“Pietro—”
He shook his head once, stopping me. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
I looked down at my hands. “I hate that she’s scared and I’m not there.”
“I know.”
“And I hate that part of me is more scared than she is.”
“That,” he said quietly, “sounds less like hate and more like honesty.”
I let out a breath that was almost a laugh.
“You’re annoyingly perceptive.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure you have.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, but his eyes stayed serious.
“If you decide to go, I’ll help you.”
I raised a hand immediately. “No. I can do it.”
“As I said, I have a plane,” he said at the exact same moment.
I looked at him.
He looked back, perfectly composed.
A helpless laugh escaped me. “You really do not hear yourself, do you?”
“Rarely.”
“That is insane.”
“It is practical.”
“It is billionaire behavior.”
That got the closest thing to a proper smile I’d seen on him all evening.
“Noted.”
I sighed and leaned my head on his shoulder just enjoying the presence, his warmth and the musk of his cologne.
I closed my eyes and realized I had to tell him something real. He had just handed me one of the deepest, ugliest truths of his life, not for pity but for connection, and it had worked. I felt closer to him now than I had any right to after such a short time. I wanted that closeness. Craved it, if I was being honest.
But it would not be fair to let something grow between us while pretending I wasn’t carrying half my life into the room with me.
Before I had fully decided to speak, I was already saying things I had sworn to leave buried when I moved here.
“I had a reason for coming all the way across the country,” I said quietly.
I felt his lips brush the top of my head, soft enough that I might have imagined it if I hadn’t already become far too aware of every point of contact between us.
“We all have a past,” he murmured. “You don’t have to tell me.”
