AllFreeNovel
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“Hey, when in Rome. Helps to have a little practical knowledge, right?”
His eyebrows crunch together. “Have you actually been to Rome?”
And here comes his let’s-share train again. But I work my way out of the station by tucking a leg, which unseats him enough for me to slide fully away. After extracting a fresh cloth napkin out of the holder near the food, I clean up with deceiving efficiency. I’m not feeling very efficient right now. Or even half-steady on my feet. But that will have to happen sooner or later, and sooner feels like a better choice by the minute.
“You’ve probably booted up a few searches about me too, Mr. Z. So don’t tell me you don’t know the answer to that question.”
He gets to his feet too. “Fair enough.”
Though another chunk of wickedly unfair? How criminally perfect the man looks even after working so hard to get our mutual rocks off. That mussier hair. The thicker stubble along his noble jawline. His brutally fine physique. His penis, even drained and nearly limp, should be turned into a work of art. Los Angeles needs its own David. I’m so sure of it now.
Another thing I’m sure of? That I’m not comfortable with the continued force of his focus. That intensity, so practiced that it seems casual, of how he watches my every movement and nuance. It’s surreal but unsettling. Once more, so unlike any kind of attention I’ve had from a man. This man in particular…he can have any model, actress, or singer he wants. I’m none of those. Even during the days of Quinn K’s success, I wasn’t. As I was constantly reminded…
“So did you enjoy it?” he asks quietly. “Rome?”
I shrug, probably too quickly. “It was nice. But I was working. We weren’t exactly zipping around on mopeds and visiting the Pope.”
He leans over, grabs an empanada, and pops it into his mouth. “Vatican City technically isn’t part of Rome.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t think His Holiness was holding seats for us.”
“Us.” No more empanada munching—which I desperately wish he’d resume instead of standing there, gleaming and naked and hot as hell, while his gaze, decadent as pure gold daggers, tries to slice me open again. “Do you mean you and Valos Vogel?”
In the middle of gathering up my clothes, I freeze.
This was coming. I knew it. But damn it, I didn’t accept it. Even after so many months of therapy, I’ve failed my first huge test of the new me. I dodged the scary truth instead of knowing it and dealing with it. If the man did an internet deep dive on me, like I just stated out loud, then he certainly knows about Valos.
He knows.
Just like the whole world still does.
Which means he also knows damn near everything the asshole did to me. And why I finally crawled out from under Valos’s thumb by testifying against him. And got myself blackballed from every elite DJ roster across the globe.
But also like the rest of the world, Darian Z probably doesn’t care about the story behind the headlines. Oh, God. It’s so obvious now…what he did care about.
As the dots race toward connection in my mind, I do the same with whipping my clothes off the floor. I don’t bother with my bra or panties, choosing to just make sure I’m decent before getting the living hell out of here.
Decent.
Now there’s the best punch line of the night. Surprise, surprise, the joke’s completely on me.
Damn it. The joke is me.
And I have no one to blame but the girl in the gilded mirror out in Darian’s living room, her shiny eyes issuing an adamant dictate while her tremoring fingers fumble to button up her blouse. They’re pitifully shitty at the task. I keep missing the slots, which aren’t even aligned right. But I don’t stop trying. Because I have no choice about heeding their order.
Don’t you dare cry.
Not one tear.
Not right here. Not right now.
“I’m sorry.” Darian, who’s had the decency to step back in his track pants, murmurs it from the music room’s doorway. “It wasn’t my intention to bring up an uncomfortable—”
“It’s fine,” I mutter while getting my own pants turned the right way out. “I believe you, okay? But let’s also not pretend that this was something more than what you intended.” I almost laugh at his well-acted puzzlement. “So…congratulations. You can carve the Quinn K notch into your bedpost now. Here she is, buddy. The girl who apparently does enjoy sleeping her way to the top, just like everyone told you.”
He pushes toward me. I back up by a matching pair of steps.
“I wasn’t told anything of the sort.”
