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Chapter Nineteen
RAVEN
I’m becoming great friends with the concierge guy who looks after the apartments. His name is Cyril and he’s like the grandpa I never had. He greets me warmly each time I get home, and if I’m laden with bags, he’ll take them and walk me to the apartment. He has eight grandchildren and a wife named Susan. I imagine they spend Christmases together laughing over a giant turkey and piles of presents. We often spend time chatting in the reception. They have a red chaise lounge where I’ll sit, and he makes me tea from a little kettle he has behind his desk.
Tonight, we’re so deep in conversation, it takes a second for either of us to look at Vinn when he enters. He’s dishevelled, far from the man I’m used to seeing. “Hey, are you okay?”
“No,” he mutters.
I glance at Cyril as he raises his bushy eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll catch up with you later. Thanks for the tea.” I place the cup on the desk and head for the lift.
We step inside the apartment, and Vinn grabs my wrist, spinning me to face him and hauling me against his solid chest. I’m so shocked, I freeze, and as his lips crash against mine, I make a choked sound in the back of my throat because this all feels wrong. He realises I’m not responding and pulls back, frowning. “Kiss me!” he demands.
I shake my head. “No.” His behaviour seems erratic, and it puts me on edge. “What’s going on?”
“I’m getting married,” he yells, his face frantic. “Married.”
I step from his arms and head for the coffee machine. “This isn’t new news,” I say.
He grips the counter and hangs his head. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
I smile, turning to face him. “Vinn, it will. I mean, maybe not if you keep kissing other women, but embrace marriage and the rest will flow naturally.”
“It’s not me. I’m not the kind of man who gets married.”
“Well, as of Saturday, you are.”
My mind goes to Mac, as it often does. It’s been three weeks since I last spoke to him on the phone. I’ve heard nothing since, and I’ve refrained from making an arse of myself a second time by calling or texting him.
“Fuck,” mutters Vinn, burying his head in his hands. I pour him a black coffee.
“It’s just last-minute nerves. They’ll pass. You said yourself, you don’t have a choice in this, so make the best of a bad situation and suck it up. How’s Sofia feeling?”
“I don’t know. She hardly talks to me. Good start to a marriage, right?”
“Because of us?”
“Partly. I think she’s just as unsure as me. But I’ve got to man up and make her think I’m confident in us, that we’re doing the right thing.”
I smile sympathetically. “You’re overthinking this. If anything, I feel bad for her. She caught you kissing me, so she’s not going to trust you. And since she’s moved from Italy to London, I bet she’s having major doubts right now.”
“Maybe she won’t turn up, then it isn’t on me.”
“What happens if she doesn’t show?”
“I get to walk away with my head held high, and she will be shipped off to fuck knows where for embarrassing her father.”
“Wow, that’s unfair after what you did.”
“We did,” he corrects. “Riggs arranged a stag night. I bailed.”
“Why? You should make the most of others wanting to hang out with you. I don’t suppose you get that often?” I smirk, and he laughs.
“I wish we’d worked it out,” he mutters.
I press my lips in a tight line. “Things happen for a reason, Vinn. We were never going to work. I’m rooting for you and Sofia; I hope you’re both very happy together.” And I realise I actually mean that. I’m over Vinn Romano and it feels good.
MAC
