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Again.
What happened to ignoring him?
I kicked a rock in frustration.
That man managed to push my buttons like nobody’s business. That commanding tone, the way he tried to dictate my actions, it made me see red.
I was no meek little woman ready to be bossed around. I scoffed. Neither was I a damsel in distress for him to rescue, or protect.
I just needed to ignore him from this point on.
But something deep down told me this would be far easier said than done—especially being this close.
Fuck.
I felt my skin burning. I didn’t even put on sunscreen before leaving my room. How dumb was that? Once again, my impulsiveness and stubborn pride had put me in a not-so-favorable situation.
I had to storm off like a diva just to prove a point, didn’t I?
Sweat trickled down my back as I wiped my damp forehead with the back of my hand. I needed to get out of the sun.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an approaching car.
Hallelujah.
I stuck out my thumb, hoping for a kind soul to take pity on me. But the car sped by without slowing, leaving me in a cloud of dust.
“Great,” I huffed. “Fucking perfect.” I glared after it like I wanted to glare at Alex, then sighed.
This mess was my own fault. I should’ve just ignored him instead of letting him goad me into storming off in a huff.
Next time I would. I’d be the bigger person, no matter how much he scowled and brooded and told me what I could and couldn’t do.
For now, I just had to survive this blasted walk under the Mediterranean sun.
One step at a time.
Easy-peasy.
I took out my phone, launched the maps app, and searched for the nearest rental place.
Only three miles to go.
Totally doable.
I continued down the road and ignored my prickling skin. Instead, I channeled all my energy gained from my annoyance with Alex.
“From now on, I’ll ignore him,” I vowed, wiping away another bead of sweat. “No matter how sexy, charming, or good-looking he is, he’s not worth this.”
Another car approached, and I tried my luck again. This time, the driver didn’t even glance my way before speeding off. My frustration bubbled over.
“Arrogant, infuriating, ridiculously attractive asshole.” I marched on.
“Why would I let this asshole push my buttons? He’s scum—an Italian wannabe mobster—that’s what my father called them.” And Alessandro was the king of them. Not even the firstborn, but cocky AF.
“Okay, Fee,” I murmured to myself. “Time to get your cool back. Remember? You’re a queen. Nothing and no one can touch you, if you don’t let them.”
I shoved down the memories that sentence called up. How often had I repeated that sentence during those days of captivity?
