Forbidden touch: Taming my stepfather
Chapter 1
Amelia’s pov
My phone buzzed against the nightstand, breaking the silence of my small room. I already knew who it was before I looked. Victoria never called unless she wanted something.
"I'm sending you an address," Victoria said, without so much as a hello. Her voice carried that familiar sharpness, the tone she used when she expected obedience and nothing less. "You're coming to my new husband's house. Today. And Amelia, behave yourself. Don't embarrass me."
"Yes, Mum," I said quietly, the words automatic, worn smooth from years of repetition. It didn't matter that they tasted sour in my mouth every time I said them. Victoria demanded it, and I had learned long ago that refusing cost more than it was worth.
"I mean it," Victoria pressed. "This one is important. Don't ruin this for me."
"I understand, Mum."
The line went dead.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. A new husband. A new house. A new man to smile for, to be carefull around.
I muttered to myself as I rose from the bed. "Another stepfather. Let's hope this one isn't as foolish as the rest."
The others had been easy to read men, who mistook Victoria's beauty for warmth, who never noticed that Victoria was only there for what they could offer, who found some quiet pleasure in mistreating me. I didn't expect this one to be any different. I just hoped he wouldn't be as unkind as the others had been.
I picked up my phone again and dialed Maya.
"She's married again," I said, before Maya could even finish her greeting. "I'm heading to his place today."
"Already?" Maya sighed on the other end. "You okay?"
"I will be." I moved to my closet, pulling out a small worn bag. "It's just another house. Another man to stay invisible around. Another man to call 'dad,' or by his name, if that's what he'd prefer."
"Call me the second you get settled," Maya said. "And Amelia, if it gets bad, you call me first. Promise me."
"I promise." My voice softened. "Thank you, Maya. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'd survive," Maya said gently. "You always do. Just be careful today, okay?"
I hung up and turned to my desk, my favorite spot, where I kept the magazine, my little secret, the one only Maya knew about. I picked it up carefully, the way I always did, like it might crumble if I wasn't gentle enough.
Leonardo Moretti stared back at me from the glossy page, jaw set, eyes unreadable even in print. I'd read the article a hundred times. I'd memorized every detail of his face long before I memorized the words.
My fingers traced the line of his jaw, then up along his cheekbone, slow, like I could feel the warmth of real skin instead of cold paper.
I pressed my lips to the magazine, a small, almost embarrassed gesture, and folded it back with careful hands before sliding it deep into my bag, beneath my clothes, where no one would think to look.
'I wish I could meet you one day,' I thought.
Then I zipped the bag shut, took one last look around my small room, and left.
The address led me to a penthouse that made my breath catch the moment I stepped out of the car. Glass walls rose toward the sky, catching the afternoon light in sharp, clean lines. I felt uneasy for a moment, double-checking the address on my phone to be sure I was in the right place. Once I was certain, I stepped inside.
A doorman greeted me with practiced politeness and led me up in a private elevator that opened directly into the apartment.
The space inside was vast marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, furniture that looked like it cost more than everything I had ever owned combined. I stood in the entryway for a moment, gripping the strap of my bag, that same uneasy feeling settling low in my stomach.
Then I saw him.
He was standing out on the balcony, his back to me, one hand resting on the railing as he looked out over the city. Dark hair graying faintly at the temples, broad shoulders beneath a perfectly tailored shirt, the kind of stillness that suggested a man used to being obeyed rather than questioned.
Something about the shape of him tugged at my memory, but I dismissed it, surely my mind was playing tricks, drawing comparisons where there weren't any.
He must have heard my heels against the marble, because he turned.
And the world stopped.
It was him. The same face from the magazine. The same sharp jaw. The man I had wished to meet my whole life. The man folded away in my bag at this very moment, pressed against my side like a secret I hadn't meant to bring with me.
Leonardo studied me for a moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes, and then he offered a small, polite smile.
"You must be Amelia." His voice was low, measured, carrying the same quiet authority I remembered even from a photograph. "Victoria told me you'd be arriving today." He extended a hand toward me, unhurried, certain. "Welcome. I suppose that makes me your stepfather now."
My whole body went still.
The bag on my shoulder suddenly felt impossibly heavy. I couldn't believe my ears. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He's the man from the magazine. My crush.
He's the man Mum just married.
He's the man I was supposed to hate.
And instead, standing a few feet away from him, all I could think was that I never wanted to stop looking at his face.
I swallowed hard, forced my frozen lips into the ghost of a smile, and reached out to shake his hand.
The moment our palms touched, something shifted in the air between us, subtle, dangerous, unnamed.
Leonardo's grip lingered a beat longer than it should have. His eyes flickered, just slightly, down to my lips, then back up as if he, too, had felt something he couldn't name and didn't like that he'd felt it.
I still held his hand until the elevator chime sounded behind me.
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