“He agreed to everything you asked for.”
“Exactly.” I turn back to the window with a deep sigh, looking out at the city below. “He agreed too easily. That worries me.”
“Maybe he’s just a reasonable guy.”
“Molloys aren’t reasonable. They’re strategic.” I cross my arms, still feeling the ghost of his handshake. “He’s playing an angle. I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Vincenzo nods. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Yes, please do that.”
He gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves me alone with my apprehensions and the faint trace of Lochlan’s cologne still hanging in the air.
I sink back into my chair and press my fingers to my temples.
My phone buzzes.
Well???
My fingers hover over the screen.How do I even begin to explain to Luna what just happened?
I finally come up with the words.
He’s not what I expected.
Good not what you expected? Or bad?
I think about his smile. His laugh. The way he said my name. The way his thumb brushed my knuckles like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I don’t know yet.
It’s the truth. I can’t even start to unpack how I feel about Lochlan right now. I need to get back to the hospital. I need to figure out how I’m going to run a mafia empire — and my company — at the same time.
That’s not comforting, Adri.
No. It’s not.
I put the phone down and turn back to the window.
Lochlan Molloy most definitely isn’t what I expected.
He’s smart. Quick. Disarming in a way that feels dangerous. He did his homework too. He didn’t just skim the headlines. He actually read the articles and remembered the details. My lips twist. He noticed my tell. And he made me almost laugh in the middle of the worst week of my life.
I twist my grandmother’s ring again.
He noticed my habit. Nobody notices that.
Somewhere in this city, Lochlan Molloy is probably grinning about making me almost smile. Probably already texting hisbrothers about it. Probably ordering mint chocolate chip ice cream and a damn journal to celebrate his victory.
And somewhere in the pit of my stomach, a voice I don’t want to hear is whispering that this forced marriage just got a lot more complicated.
A brute, I could handle. I’ve handled brutes my entire career. You see them coming. You know their plays. You stay two steps ahead and eventually they trip over their own egos.
But this? A man who listens? Who agrees? Who makes jokes about ice cream and journals and then pins me with those blue eyes like he sees straight through my armor?
This is going to be a problem.
A huge problem.
