_______________________

BAD AT LOVE

♧

HALSEY

________________________

BY THE TIME my dessert arrived, I'd worked my way through three and a half glasses of champagne. Not tipsy, of course-it would take something far stronger than that to get me off balance. Antonio's scotch, swirling dark and menacing in his glass, might've done the trick, but I wasn't interested in sharing.

I'd caught on to Raffaele's little game. He was watching me closely, his sharp eyes flicking between my glass and my body language. Subtle, but not subtle enough. The bastard was testing me-seeing if I'd slip up, if I'd avoid alcohol for fear of harming a non-existent child, or maybe drink just enough to spill something useful.

I thanked the waiter in French as they set down a delicate, gold-dusted crème brûlée in front of me. My spoon sank through the crisp sugar crust, the creamy custard beneath melting on my tongue. Antonio's arm-heavy and irritatingly warm-had somehow found a way to drape itself around the back of my chair, like it belonged there.

The dinner had been surprisingly tolerable, if not downright entertaining. A few of these people weren't as insufferable as I'd imagined. I even laughed once-just once-at Isabella's sarcastic remark about the ridiculousness of la bella figura. But the air was still thick with tension, every laugh masking suspicion, every smile a calculated move in this unspoken chess game.

A waiter approached, pouring white wine into my glass. I smiled at them, nodding politely, but as I reached for the stem, Antonio leaned in closer.

"You're drinking a lot tonight," he murmured, his voice low and edged with warning. His breath tickled the shell of my ear, making me shiver despite myself.

I turned my head slightly, locking eyes with him. "How many whiskeys have you had tonight, Antonio?"

His jaw tightened. "Celine."

"Antonio," I mimicked, my tone dripping with faux sweetness as I took a deliberate sip of my wine. His hand flexed on the back of my chair, and I almost laughed. He was wound tighter than a coil, and I was loving every second of it.

"I don't need you sloppy," he said, his voice quieter now, meant only for me.

"Sloppy?" I raised an eyebrow, leaning just a little closer. "Darling, I'm insulted. I can handle my liquor better than most of these vultures."

"That's not the point," he snapped, his irritation finally slipping through his polished façade.

"Then what is the point, Antonio?" I whispered back, the challenge clear in my voice. "Because you're clinging to me like I'm the only thing keeping this charade afloat."

He didn't respond immediately, his dark eyes narrowing as he studied me. I could see the war behind them, the push and pull between wanting to snap back and keeping his composure in front of the De Lucas. He settled for a sharp exhale, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smile.

"You're impossible," he muttered.

"And yet, here you are," I said, clinking my wine glass softly against his scotch. "Cheers, marito."

Raffaele's voice cut through the air, breaking whatever tension had wrapped itself around us. "Celine, Antonio," he said, his tone light but laced with something darker. "You two are quite the pair. It's refreshing to see such... passion."

I turned to him, the smile I plastered on as bright as the diamonds around my neck. "Passion is the foundation of every strong relationship, isn't it, Raffaele?"

Antonio's hand moved from the back of my chair to the small of my back, his fingers brushing against the bare skin there. "Passion," he said, his voice smooth but carrying a bite only I could hear, "can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands."

Raffaele chuckled, raising his glass in a mock toast. "To passion, then. May it never burn out."

I raised my glass as well, though I wasn't sure if I was toasting him or daring him. Antonio's fingers pressed slightly harder against my back, a silent reminder that this game we were playing had real stakes. And for the first time all evening, I wondered which one of us would blink first.

"I wanna go on a walk," I mumbled, pushing my dessert plate away and adjusting the strap of my dress.

Antonio sighed, his arm slipping off the back of my chair. "Now? In the middle of dinner?"

I shrugged, reaching for my glass of wine. "I've had enough of listening to people talk about how rich they are or how many enemies they've offed. I need air."

He stood, straightening his suit jacket. "Fine. Let's go."

I arched a brow. "You don't have to come. I'm perfectly capable of walking myself."

Antonio gave me a flat look. "You're not going alone. Married people don't leave their spouses unattended at functions like this. It'll raise questions."

"God forbid," I muttered, standing as he stepped to my side, gesturing for me to lead the way.

We stepped out onto the grand terrace of the De Luca estate, the crisp evening air brushing against my skin. Fairy lights adorned the neatly trimmed hedges, casting a soft glow over the garden. The distant hum of music and laughter from the dining room faded as we wandered farther from the crowd.

The chill of the night crept up on me, and I couldn't stop myself from shivering slightly. Without a word, Antonio shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

"You didn't have to do that," I said, clutching the lapels to keep the fabric in place. His jacket was warm, and the faint trace of his cologne lingered on it.

"You were cold," he replied simply, his hands slipping into his pockets as we strolled.

As the garden path turned, the moonlight caught the tattoos snaking down his arms, visible now that his jacket was off. I slowed, squinting at the ink. "When'd you get this one?" I asked, pointing to the snake coiled around his forearm.

"When I was almost your age," he said, glancing down at it briefly.

"So, thirty years ago?" I teased, smirking.

He shot me a dry look. "Fifteen years ago, actually."

I gasped dramatically. "Holy shit. You're old. Aren't you a pedophile?"

"No."

"How old are you, anyway?"

He hesitated, as if debating whether to humor me. Finally, he sighed. "I could be your father."

I snorted, tightening his jacket around my shoulders. "My dad's almost sixty."

"And I'm forty in nine months."

"Oh."

We walked in silence for a moment before I gestured to another tattoo near his wrist, a delicate pattern that stood out against the heavier, darker ink. "And this one?"

His lips twitched in what might've been a smile. "That one...is a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"That everything has a cost," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for follow-up questions.

"Cryptic," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "You know, you're a lot weirder than I realized."

"And you talk a lot more than I thought you would," he shot back, his tone light but carrying that familiar edge of sarcasm.

"That's what happens when you marry someone without actually getting to know them first," I quipped, pulling his jacket tighter as another cool breeze swept through the garden.

Antonio didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost thoughtful. "Maybe that's something we should work on."

I blinked, caught off guard. "Work on what?"

"Getting to know each other," he said, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "If we're going to keep fooling everyone, we might as well make it convincing."

I tilted my head, studying him for a moment. "Are you saying you want to be friends?"

"I'm saying," he replied, his lips curving into a faint smirk, "that it wouldn't kill you to try and tolerate me."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You're such an ass."

"And yet, you're still here," he said, holding the garden gate open for me as we reached the edge of the estate grounds.

"Don't read too much into it," I shot back, stepping through the gate.

His smirk deepened as he followed, the tension between us as tangible as the night air. For a moment, it felt like a game-one I wasn't entirely sure either of us was winning.

We began walking back toward the estate, the night air cool against my skin. My heel caught again, and I stumbled. Before I could even right myself, Antonio's hands were firm around my waist, steadying me effortlessly.

"I'm fine," I said, brushing him off.

"Clearly, you're not," he replied dryly, his hands still lingering.

"It's just my shoes," I snapped.

"What's wrong with them?"

"They hurt," I admitted grudgingly, hating that I had to say it.

"Can you walk?"

"Obviously, I am not crippled," I said with a sharp tone, taking a step forward-and immediately regretting it as I winced.

Before I could protest further, Antonio crouched, grabbed my ankles, and lifted me into his arms. In one fluid motion, he removed my shoes.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed, smacking his shoulder.

"Saving you from yourself," he said, holding my heels in one hand and securing me firmly against him with the other.

"Put me down!"

"Let's get out of here," he said, completely ignoring me.

"What? I thought you said leaving early would be rude."

"Just follow my lead," he replied, smirking as he hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

I yelped, smacking his back. "Antonio!"

He strode confidently back toward the dining hall, my heels dangling from his hand. As we entered, heads turned, conversations halted, and curious glances shot our way.

"Antonio, Celine!" Isabel's voice rang out, her tone as sweet as ever, though her eyes glinted with intrigue.

"Someone had a little too much of the wine," Antonio said smoothly, bending to pick up my purse from the chair.

I glared at him, my face flushing. "I was fine!"

"Sure you were," he said under his breath, effortlessly charming the room with a grin. "We're heading out for the evening. Lovely party, as always."

"Leaving so soon?" Raffael asked, his brows raised as he approached, his tone laced with mock concern.

Antonio shot him a sharp look. "Unfortunately, yes. Celine's had a bit of a... mishap. We'll need to call it a night."

Raffael's gaze lingered on me, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Of course. Take care, Celine. And Antonio, do bring her back next time-she's quite the entertainment."

Antonio's grip on me tightened, his jaw clenching ever so slightly. "We'll see you next time."

Without another word, he carried me out of the hall and into the car waiting outside.

"You're insane," I muttered as he set me down in the passenger seat.

"Insane enough to keep you from humiliating yourself further," he replied, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"Humiliating myself? You carried me out like a child!"

"And yet, you're barefoot and didn't fall on your face. You're welcome."

I crossed my arms, glaring out the window as he started the car. "You're impossible."

"And you're drunk," he said, shooting me a sideways glance.

"I am not drunk."

"Sure, Celine. Whatever helps you sleep tonight."

The ride home was quiet, save for the hum of the car engine. I leaned my head against the window, the cool glass a relief against my skin. My feet throbbed from hours in those damned heels, and the champagne I'd consumed had left me feeling a little too lightheaded for my liking.

Antonio didn't say much, his focus on the road, but I could feel the weight of his gaze flicking toward me every so often. He always had to monitor me, didn't he?

When we pulled into the driveway, he parked the car and got out without a word. Before I could even reach for the door handle, Antonio was there, opening it and crouching slightly.

"Don't even think about it," he said, his voice firm.

"I can walk," I muttered, trying to push past him.

"Barefoot, after complaining for hours that your shoes hurt? Humor me, Celine."

I huffed, but before I could protest further, Antonio bent down and scooped me up into his arms, holding me as though I weighed nothing.

"Put me down," I grumbled, though I didn't struggle.

"No."

He carried me inside, his steps steady as he walked through the quiet house. I caught Albert peeking out from the hallway but wisely choosing not to comment. Antonio didn't stop until we were in our bedroom, the door closing softly behind us.

"Do you always have to be so dramatic?" I asked, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

"Do you always have to make everything harder than it needs to be?" he shot back, setting me down gently on the edge of the bed.

I crossed my arms, glaring up at him. "What now? Are you going to tuck me in like a child?"

Antonio raised an eyebrow, his gaze traveling over me briefly. "You're not a child. That dress, however, looks like a prison."

Before I could respond, he moved behind me, his fingers brushing against the zipper of my dress.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

"Helping," he said simply, his tone devoid of any teasing.

I stiffened as his fingers tugged the zipper down, the cool air hitting my back as the fabric loosened. Antonio worked carefully, his movements deliberate but impersonal.

"There," he said after a moment, stepping back. "You can handle the rest."

I turned to look at him, half-expecting some smug remark, but his face was unreadable. He grabbed his tie and jacket from the chair and moved toward the door.

"Antonio," I called softly.

He paused, glancing back at me.

"Thanks," I said, my voice quieter now.

He nodded once, his expression softening just a fraction before he stepped out of the room, leaving me alone.

I stared at the closed door for a moment before shaking my head and slipping out of the dress. Antonio Genovese was full of surprises. Too many for my liking.

_________________________________________

oop not the updates in the same day yass yall im backkk

this was lowkey a filler chapter I'm so sorry hope yall enjoyed it lmao.

- zio 🍸