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I walk past her, pulling her along in my wake as I stalk out of the conservatory and down the corridor toward where I know there’s a bathroom.
"What are you doing? Everyone will wonder what we’re up to," she protests.
"Adrian will take care of it. Besides, all I’m doing is guiding my future sister-in-law to the bathroom so we can get cleaned up. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, after all."
"And everyone knows you’re not one."
"Only with you, and only because it turned you on when I revealed my filthy side."
"Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?" she snaps back.
My guts clench.Sister-in-law? What the fuck.
"Future sister-in-law, and speaking of, when were you going to tell me that you were one of theCamorra?" I shoot back.
"Never?" She tries to drag her feet, but I compensate by half dragging her along, until she stumbles in my wake.
"Let go of me, you jerkass," she whisper-screams.
"Not a chance." I yank her along beside me.
She hurries to keep up. "I’m wearing heels, you asshole. I can’t walk as fast as you."
I slow down just enough so she can keep pace.
"What is wrong with you?" she snarls.
"Save the injured party act." I reach the bathroom and shoulder my way in, then pull her in after me. I slam the door shut and lock it.
"Isn’t that presumptuous of you? Should you be locking the door after us? If someone from my family were to come here—"
"They won’t. Adrian will take care of it." I turn to her, then yank the tie off my collar. I fling it down, then throw my jacket on top. I brush past her, walk to the sink and flick open the tap. I cup my palms under the water and splash some on my face.
It’s going to be okay. It has to be okay. I’ll make it okay.I straighten, then stare at my slightly crazed eyes in the mirror. She does this to me. Every time I meet her, something in my orderly life falls apart.
Before I met her, I was sure I knew what I wanted. It’s why I trained in finance. Numbers are my friends. They’re black and white. They never lied to you. Never leave room for misinterpretation. It’s why I’m the finance guy for theCosa Nostra. I tripled our income from investments.
It’s also why I’d been determined to find someone simple to settle down with. Someone who’d bear my children and be a pleasant wife. The kind who’d have dinner waiting for me when I came home in the evening. I’d hoped for a straightforward life. Instead, I fell for a spitfire.
Someone who wouldn’t hesitate to go toe-to-toe with me and tell me off, and basically, be a giant pain in the backside. Which is why I was intrigued by her. I wanted her as soon as I saw her. And she wanted me. We wanted each other that first night we met, and I was sure she’d never leave my bed again.
Only, she did. She ensured I’d leave, and never try to see her again. I certainly didn’t expect to see her on my engagement day.
My engagement day.What a clusterfuck.
I close the tap, grab a towel and dry my face, then turn to her. She’s leaning against the door, a hand pressed to her stomach.
My guts twist, and the heaviness in my chest intensifies. I cross the floor toward her and grasp her shoulders.
"What’s wrong?"
"Uh, I may have had a little too much tequila before I left home."
"You were drinking before noon?"
"Hey, it’s happy hour somewhere in the world, isn’t it?" She lowers her arm to her side.
"Really, that’s your rationale for turning up drunk in front of your own family?"
