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He has to be developing a soft spot for me. He has to. I know this, because he went from looking like I was his next target to maim, to genuinely worried. I keep my eyes on him, and I finally say it.
“I don’t know how to trust anyone,” I admit.
“You can trust me. As long as I can trust you.”
Guilt builds in my stomach. I’m lying to him by not telling him that just like he had plans, so did I. It wouldn't matter so much if he never confessed his, but now it does. The playing field isn't even.
“In fact, tonight, I will prove how much you can trust me,” he adds, and I want to inquire how he plans to do that, but I need a fucking minute. I can only reply with a simple nod. That's all I can muster up at the moment.
The elevator opens, and when we step inside, I take a place next to him.
“Tell me about Damian. How long were you two together?”
That was a curveball. Where is this coming from?
“What? Why does it matter?” I ask, looking at him with an incredulous expression.
“I want to know what he meant to you, Emelia. Answer the question.”
I shake my head and roll my eyes.“We got together when I was nineteen.”
He has his hands in his pockets, and his feet are planted apart, his eyes focused on the ground. God, he looks so damn handsome. What is it about sleeves rolled up and a strong jawline that makes me so wet for him? The way his black hair is slicked back except the one strand that has fallen in front of his eye—my hell.
“Elaborate. How you met and the entirety of your relationship, Emelia,” he growls.
“Uh, okay. Well, we met when he was hired to work in my dad’s army. He was my bodyguard, and we spent a lot of time together. That time turned into a friendship and then a relationship.” The elevator opens to the garage, and he takes my hand, leading me to his Maserati. I follow behind him, my shorter stature not allowing me to walk side by side with him.
Once we get to the car, he opens my door and ushers me inside, and I buckle myself in as he rounds the car.
Where is he taking us?
He slides in effortlessly and hits the button, the engine roaring to life, and the seat under me vibrates.
“Nico, where are we going?”
“Don’t change the subject.” He reminds me of what I’m supposed to be talking about.
“It was my first relationship. I don’t know what you want me to say!”
He revs the engine and pulls out of the garage, and I brace myself, gripping onto the center console and the door panel.
“Did you love him, or did you just say that to piss me off that day?”
All right, how do I answer this?
If I tell him I loved him, is he going to snap, or is he going to take it like it's no big deal?
He caught me in a room simply talking to Damian, and that led to him carving his ownership of me into his skin. So really, how do I answer that?
“Is that relevant? We are married. He's not a threat,” I point out.
“Really? You don't think he’s a threat? Did he ever hurt you?”
I look down in my lap, recalling the crying I did for weeks in private when he left.“Only when he left,” I whisper.
“So he ended it? Why?” He gets on the freeway, and I look at the cars next to us.
“He said he got another job, but I think he was scared of my father finding out about us. Maybe my father did, and he just bowed out. I really don’t know the truth.”
