VITTORIA

"Let's go over the dos and donts," Cooper says, his tone annoyingly parental. "No phones. Hand that over. It might be hacked."

"Oh fck no." I clutch my phone tighter. "I have to know what my friends are doing. Who knows how long I will be locked up?"

"There is a burner for emergencies." He reaches for it, and I defend myself the only way I can.

"Did you just fcking bite me?"

"I am not giving it to you. I can't live without this." I protest, tucking it into my shirt. He gives me that are you kidding me glare before snatching it right out of my cleavage.

"You didn't just reach into my bra." I shriek, my face burning.

"I did what was necessary," he replies coolly.

"I hate you." I yell as he pockets it inside his jacket.

"I don't give a fck. Rule number two, don't leave the property without me, even if the house is on fire. Rule number three, you will participate in chores."

"Do I look like I wash dishes? A maid takes care of that." I don't even know how to make my bed. The staff does everything. God, I am so spoiled.

"That brings us to rule number four, before I was rudely interrupted." I roll my eyes and look out the window at the sky.

"Are you even listening?" he asks sharply.

"Unfortunately yes. Please continue your tyrannical manifesto."

"No one else is allowed in the house. You will have to learn to do chores. What is the saying? Baby steps until you get there."

"Controlling motherfcker," I whisper under my breath.

A small smile tugging at his lips tells me he heard that. "Rule number five," he continues. "We will spend only on essentials. Number six, never let your cover slip. You aren't there to make friends."

"What if a sexy cowboy likes me?" I ask, testing him for a reaction.

"Tell him to fck off. Nobody is allowed to touch you."

The possessiveness in his tone sends a bolt down my spine. He has no right to sound like that, especially when he claims he isn't attracted to women.

"Number seven.."

"You mean number eight? The nobody should touch you part wasn't a rule."

"That isn't a rule. It is the mentality you should have around men," he says firmly, his eyes blazing with a fire that makes my chest tighten.

"Except you, and the stallion waiting to bang the sht out of me for the sake of promoting peace between our families."

A stallion I have never even met, his face familiar only from pictures. My future happiness reduced to a business transaction.

"Antonio Calafiori," Cooper says quietly. "Your father told me about him."

"What did you think?" I ask, hating how desperate I sound for his opinion.

"He seems adequate," Cooper replies, his jaw tight.

"That is all you have to say about the man I am supposed to marry?"

"What do you want me to say, Vittoria? That he is a lucky bastard?" The words come out sharp, almost bitter.

"Maybe that would be nice to hear for once," I mutter, looking away.

Another hostess approaches with the bottles of water. "Your drinks sir," she says, her eyes lingering on Cooper and his muscles.

"Thank you." He glances at her name tag. "Jesse," he says, smiling politely.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before walking away, her hips swaying more than necessary. Is he seriously flirting with her right now?

"What if I am craving a big fat dick to stretch me, just like our slutty Jesse?" I say after she disappears into the cockpit.

I know I am being petty, but watching him charm her while treating me like a burden twists something dark in my chest.

"I didn't do that to get into her pants," he says, opening his water bottle. "I was reading her body language. Someone with military training won't relax in combat mode."

Yeah right. If I weren't here, this 'gay man' and that btch would have joined the Mile High Club.

"You still haven't told me what I am supposed to do when I am horny."

"Use a vibrator. Don't pretend you don't have one," he replies without missing a beat.

Heat floods my face. He isn't wrong. There really are three in my luggage.

"Jerk," I mutter to cover my embarrassment.

"Number seven, in the event something happens to me, don't involve the cops. Take the cash and go straight to the United States embassy."

"Why not the Italian embassy?"

"We don't know how connected this person is or how far they will go to end your life." he explains.

"And if both embassies are compromised?" I ask, genuine fear creeping into my voice.

"Then you use those language skills and disappear," Cooper says, his expression softening slightly. "Obey these rules, and we will have a better fighting chance. Any more questions?"

"No Daddy. I will be a good little girl," I murmur, my tone more teasing than I intend.

Cooper's eyes darken, and his jaw tightens before his mask slips back into place. "Don't ever call me that," he says, his voice low and strained.

"Does it bother you, Cooper?" I press, leaning forward slightly.

"It is inappropriate," he says, looking away.

"That isn't what I asked." I tilt my head, studying the tension in his shoulders. "I asked if it bothers you."

"No," he admits through gritted teeth.

"Liar." I smile, feeling bold. "Your jaw does this thing when you are lying, it twitches."

"You are imagining things."

"Am I?" I lean closer, close enough to smell his cologne. "Then why are you gripping that armrest like you want to strangle it?"

Jesse returns with a bright smile. "Can I get you anything else before we begin our descent?"

"No thank you," Cooper says, his voice perfectly controlled again, as if the last few minutes never happened. She nods and walks away, leaving us in charged silence.

But I saw the crack in his armor. And now that I know it is there, I can't help but wonder how far I can push before it shatters completely.

COOPER

Her teasing makes my cock twitch. One look at Vittoria's picture during the briefing at the office a few days ago made it clear this assignment was going to be trouble.

The way her full lips curled in annoyance, told me she is the kind of girl who would derail a man without even meaning to.

Those dark, fiery eyes practically beg, Come tame me, Daddy.And I hate that my brain even goes there. I should have requested a reassignment, but I didn't maybe it's because some stupid part of me wants to prove I can resist her.

"Princess, we're here." I watch her sleepy eyes widen in horror as she takes in the property.

"God, what is that smell?" she says, pinching her nose.

"That is cow dung, princess. Welcome to Texas."

I keep my voice neutral, but the smirk on my face gives me away. This is going to be blockbuster worthy entertainment.

"Nope, I can't do this. Turn the car around right now!" She lunges for the steering wheel, and for a second, I swear she might actually try jumping out of the moving vehicle.

I shove her hands away, the girl has no sense of danger. "I signed a contract to keep you safe, and I promised your mom I would protect you, especially from your own stupidity."

"My mother doesn't understand what she's putting me through," she snaps, crossing her arms. "This is punishment."

Your mother is terrified, I want to say. She thinks she might lose you the way I lost, nope not going there.

"Your mother understands perfectly well. Someone wants you dead, remember?" I kill the engine. "Now get out."

She sighs dramatically, before stepping out, her hips swaying in that infuriating way she probably doesn't even realize she is doing. I round the car and grab my stuff.

I clear, my throat. "Your bags? No one here is your personal assistant."

She turns raising an eyebrow. "Cooper, what are your big muscles for? Put them to work." Then she struts inside, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

I haul them up the gravel path, sweat forming despite the cool air. Who the hell travels with this much stuff for approximately two months of hiding?

"Our maids live in better houses than this dump," she gestures around the living room, with enough disgust written all over her face.

I take a quick look at the decor it isn't villa quality but it's more than decent.

"This isn't a vacation. A flashy house, more your style, defeats the point of laying low." I drop her bags by the stairs, my patience thinning

"At least tell me there's a pool, please."

"Sorry to disappoint princess, no pool. There is a treehouse built by the previous owners."

She narrows her eyes. "Was that a joke? Do I look eight to you, Mr. Robot?"

"You certainly act like a spoiled little girl who needs disciplining." And I instantly regret it, because she licks her lips. Making my pulse skips, fck.

"Careful, Cooper. You might actually have to follow through on that threat."

"Oh, you poor thing," I say dryly, trying to hide my arousal. "You will survive in a four bedroom crib most people would kill to stay in."

"Is this how you treated your ex boyfriends, or am I getting special treatment?"

"I gotta clarify, we're not dating."

"Exactly. I wouldn't date someone like you anyway. You definitely have bipolar disorder or something."

I freeze, shoving my shaking hands into my pockets. My fingers brush the six familiar sides of the die I always carry, keeping the memories from crawling back.

"Go unpack," I say tightly. "Then come down and help make dinner." I walk off before she sees how deep those careless words cut.

I bring in the remaining bags and throw myself into work installing security alarms, checking the perimeter, and changing every lock.

The physical labor helps, it always does. I stock the pantry that by the time I finish, the tremor in my hands eases.

I'm pouring a protein shake into a glass when a crash sounds upstairs, something heavy smashing to the floor, followed by a stream of curses. My instincts kick in instantly.

"Vittoria?" I call, quickly rushing up the stairs. "You okay up there?"

No response, my chest tighten. I push open the bedroom door and freeze.

Vittoria stands in the middle of the room wearing a short, baggy shirt. Sht. She sure has a sexy body. I force the thought away. This kid is an assignment, nothing more.

"How hard did you hit your head?"

"I'm fine." She tries to shove me off, staggering a little.

"You're bleeding. Sit down before you pass out."

"I said I'm fine, Cooper. Stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

"Fcking sit brat." I gently guide her to the bed, my hands brushing her warm skin. "Let me see."

She drops her hand, revealing a small gash along her hairline, blood trickling down her temple.

"What happened?" I ask, keeping my voice steady.

"I tried to reach the top shelf, stood on a piece of luggage, and fell."

"Why didn't you just ask for help?"

"Because I'm not some helpless damsel, despite what you think."

"Asking for help isn't weakness, it's common sense. You could have broken your neck."

"But I didn't. I just scraped my head a little."

"That's more than a scrape, you need stitches."

Her eyes widen. "Cooper no fcking way, take me to a hospital."

"The nearest one is forty minutes away, and we're supposed to be invisible, remember?"

She looks at me uncertainly, then nods. "Fine. But if you scar me, I'm suing your agency."

"Don't move an inch," I say, already moving for the first aid kit.

This is what I hate about my profession, you have to use your essential skills to cater to the whims of the wealthy.

COOPER

"Ow! Can't you be more gentle?" the ungrateful brat whines, glaring at me from the corner of her eyes. "Who taught you how to stitch a cut, your crazy ex-boyfriends who craved pain?"

"I picked it up while serving in the army," I reply. She hisses as the needle digs into her skin. "You know, for someone who would never date me, you sure are obsessed with my exes."

"Because I will always pity them for surviving a control freak."

"It's a learned habit. I have four younger siblings, and some men have a kink for being told what to do," I mutter, engaging in this stupid conversation because of her gash.

"Four siblings? That explains so much about you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have been bossing people around your entire life. It's second nature to you."

"Someone had to keep them alive, when our parents worked double shifts."

"Now, back to the sex life. What's your own kink?" Her voice drops lower, with curiosity. "What drives you wild?"

I focus on knotting the final stitch. "I'm not telling you that, princess."

She pokes her bottom lips out. "Come on, I'm bored. I haven't had my phone all day."

"It's been fifteen hours."

"Exactly. That's basically forever in normal people time."

"People lived for centuries without smartphones."

"Yeah, and your role models also died of the plague and thought bathing was dangerous."

I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "Fair point."

"I will take any juicy gossip I can get. Rough sex, roleplay, forbidden fruit..." My hands pause above her head. Fck. She guessed my weakness correctly.

"Wait, forbidden?" Her voice shoots up in excitement. "What is it? You cheated with a close friend's partner? Fcked your friend's son?"

"Stay still, Vittoria," I caution the nosy heiress who suddenly thinks she is Oprah Winfrey.

"You fcked your friend's child, you perv!" She is practically laughing at me now. "Was he legal?"

"He was nineteen, I was twenty-three. Stop making it sound worse than it was."

I hastily tie off the stitch, then check my work. "And we're done here." I stand, needing to put some distance between us.

She grabs my biceps, gently tugging me back. "Hey, don't bail. It's just getting good."

"That was a long time ago," I reluctantly admit to her smiling face. "I was young and allowed my dick to do the thinking."

"Did his father know?"

"No, he never suspected. Besides, he went to college, and I got stationed in Afghanistan. That was the last time we spoke."

She searches my face for any trace of emotion. "Do you miss him?"

I think of April for the first time in months. She always knew how to push my buttons, even dropping out of Brown to join my unit.

"Blue, yellow, orange," I whisper, inhaling deeply. "In summary, a pampered troublemaker."

"Like me?" she asks, eyes glinting with interest. "You're attracted to women like me?"

My eyes linger on her lips, daring me to cross the line and take what she is offering.

"Men like you," I say, the lie scraping my throat. I step back, forcing in a breath. "Get dressed and come downstairs."

Vittoria walks in and rests her elbows on the counter, smirking. "So, what gourmet disaster are you cooking up? Fair warning, I'm extremely picky."

"Are you allergic to anything?" I ask, pulling out ingredients and dropping them on the counter.

"Yeah, I am. I'm allergic to boring plating, meals without wine, and junk food." She ticks each off on her fingers. "I have to maintain this body."

"I meant medical allergies," I say, shooting her an unimpressed look. "Not Her Highness's preferences."

"Then no, Major. No life threatening allergies that you need to worry about."

I mentally run through the recipe again. "Grab the pasta from the shelf, we're making Pasta Puttanesca."

She drops the pack on the counter and perches on a stool. "You mind telling me what the hell you're doing?"

She taps her acrylic nails loudly on the island counter. "Sitting down, duh."

"When I said we would prepare this, I meant your ass too."

"Nope, you're on your own."

This annoying little brat. "Get your butt up and turn on the stove," I growl at her shocked expression.

"Or what, Cooper?" That spark of defiance in her eyes makes my cock throb.

I narrow my eyes, stepping closer. "Vittoria, don't test me."

She rolls her eyes but finally stands, moving beside me.

"Which button do I press? It's not turning on," she says, fiddling with the stove.

I watch the clueless girl struggle. This is a basic life skill, for goodness' sake. I take her hand in mine and guide it over the controls.

"This one ignites the burner while this one regulates the heat, got it?"

"Yes, professor."

"Here, princess." I place a knife in her palm. "Chop the anchovies, garlic, onion, and pitted olives." That should be simple enough for her rich ass.

She picks up an anchovy between two fingers, making a face. "This is so gross, why can't we just order takeout?"

"Because we're in the middle of nowhere, and constant delivery draws attention.'"

I turn to heat up the pan when I hear, "fck!" The knife clattering to the floor as she clutches a bloody thumb.

I exhale loudly, this kid is hopeless. "Is it deep?" I ask, wrapping my hand around her thumb.

"Don't touch me! I'm not used to this, and you're not fcking listening! I hope you're happy!" she yells, storming upstairs to her room.The bedroom door slams hard enough to rattle the walls.

I let her go. Chasing Vittoria Giordano would only make things worse, so I keep cooking, waiting it out.

I finish chopping the veggies she abandoned, toss them into the pan with olive oil, and let the kitchen fill with the sharp, briny aroma of garlic.