Giulia had expected breakfast.
At the very least, she had expected Beau to take her somewhere she could sit down and eat a proper meal after the utter spectacle she'd been forced to witness in the dining room, a tense affair that had temporarily spoiled her appetite.
Instead, the moment he ushered her into the back of the car and closed the door, Beau reached into his coat pocket and handed her a grease-stained paper packet.
She looked down at it.
Pretzels.
Not just any old pretzels, either. They were her favorite brand from a little bakery run by an old couple.
Giulia stared at the pretzels for several long seconds, her brain short-circuiting.
"What's this?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Snacks for the road since you did not eat anything yet."
Giulia wanted to erupt when she looked at Beau and saw that innocent expression. She drew on her last bit of patience and spoke.
"I can see that."
"Then why are you asking?"
She narrowed her eyes, searching his razor-sharp profile for a hint of mockery, but Beau looked completely unaffected, his dark eyes calmly tracing the street outside before settling back on her face.
"You like them," he said simply.
Her suspicion burned in full force, sharp and defensive. "How do you know that?"
He gave a slight, nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I did not know about your cravings?"
That answer did absolutely nothing to ease her frayed nerves. In fact, it sent a cold spike of alarm straight down her spine. Giulia slowly turned the packet over in her hands, her thumb tracing the sealed seam. She never told anyone she liked these. Not even Finn knew about these.
The bakery was near the office, and she had gone in a number of times to pick them up. It made no sense that Beau knew about it.
She did not want to think too much about it.
"Thank you," she muttered, tearing the paper open.
Beau glanced at her sideways, the corner of his lips twitching into a faint, unreadable shadow of a smile. "You're welcome."
They had barely driven ten minutes before the car pulled up outside a boutique.
"Why are we here?"
"You need clothes," Beau said, unbuckling his seatbelt.
She looked down at herself, suddenly hyper-aware of her ridiculous appearance. She was still wearing the clothes she had borrowed from Beau's wardrobe earlier that morning, a pair of tailored linen shorts held around her waist with a belt, and a massive T-shirt in which she was practically drowning.
The sleeves extended well past her hands, and the hem reached almost to her knees. She looked like a child playing dress-up in a giant's closet.
"I can buy my own clothes," she insisted, her pride flaring up.
"I know."
Giulia stared at her boss and decided it wasn't worth arguing. Pushing him might make him doubt her amnesia story.
So, she meekly followed him inside and allowed the stylist to zip her into a white dress that made her look like a porcelain doll.
Totally not her style, but allowing Beau to have full control over her just for today felt freeing
She tried not to notice how Beau's eyes had lingered on her exposed legs and allowed herself to be driven to a private medical clinic on the north side of the city.
The private specialist examined her meticulously, shining lights into her pupils, checking her reflexes, and asking probing questions about the exact timeline of her fall, her dizziness, and her memory loss.
Giulia answered with extreme caution. She maintained her story with practiced, gentle conviction: foggy memories, hazy details, mild confusion about her recent past, nothing more.
The doctor eventually turned to Beau, assuring him that while she had suffered a moderate amnesia and required strict rest, monitoring, and proper nutrition, she didn't appear to have any immediate internal bleeding or severe neurological complications.
Beau didn't just passively listen; he interrogated the physician with cold, methodical efficiency.
He asked questions Giulia hadn't even thought to consider: What specific symptoms should they watch for overnight? How long could the headaches persist? When exactly should they return for a follow-up scan? What physical activities must she strictly avoid?
By the time they finally stepped back out into the afternoon air, Giulia had a strange, heavy tightness in her chest. He was taking this act entirely too seriously. A man playing a cruel prank or running a casual distraction wouldn't grill a chief of neurology for twenty minutes over a mild case of amnesia.
By the time they finally reached a quiet, high-end restaurant hidden away in an unassuming courtyard, Giulia was practically dizzy with unadulterated hunger. The rich, savory aromas of roasting meats, butter, and garlic wafting through the heavy oak doors nearly made her knees buckle.
When Beau held the heavy door open for her, she walked inside with the grim, singular determination of a woman who had not consumed a real meal in an eternity. If someone had placed an entire roasted boar in front of her at that exact second, she would have genuinely considered devouring it with her bare hands like a savage.
They were shown to a private, secluded booth near the back.
She sat down. Beau took the seat opposite her. The food arrived shortly after, platters of seared beef, rich pasta, grilled vegetables, and fresh bread.
For the first ten minutes, neither of them spoke a single word.
Giulia concentrated her entire existence on eating. She had no idea whether the restaurant held Michelin stars or if it was simply a well-hidden local haunt. She didn't care. Every single bite tasted like pure, unadulterated perfection.
Beau didn't eat much. He mostly leaned back, a glass of dark red wine held loosely in his hand, watching her silently.
Giulia resolutely ignored his heavy gaze. She wasn't going to let herself become embarrassed or self-conscious just because an impossibly attractive millionaire was watching her inhale pasta like a starving feral cat. She had far more important priorities to manage.
Like survival. And carbs.
Eventually, her plate was stripped completely clean. Giulia leaned back against the plush leather seat and patted her stomach under the table, finally feeling like a functioning human being again. The persistent ache in her head had dulled to a faint, manageable murmur.
She reached across the white tablecloth for her glass of iced water.
That was the exact moment Beau broke the silence.
"I am afraid of losing you, Giulia."
The glass stopped halfway to her lips.
The quiet chatter of the surrounding restaurant seemed to vanish entirely. Giulia slowly lowered the glass back onto the table, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.
She looked across the table.
Beau wasn't smiling. There was no trace of his usual mocking amusement, no subtle smirk, no hint of a playboy's practiced charm. His dark, intense eyes were fixed entirely on hers, utterly unreadable and terrifyingly solemn.
Giulia narrowed her eyes, her internal alarm bells blaring at maximum volume. What is he doing now? What kind of game is this?
She had learned the hard way never to trust anything that came too smoothly from the mouth of a powerful man. Especially a wildly handsome man.
Beau leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his broad frame cutting off the rest of the room. "First, it was the fall at the office that caused your sudden amnesia."
Giulia's fingers tightened around the stem of her glass until her skin tingled.
"Then the tremor at the hospital." his deep voice remained eerily calm, but there was an underlying tension vibrating beneath it. "Both times, you were inches away from being severely hurt. Or worse."
He paused, his dark eyes searching every inch of her face. "I don't like that."
Something about the raw, heavy gravity in his expression made her stomach twist into knots.
"I feel as though every single time I look away from you, something happens," he continued quietly. "Every time I turn my back, you slip into danger."
Giulia swallowed hard, trying to keep her breathing steady. "Beau... you're being dramatic."
"I know you think I'm exaggerating."
"I'm not sure what I think."
"That's the real problem, isn't it?"
Before she could process the ominous shift in his tone, Beau reached inside the breast pocket of his tailored suit jacket.
Giulia's eyes tracked the movement, her head tilted in curiosity, which soon turned to horror when she caught a glimpse of what he pulled out.
Beau stood up smoothly from his side of the booth.
Then, without taking his eyes off her, he walked slowly around the table.
Giulia's heartbeat accelerated to a frantic, deafening thrum in her ears. Panic flared hot in her chest. "Beau, what on earth are you doing? Sit down."
He didn't answer. He stopped directly beside her chair.
And then, right there in the middle of the elegant, candlelit dining room, Beau Orsini slowly lowered himself onto one knee.
The entire world seemed to screech to a violent, grinding halt.
Giulia stared down at him, her brain completely short-circuiting. Her mouth opened to voice a protest, but not a single sound came out of her dry throat.
Beau reached into his jacket pocket once more and produced a small, square, black velvet box. He held it out in his palm, his dark eyes looking up into hers with unwavering, lethal seriousness.
The moment the velvet box caught the candlelight, Giulia's survival instincts took over.
She slammed her right palm flat over her eyes, completely blocking out the sight of him.
Beau looked up at her hidden face, a thread of low amusement finally cutting through his solemn tone. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"Giulia. Open your eyes."
"No!" she squeaked from behind her hand, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "No, absolutely not! Put that away right now!"