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“Then who are you to him?” Gio thumbs my chin, tipping it upward.

Our gazes lock, and I discover unanticipated concern. For some reason, he cares about my answer, and I don’t like it.

I sidestep him to avoid this question too. Who am I to Adam? Right now, I’m nobody. Eleven years ago is another answer altogether.

But from Gio’s perspective, if I’m not some crazy fan, I’m definitely a crazy ex-girlfriend.

If I share the truth, my story will sound insane. Even in my broken state, I have enough self-awareness to understand this quest is a fool’s errand. I’m a jilted, newly unwed bride. I’m hunting for my first boyfriend because, as far as I can tell, no one has ever truly loved me. Ever. Except for Adam.

“Spill, or I take my info to the grave,” Gio says low.

I don’t have to tell him everything, just enough to get what I need.

“We used to date, and then we lost track. That’s it. Now, I’m here on my honey—” I cut myself off before I say the entire word and restart. “I’m on my vacation. I thought we could reconnect.” I keep my tone light as if I’m not desperately building my case.

“Hmm.” Gio considers my story.

“What exactly are you proposing, Gio,” I roll my hand, “in this so-called merger, and what does it have to do with Adam?”

“I’ll help you track down Adam with my insider info, so you can have the reunion of your dreams, but only if you allow me and my team move into the house full-time.”

I snort. “You want to move into my house in exchange for helping me find Adam?” I fold my arms over my chest, thoroughly amused.

“This way, we all get what we want.” Gio mirrors my stance.

“Where are Amelia and I moving in this grand plan?” I open my arms and look around.

“Working out the bedrooms is easy.” He lifts a shoulder.

“I don’t know you. I don’t even know what you do for a living. Why do you need this house so much?” Confused, I’m unable to fathom his motives.

“I’m a chef.” He steps into a wide stance, appearing proud.

“That explains the abnormally strong cookie-sniffing superpowers,” I say.

“I have many superpowers.” His gaze shimmers, and I shake my head.

“Can you turn the cockiness off for two seconds?”

“Only if you can turn off sparring with me.” He grins because he seems to know I can’t.

“What kind of chef has fans who ask for boob autographs?”

Even though the chef part makes sense with how our kitchen is stocked, I’m still unsure how his fanatical fan club fits.

Gio licks his lips like he’s glossing up his smile. And let me tell you, it gleams. Brightly. He glances away and back, giving me a well-practiced fuck-boy expression. And honestly, it works for him. Very well.

He strokes his chin. “Maybe they like my food.”

“Puhh. Try again, Mr. Graffiti-tits.” I roll my eyes.

“You saw what you saw.” He acts like he’s a big deal. “I make all their culinary daydreams come true.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it’s all I can do not to push him back out the door.

“You still haven’t explained why you need the house.” I shake my head. He’s truly laughable.

“Most of my business is on social media⁠—”