smile. Now that the papers have been signed, we'll need to wait for the court to review them and then proceed to assets and debt division."

"I don't want anything from him," I cut in, earning a look from her. "I don't want a penny from him," I repeat. "He can have the house and the beach cottage. My cars are in my name, and he didn't contribute to any payments, so there's no discussion there."

She leans in and whispers, "Are you sure? I'm certain I can get him to forfeit the house without any drama if that's what you're worried about."

I'm past worrying and caring.

Looking Tom dead in the eye, I say it clearly for everyone to hear, "The sooner I'm done with him, the better."

"Jenna," he pleads, rising and reaching across the conference table with his hands. I pull away with a look of disgust, and he sits back, sighing audibly.

"You've heard my client," my lawyer says briskly as she gathers her papers. The next time you'll hear from us is after the review period. Until then," she stands up, and I do the same. Have a good day."

As we walk out of the conference room and into the hallway, I hear hurried footsteps behind us.

"Jenna, please don't go," Tom calls out. "We can still resolve this."

"Do you need my help?"

I shake my hand, giving her a grateful smile. "I can handle this. Thanks."

Touching my shoulder briefly, she nods and walks away. I wait for Tom to walk up to me with his sniveling tone and pitiful act.

"Don't," I say before he gets a word in. "I'm not taking you back, Tom. You should be happy I'm giving you freedom. Isn't that what you wanted? What you asked for? Take it," I smirk, "and I hope it makes you happy."

With that, I turn on my heels and walk away, ignoring him as he calls my name, promising he won't make the same mistake again.

I head straight to the airport from the office just in time to board my flight to Italy. I booked my flight last night after my lawyer confirmed that Tom would be signing the papers today.

It's the solo vacation I need after months of legal drama and constant calls from Tom, demanding that I think twice before throwing our marriage away. It's what I deserve for wasting five years of my life with a man who didn't deserve me.

***

I check into a suite at the Mandarin Hotel in Milan, plopping down on the bed as I yawn from the twelve hours spent on the flight.

Sleep is the furthest thing from my mind, so I change into something more comfortable—a cotton jumpsuit that feels casual and looks semi-formal, with a pair of open-toe heels.

Then I grab a purse, reapply my nude pink lipstick, and make my way to the seventh floor of the hotel, where the Torno Subito rooftop bar is. A server shows me to a table with two empty lounge chairs and asks if I'll be having company.

"No," I say with a smile, although the fact that a year ago, I would have mentioned my ex-husband isn't lost on me. "Just me."

He smiles. "Alright, then. I'll come by shortly to take your order."

As he walks off, I lean back, taking in the ambiance. The bar is surrounded by glass, creating an open and airy feeling. Free, just like me. 

"Ma'am," a different server approaches me with a glass of martini on the tray and places it on the table.

My brows scrunch in confusion. "I haven't ordered yet."

She nods. "It's from the gentleman over there," she points towards the right corner of the bar. I'm seated close to the center, so it takes a bit of turning to see who exactly she's pointing at.

Oh. 

"Well," I murmur.

He's handsome.

I can't tell from how he's sitting, but I know he's either six feet or a little over, with broad shoulders accentuated by his tailored-to-fit dark blue suit. It's unbuttoned, showing hints of a white dress shirt.

His dark hair probably looks darker because of the lightning and the faded sunset, but it's his eyes…blue? Black? I don't know, but they stare at me with an intensity that sends a soft shiver down my spine.

"Who is he?" I murmur.

"He's—"

I shake my head. "Don't tell me. Um, tell him thank you, but I'm not interested." I came here to celebrate my freedom, not to hook up with some random guy who reeks of money, power, and attraction.

He is handsome. The waiter walks away, and I pick up my glass and sip. The martini slides down my throat, but I detect something extra, something I can't place.

Maybe it's because I can feel him looking at me, and I'm starting to get jittery. To steel my nerves, I drink some more, then more until the glass is empty.

Soon enough, the lightheaded feeling takes over, and when I glance at the gentleman again, his eyes gloss over my face, lingering on my lips. I subconsciously lick the corner of my bottom lip, and I feel the heat of his gaze from across the bar as it pulses through my veins, stoked higher with every second that passes.

"Oh well, live a little, I guess," I murmur as I stand up with the glass in hand, heading over to his table.

He says nothing as I sit, crossing my ankles. "You don't buy a lady a drink and stare at her for an hour," I comment. "If you wanted a conversation, you could have walked over."

The corner of his lips curl into a smile. "I see. I liked the view, though."

"What view?" I tease, leaning back and getting comfortable. I'm certain it's the alcohol in my system, but I like the feeling.

When he sits up and leans in, I catch a whiff of his cologne. It's the kind you can't ignore—something dark, like musk, and heavy, like fine wood. It has the blood rushing through my veins and a throbbing pulse kicking between my thighs.

Down, girl. 

"You," he says, as if the answer should be obvious. "Your dark hair, falling down your shoulders, draping your face. Blue eyes," he murmurs as his voice drops into a low, decadent rumble, "and your lipstick."

I ignore the way my body eats up his compliments, choosing to take the high road so he doesn't think I'm easy.

"And I can tell you're a woman who holds her own well. An irresistible package, I must admit."

His eyes roam over me again, drinking me in. I revel in it, letting the last of my defenses fall apart. As it does, one thing remains—it might be hasty, I might be a little loose, but the thought of doing things to this man excites me.

"I'm Dante," he says, stretching out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Jenna."

I place my hand in his, and his grip is strong and firm. His thumb caresses the back of my palm, sending a jolt down my spine. His eyes meet mine, and I see the color clearly—sea green that looks like a storm is brewing.

His intentions aren't hidden either.

"Do you want to get away from here?

I know it’s a reckless decision and I might be walking into a trap. 

But for tonight, I don’t care. 

“Yes.”