Bound to Us (Bound Duology Book#1)

A Moment Alone

Emma tried her best to ignore Ilario's strange behavior, his pointed looks whenever she talked to Matteo, his offhand comments whenever she laughed with another guy. But it was clear to her—and probably to everyone else—that something was simmering beneath the surface, something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. And today, as fate would have it, she found herself alone with him in the art room.

She'd stayed after class, wanting to finish her latest painting, when she heard the door creak open. She glanced up and saw Ilario standing in the doorway, looking almost as surprised as she felt.

"Didn't think anyone else was here," he said casually, strolling over to a nearby canvas as if he hadn't planned to find her alone.

"Just finishing up," she replied, turning back to her painting, hoping he'd just go. But he didn't; instead, he lingered, watching her with that infuriating, half-amused smile.

"Not bad," he said after a moment, nodding at her work. "For someone who still doesn't know the difference between a brush and a broom."

Emma rolled her eyes. "And yet, I'm still managing just fine without your 'expert' advice." She dipped her brush in a deep blue, adding a bold stroke to the sky in her painting, determined not to let him get to her.

But Ilario only grinned, stepping a bit closer. "I don't know... looks a little crooked to me."

Emma huffed, setting her brush down and turning to face him. "Maybe if you focused on your own work, you wouldn't have to spend so much time hovering around mine."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, that smirk never leaving his face. "Touchy, touchy. You're awfully defensive today."

"Maybe that's because you're always finding something to criticize," she shot back, crossing her arms.

"Oh, don't act like you don't enjoy it," he said, taking a step closer. "I think you actually like it when I get under your skin, straniera."

Emma narrowed her eyes, refusing to back down. "If by 'enjoy' you mean 'tolerate,' then sure, let's go with that."

Ilario chuckled, leaning against the table beside her, watching her with a glint in his eyes. "You know, you're the only one who actually talks back to me like this."

"Well, someone has to keep that ego of yours in check," she replied, feeling her cheeks warm despite herself.

He tilted his head, his gaze growing more intense. "I wonder... do you talk to Matteo like this?"

She felt her heart skip a beat, but she maintained her composure. "I don't talk to Matteo about pointless things."

"Ouch," Ilario said, hand over his heart in mock pain. "So I'm just pointless to you?"

"You said it, not me," she retorted, fighting back a smile. But her voice had softened slightly, and Ilario noticed.

For a moment, there was silence between them, the air heavy with something she couldn't quite name. They were close—too close. She could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the curve of his lips as he held her gaze. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

"Seriously, though," Ilario said, his voice low, almost gentle. "You're... not what I expected."

"Expected?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. "And what, exactly, did you expect?"

He shrugged, glancing away briefly before meeting her gaze again. "I don't know. But not this. Not someone who'd actually challenge me." He leaned in a fraction closer, his voice softening. "It's... interesting."

Emma swallowed, feeling the warmth creep up her neck. "I'm not here to impress you, Ilario."

"I know," he murmured, that smirk softening just a bit. "But that's what makes it so... annoying."

She felt a laugh bubble up, despite herself. "Trust me, I feel the same way."

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to still. The teasing, the irritation, the rivalry—it was all still there, but there was something else, too. Something that made her breath catch and her mind spin. She didn't know if she wanted to keep arguing or close the distance between them. And, judging by the look in Ilario's eyes, he didn't seem to know either.

Just then, the sound of a door opening down the hall snapped them both back to reality. Ilario blinked, the intensity fading as he stepped back, clearing his throat and giving her a quick nod.

"Well, don't mess up that painting too much," he said, the familiar teasing edge back in his voice. "I'd hate to see all that effort go to waste."

Emma managed a smirk, regaining her composure. "I'll try not to, Ferraro. But no promises."

With a final grin, he turned and walked out, leaving her standing there, her heart still racing and her mind spinning with confusion.

As she returned to her painting, she found herself smiling, despite her better judgment. Maybe Ilario Ferraro wasn't as easy to hate as she'd thought—but that didn't mean she was going to make it easy for him, either.

hope u liking it so far,

Bisou,