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“We were reminiscing about his daughter,” he corrected, traces of an untethered smirk gracing his lips.
I rolled my eyes. “What did he do to deserve that?”
He considered me for a moment, his eyes slowly roaming my face with far more patience than I possessed.
“My cousin is pregnant with Bianchi’s baby. When she told him, he tossed some bills at her face and directed her to the nearest women’s clinic.”
Ice coursed through my veins, and I winced.
If my mom had told my dad she was pregnant, would he have done the same? Or worse? Would he have forced my mom into something she hadn’t wanted?
Growing up, I’d never known how to feel about my mom keeping me a secret from my dad.
On one hand, I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. That he wasn’t the monster my aunt had told me he was.
On the other hand, I wanted my mom’s sacrifice to mean something more than just a mistake.
It was worse that I couldn’t confront her about it.
She had died the same day she had given birth to me, and her sister—my aunt—had raised me in a small town in New Jersey, where she taught me to hate the De Lucas and all things that strayed on the wrong side of the law.
The sympathy I had for Bianchi died a transient death.
I took a long swig of my drink and muttered, “What an asshole.”
Bastian barked out a surprised laugh and nodded his head. “Of the gaping variety.”
“That’s just gross.”
A rare playful gleam glazed his eyes, making him seem almost human.
“Tell me honestly, how much of an asshole do you think I am?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course.”
“The worst. Like, at least a twelve on a scale of one to ten.”
“And Bianchi?”
“A different type of asshole.”
“If we’re different types of assholes and he’s gaping, would that make me puckered?”
“Oh, my God. How much have you had to drink?”
He laughed, and I reveled in the fact that he could be playful.
Gross, but playful.
I had the sinking feeling this was a one-time thing. That I had caught him off guard.
Maybe something had happened today to make him crave this type of companionship. Maybe it was the delirium of the early hour. Maybe I was filling in for someone else.
Or maybe, like me, he was sick of feeling so damned lonely all the time.
Either way, I knew the likelihood of catching him like this again was slim to none, and I wanted to preserve this moment and take advantage of it.
