I nod again.
“Stay for breakfast—I mean, lunch.”
I shake my head. “I don’t feel well. I’ll eat later.”
He looks between me and Hunter.
Hunter
“What have you done?” Logan asks the moment I return after walking her home.
“Nothing,” I say with a frown.
Her mood shifted abruptly. Even with a headache, she was shining when I walked in, but then the brightness drained from her, and she sank into that crushed state I hate more than the bastard she loves.
“Then maybe it’s her headache and depression acting up.”
“I don’t like seeing her like this,” I admit.
“Then do something to cheer her up.”
“What?”
He walks into the kitchen to the coffee machine and starts punching in his instructions. “It’s a very difficult question, considering you can only make people depressed.”
He takes his filled cup. “Ahh, I have an idea, take her to a piano concert, if that kind of thing even exists in this burnt-down city. She plays piano, and you like it too. You can say you wanted to go, but Logan hates piano, so you came to ask if she’s interested.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, leaning against the counter. “It’d be an easy date and most likely make her feel better.”
“Okay. I’ll ask her when I go to return her bag.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“She forgot her bag and phone,” I add.
He grins. “My, my, Hunter—not bad. You’re learning fast. You knew she forgot the bag, yet you didn’t give it to her. I’m impressed.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, leaving him to his coffee and his grin.
I head to my bedroom. As soon as the door opens, her scent hits me. I shut it quickly to keep it trapped inside. I walk to my bed, where the robe she wore is lying. I lift it, holding it like a relic, and bury my face in the fabric, breathing in her sweet scent. The scent of roses fills my lungs, and I breathe deeper. My eyes stay shut. My dick stirs in my pants at the memory of her wearing this robe last night and this morning.
It took everything I had to fight the ravenous need to pin her to the bed and take everything she was offering. Not to me, though, that’s why I didn’t act on my hunger.She doesn’t want me. She wants Salvario.
I lie down on my bed with the robe still clutched to my chest, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t get a single minute of sleep last night. I first asked her bodyguards to bring her dogs here, using the excuse that she was demanding them, then used her phone to hack into her house’s security system and planted cameras in her bedroom and living room.
And then I watched her till morning—sleeping with her dogs inmybed. When she stirred, I went downstairs to have Logan prepare a hangover drink for her. I never drink those things, but Logan does after every heavy night of drinking. She must not have drunk much, but I’m not surprised a little alcohol completely knocked her senses.
I take out my phone and pull up the camera feed. She’s in bed, lying on her stomach. One hand is tucked beneath her cheek, the other hangs over the edge of the mattress. The slump of her shoulders tells me she doesn’t even have the energy to pull it back up. Every inch of her looks drained. The camera angle doesn’t give me a clear view of her face, but I don’t need one to know she isn’t okay.
Is that because I told her we’ve made no progress finding that man?My molars grind together.How the fuck do I remove this leech called Salvario from her?
I put my phone down and close my eyes. Once she finds out he’s dead, she’ll have no option but to move on from him. But then what she said last night echoes in my mind, and my eyes fly open. She said she was planning to die because she thought Salvario was dead.
What if I kill Salvario, and she ends her life after him?
The furrow between my brows deepens. The thought that didn’t leave my head all night surfaces again: she thinks I’m Salvario. A part of her strongly believes that, if not for that, she wouldn’t have acted that way last night. What if I indulge that part further?
But I don’t want to live in another man’s shadow. I want her to want me for who I am, not because she believes I’m someone else.
