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“I don’t think you get this, and I’ve apparently fucked up trying to show you, but I’d do anything for you, Ena.”
“You forget blackmailing me into marriage.”
“You’ll forgive me for that in time.”
I try to draw on my anger, but all I feel right now is fear that he’s right. “I do want to see you,” I confess—because I’m stupid.
“Hopefully it’s not to convince me we shouldn’t get married.”
“We probably shouldn’t. We’re very different people.”
“I’ll text you when I’m enroute, baby.”
“Okay.”
“Helena?”
“Yes,” I answer trying to prepare myself. He used my full name and history has shown that when he has done that, it’s not always a good thing.
“I’m going to try and talk you into coming home where you belong.”
Damn it. That shouldn’t make me smile. It does.
“I may try to talk you into staying.”
“See you tomorrow, baby.”
“Tomorrow,” I whisper.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I hold my phone and wait. I know it’s probably just a minute, but it feels like longer. Eventually, he does hang up and I close my eyes.
I do this thinking the same thing I think every time Marco is involved.
God, I’m a mess.
Chapter 31
Helena
I walk into the gallery pasting a smile on my face. The sound of my Louis Vuitton heels clicking on the marble tile echoes around me and I smile. I don’t have many vices, I truly don’t. But shoes? It’s definitely a vice. It is one thing I love about this job, too. It was literally in my job description to wear good clothing—the type that men and women who come inside to drop hundreds of thousands of dollars on art would expect. Today I’m wearing my favorite black matte, slingback pumps. They have gold shiny straps and the heel flares out and has the same shiny gold accent. They’re gorgeous and cost a mint but they make my tapered wool, crepe dress look even better. If one is going to go all out and buy Louis Vuitton shoes, they have to have the matching dress. The dress is high neck and long sleeved. It shouldn’t be sexy, but since it’s form fitting and hugs my body, falls just above the knee and has a gold zipper that travels the entire length of the back and makes no apologies for being seen—rather accentuating its existence so it’s the standout showpiece of the dress—it is. There’s matching gold, solid buttons at the wrist of the sleeves and a built-in gold, thick chained necklace that comes out of the collar of the dress and dangles just a few inches down. I wore my hair down, leaving a wave in the shiny, blonde tresses and I know I look good, but as I walk to the reception desk, and put my coffee down that I grabbed at the java house down the street, I feel eyes on me immediately. I hide my smile as I slip off my dark, chunky sunglasses.
“Damn, Helena. The moment I saw you, I knew you would class up this place, but every time you walk through the doors, you take my breath away.”
I know it’s silly. I do. Still, after years of having a father who barely tolerates me and a fiancé who ignored me, Zervas Cirillo’s attention is a balm to my ego.
It helps that he’s really hot. Admittedly, he doesn’t have the same, rugged, masculine appeal of Marco, but he is hot and sexy. Any girl would love to be on his arm. He’s tall—so tall that even in my heels I have to bend my head back to look up at him. His body is massive. He could have easily been an American football star. He’s wearing pinstriped dress slacks with a white silk dress shirt that has two buttons undone at the top. He looks hot, I can’t deny that.
I could even be attracted to him. Sadly, I can’t go there because I’m in love with Marco. It’s sadder because I know Zervas would never be able to hurt me the way Marco does.
Marco has caused me to doubt elemental parts of myself. He’s left scars everywhere. My heart, my self-confidence, my soul—all of it—feels as if I’ve been ripped to shreds. I’m not sure I’ll ever put myself back together again. I’m adult enough to admit that Zervas giving me so much attention feel like a bandage over those wounds. I walk over to him and put my hand on his bicep to steady myself because even with my heels, I have to stretch on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek when he bends to me.
“You’re always flattering me,” I murmur.
“?????, look in the mirror. It’s not flattery if it’s the truth.”
The intense look in his green eyes makes me uneasy. He wants me. He could have any woman around. I don’t doubt that at all and yet, he’s definitely sending out vibes that he wants me. Vibes I’m doing my best to ignore.
