Page 33 of Claimed At First Sight

“He did?” Mari asks, surprised.

“In Chicago,” I deadpan, “at his house. Where we’ll live once we’re married, according to him.”

Mari’s mouth falls open.

“Exactly,” I say, pointing at it. “See why I need to get away? Why would I voluntarily stick around for this level of delusion?”

“Got it,” Mari says, pulling out her phone. Her thumbs fly across the screen. “I’ll have a car ready in ten minutes.”

“Has Mateo found out anything about the Irish yet?”

I need an answer that tells me my life wasn’t signed away like a piece of livestock.

“He spoke with Uberto last night and got him on the case. He’s also talking with Maximo now.”

Mari studies me for a moment, her gaze soft but observant before it settles on my lips. My stomach drops. Can she tell we kissed?

“Did anything else happen in the garden, Mia?”

“Nope,” I answer too quickly. “Isn’t him telling me to just give in enough?”

I leave out the part where I actually did give in for a few shameful, intoxicating seconds.

“I suppose,” Mari muses, “but Maximo looked incredibly smug when he walked into Teo’s office just now. More so than usual.”

I can picture it perfectly. The slight curve of his lips, the way he probably adjusted his cufflinks like he’d just gotten exactly what he wanted.

“He’s always smug,” I reply. “He probably enjoys the sound of his own voice. Anyway, I’ll pick up my things from here once he’s gone. I want to leave while he’s occupied with Mateo.”

I don’t care if that makes me look like I’m running away. If I’m a coward, I’m a cowardly girl with a plan.

After today, I’m not going to see him again. Ever.

Hallelujah.

He can’t get on that private jet of his and leave Sicily soon enough. I’ll stay at the Accardi estate, find someone normal to kiss, and put this morning behind me.

Maximo Marco can become somebody else’s problem.

Chapter Ten

Mialina

The morning sun is too bright. It’s an aggressive, cheerful sort of light that’s entirely at odds with my mood.

I’m back at our estate and can breathe without the looming threat of running into Maximo Marco again.

Mamma and Isa are still at Mari’s, the three of them probably dissecting the success of the memorial planning over lemon cake. So now is the perfect time to follow through with my plan.

Maximo is likely on his way to the airport by now. I can almost see him, sitting in the back of a sleek black car, looking at his watch and counting down the seconds until he can return to his kingdom in Chicago.

Good riddance.

The further away he is, the easier it’ll be to scrub the memory of him from my mind.

I head down the stairs and then the narrow, rocky path that leads to our private stretch of beach. The salt air usually calms me, but today it feels like a reminder of everything I haven’t experienced.

I sit down on a lounger for a few minutes, observing the waves roll in and trying to steady my breathing. My eyes stay glued to my watch.