Page 96 of Out of Control

“Don’t you have more important things to be thinking about?” Cruz asks. “Like your gallery’s grand opening?”

You fucker.

There’s a shifting of everyone at the table as the elephant in the room is brought up. My defiance of el patriarca’s request for me to move my grand opening date. Throats are cleared. Glasses of wine are lifted, and huge sips are taken.

But I just hold my brother’s leveled gaze.

“You’re right. I’ve had marketing options literally dropped from the sky.”

“Aren’t you just the little rebel.”

“There’s a huge difference between standing up for yourself and rebelling. But you’d never know because you’ve never had to.” I shove up out of my chair and scoot it back. My words almost an attack on behalf of Rossi and Stavros’s choice to pick my brother all those years ago. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the bathroom.”

But I don’t need to do anything other than to get a fucking break from this table, these people, and all the negative comments being made about Rossi. The ones that have been made here and there all day that I’m so done with.

I glance over my shoulder at the table where my family sits, my whole world, and for the first time in my life, I don’t really like them.

I love them, sure. Isn’t that how family is? But as far as liking them in this moment as they all do the only thing they’ve ever been trained to do—support Cruz—I don’t want to be here.

So I skip the rest of dinner.

I wander the orchard. I walk through the trestles of grapevines. I think of Rossi and miss him.

“Sof.”

I just want to walk away, leave the fight with Cruz and not address it—but I do what I’ve needed to do since the first night I snuck away with Ollie. I need to be myself—Simply Sofia. I need to stand up for what I believe in. For the person I want to be.

“So you’re down here to keep this quiet, right? To make sure no one else in the family knows I’m sleeping with Rossi? That I’m shaming the family name?”

He gives the slightest lift of his shoulders as if to say that’s on point. “It would kill el patriarca to know you were with him.”

“Right. Just like it killed you and yet here you are. Still standing. Still being a stubborn asshole.”

“His health is frail, Sofia.”

“So you’re saying I have to hide it?”

“The fact that you already were says what you think about being with him. That was all you. Not me. Not el patriarca. All you.”

“You’re something else, Cruz.”

“And it seems you’re acting out to get attention.” He shrugs.

“Says the king of doing just that,” I say, and he smirks. Does he ever do anything that doesn’t make me want to throttle him and hug him at the same time?

“See? You always did want to be like me. Now you are.”

I appreciate him trying to add some levity to the situation but it’s not going to fix it.

“Look.” I sigh in exasperation. “I can stand in your garage at the next race or Rossi’s garage, so you might want to figure out how far you push me before you open your mouth.”

He blows out a long, slow whistle. “How long have you been thinking about that zinger?”

“I’ve been thinking of a lot worse ones so watch your step.” I cross my arms over my chest and face him.

“You always did have to plan your fights in your head ahead of time.”

“And you always did take pot shots to provoke me.”