His face stills.
The words hang between us.
I hate that I said them.
I hate more that I need the answer.
“No,” Stefano says quietly. “Of course not.”
“Then I’m leaving.”
He mutters something in Italian that I’m sure wasn’t a compliment.
“I’m coming with you.”
“I figured.”
“And you text Maverick.”
“I’ll text him from the car.”
“Now.”
I glare at him.
He glares back.
For a man everyone calls the softer twin, he can be very stubborn when he wants to be.
“Fine.”
I pull out my phone and send Maverick a quick message.
EMERGENCY HORSE CALL. WILLOW CREEK FARM. STEFANO’S COMING WITH ME. I’M OKAY. I’LL CALL WHEN I CAN.
There.
I grab the new bag of supplies I keep stocked because apparently I’m incapable of not being prepared for animal disasters, then follow Stefano toward the garage.
He walks beside me, phone already in his hand.
“Please tell me you’re not calling Maverick.”
“I’m not calling Maverick.”
“Good.”
“I’m checking in with the front gate.”
I glance at him. “Why?”
“Because if I take you off the estate, I want the gate to know I have you.”
That makes sense.
Annoyingly.
“Are we taking another car?” I ask.
