She read it, and in the time it took for me to get dressed and pack my suitcase, she still hadn’t responded. I wasn’t sure how to interpret that, but I hoped that at least she wasn’t shutting me down. My phone vibrated as I walked through the penthouse to where Max was waiting impatiently by the front door.
Are you a bad man? Everyone keeps telling me I should be afraid of you.
I pursed my lips at that question. I wasn’t a good man, but I also wasn’t the worst. I had some morals—lines I wouldn’t cross. Most of them, though, were a little frayed around the edges by society’s standards. But would I be a bad man to her? Never. And deep down, her gut told her that, too. She didn’t say she was afraid of me, just that everyone else told her to be. Those were two very different things.
I’ll never hurt you, Aria. You never have to be afraid of me. Only afraid of how much you want me.
“Are you texting her right now? After I just told you to leave her alone!”
I looked up to see Max’s face turning red with fury that I’d ignored his advice, warning, or whatever it was. “I never agreed to leave her alone. You know that it’s impossible. That would be like telling a cow not to moo.”
“I’m out.” He raised his hands on either side of his head. “Your brother can deal with you. I give up. At least tell me that’s a burner phone.”
“I’m not an idiot. And guess what? You know that new app I had Nero build, the one that deletes message conversations from both phones via the metadata? It works.”
Max shook his head, unsure whether he wanted to tell me I was a genius or punch me in the face. Probably both.
Her last text came through, and I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt.
That’s exactly what I’m scared of.
I waved the message in Max’s face. “I knew it. She already loves me.”
He groaned and shoved me out of the door as I kissed the phone and then pressed delete on all the messages.
Every Reason Not To
Iwoke from my early evening power nap to a gentle knock on my bedroom door and the smell of pizza wafting in from beneath it. My stomach rumbled in approval.
“Aria? The pizza’s here,” Callum’s voice sounded slightly apologetic, as if he wasn’t sure waking me with that information was a good idea. It was. Food comes before sleep in my book. Always.
“Grazie.I’ll be out in a moment.” I contemplated changing out of my comfy shorts and oversized sweatshirt into something nicer, but I really didn’t have the energy for it. If this man were serious about marrying me, he might as well see what I looked like eighty percent of the time. I looked at my sleepy face and knotted hair in the mirror. He’d probably reconsider his marriage proposal altogether.
Walking into the living room, I found him sitting stiffly on the sofa in his pristine suit, looking like he belonged anywhere but in my messy flat. He offered me a smile as I approached and plopped myself beside him, flipping open the cardboard pizza box resting on the coffee table.
“Shall I get us some plates?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder towards the kitchen.
“No need.” I picked up a slice of pizza and tilted my head back to dip the end into my mouth. I closed my eyes and groaned. “It always tastes better out of the box.”
He smiled, standing up to undo his suit jacket and then took it off, draping it over the back of the sofa. He’d been here for at least two hours, and he was only just making himself comfortable, which I found so bizarre. He was still wearing his polished shoes, for Christ’s sake.
“Alright then, let’s try it.” After he rolled up his white sleeves, revealing strong, veiny forearms, he picked up a slice and copied me.
“Better, right?” I said, nodding with a grin at the look of pure heaven on his face.
“Not bad. God, it’s been months since I’ve had a takeaway pizza.”
“Months? You live in Italy! What’s wrong with you?”
He chuckled. “I have a private chef at my home, Arianna. I have no need for takeaways. And I try to lie low as much as I can.”
Right. He was filthy rich. But shit, if I were as rich as him, I’d be ordering takeaways every damn night.
I turned the TV on so we didn’t have to listen to each other’s munching, and when the pizza was finished, he poured me a glass of red wine.
“Or would you prefer whiskey? I brought some with me.”
I quickly shook my head.
