They both walked into the art room holding hands. Vica didn't like him, but she let him have his way. She was surprised he had brought her here, especially after telling her this was his personal space.
"How old is this part of the building?" Vica asked, her eyes drawn to the intricate carvings on the mahogany furniture that gleamed softly under the warm light.
Xavier smiled at her question. "Constructed in 1878 but renovated in 1957 by my great-great-grandfather," he narrated with pride, his voice resonating in the quiet room.
"That's interesting," Vica replied, her lips curving into a charming smile as she let her fingers trail over the smooth, polished surface of a table.
"I'm a descendant of a fascist family," Xavier began, his tone carrying both weight and reverence, "but my great-great-grandfather, Alberto Baccio Berardo, didn't support the family's political beliefs. He became a Republican. He fought during the war, survived, and then renovated the mansion, changing many things about it."
Vica tilted her head, curiosity was evident in her steady gaze. "Do you support his choice?" she asked, picking up a misplaced cardboard sheet.
"Which one?" Xavier asked as he moved to the back of the room, the faint sound of his shoes on the floor echoing softly. Without warning, he pulled off his shirt.
"Fascism," Vica clarified, but her words faltered as she glanced up. Her breath caught, and her eyes widened slightly at the sight of him. His well-toned chest and defined abs seemed sculpted, glistening faintly under the light. She could see every subtle movement of his muscles as he turned, his body an unspoken testament to dedication and strength.
Vica dropped the cardboard, swallowing hard. Her throat felt tight as she fought to steady herself. "Where is your shirt?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly despite her attempt at composure.
"Like what you see?" Xavier teased, his grin shameless as he enjoyed her reaction.
Vica flushed, her cheeks warming like embers. "Depends on what you believe in," she retorted, averting her gaze, her heart beating faster than she wanted to admit.
Xavier's smile deepened, his mischievous nature shining through. "I believe in whatever is transparent, true, and honest—whatever doesn't hide behind a pile of lies to conceal real intentions or feelings."
"And there are five thousand and one ways to annihilate you," Vica muttered, walking over to her painting and grabbing a brush.
Xavier leaned against the wall, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the growing tension in the room. "There's a lot you're running from, and I think even death is running away from you," he said, his voice low yet commanding.
"I'll accept your judgment," Vica replied without looking at him, but she stiffened when she realized he had moved closer. She could feel the heat radiating from his body before she even turned to face him. "Why haven't you put on your shirt yet?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.
"You can do it yourself since it bothers you so much," Xavier said with a smirk, unveiling her portrait. "I feel comfortable half-naked when I'm here. Last time, it wasn't a problem," he added, his tone teasing as he moved behind her.
Vica let her eyes linger on his chest for a moment longer than she intended before looking away, her palms damp from the unwelcome tension coursing through her.
Xavier, on the other hand, was captivated by the painting. The vibrant hues of the sunset seemed almost alive, casting golden and crimson tones over the couple depicted in the portrait. The man's hand brushed a lock of hair from the woman's face, their half-closed eyes and parted lips evoking a sense of intimate vulnerability.
"Wow," Xavier finally murmured, his voice carrying genuine admiration.
"You're invading my personal space," Vica warned softly, her words tinged with frustration.
Xavier smiled and, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around her from behind. She gasped, her body stiffening as his warmth pressed against her back. "I don't let anyone into this room," he said, his breath warm against her ear, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Lizzie comes here to clean but doesn't touch my stuff." He lowered his head slightly, his breath brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. "Now tell me, who's invading personal space here?" he whispered.
"It's not personal space if it can easily be accessed and used by strangers," Vica shot back, though her voice trembled under the weight of his proximity.
Xavier chuckled softly, his voice like a low rumble in her ear. "Oh, I have access to your personal space, and I can explore whatever thoughts are whispering to me right now." He pulled her closer, their bodies almost fused. "Is that personal enough?"
Vica's breath hitched as his hand slid under her shirt, his touch grazing her stomach. Her muscles tightened instinctively, and heat flushed through her, spreading to her face and neck.
"You're burning up, Vica," Xavier teased, his tone dripping with amusement as he noticed her reddened skin.
Without warning, Vica turned and pushed him against the wall. The impact was firm but controlled, leaving him wide-eyed and speechless for a brief moment.
"I'm building my perch," she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and fierce. "Don't be stupid enough to willingly become a prisoner."
Xavier's expression shifted into a grin, his defiance returning. "The couple in the portrait, who are they?"
"Things that can kill a man are always what he seeks," Vica replied cryptically, refusing to meet his gaze.
"I've never failed in my life," Xavier said confidently, his eyes gleaming. "Mind you, I'll win this game." He tilted her chin upward, forcing her to look at him.
"Then you haven't been playing any games your whole life," Vica hissed. "Those who dare to fail miserably are the ones who truly win."
Xavier chuckled softly, brushing his finger against the tip of her nose. With a wink, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving Vica staring after him, her emotions a tangled storm.