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I wouldn’t do that to them.
“At least he’s honest about what he wants. In a way that’s better than someone asking me out and charming me as if they want…you know. A real relationship.”
“What’s wrong with being charming?”
“I don’t like charming men,” she says, earnest.
It makes me grin. “Everyone likes charming men.”
“I want a real relationship with you,” I say, my voice low in the style of a confession.
Her eyes are as luminous as the night sky. “Do you?”
The words are hard to get out. “I can’t have it.”
Because of my family’s secrets.
I don’t get that with anyone. Especially not a woman like her.
Hurt ricochets through her eyes. She gives a short nod that doesn’t quite hide the pain.
I’ve never been tempted to tell anyone before, but part of me wants to do that now. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s not you, it’s my family. It’s not you, it’s a modern-day curse.
“Do you know any of them?” she says, gesturing upward. “The stars?”
“A sailor has to know. That bright spot right there? That isn’t a star. That’s Jupiter.”
She squints.
“And to the right… there’s the Lion. And the one right above it, that’s Denebola. It’s bigger and brighter than the sun. And it’s the tail star in Leo. Like your brother.”
“Like my brother,” she repeats, her words slow and thoughtful. “He’s going to have so many questions when my mom tells everyone that I left the gala with you.”
“Tell him to mind his own business.”
She laughs a little. “No one tells Leo Morelli what to do.”
Everyone knows the Morelli brothers are overprotective bastards. Which makes their sisters off-limits unless you’re willing to run the gauntlet. I wouldn’t let that stop me. I have my own reasons for keeping this casual. “Besides, Sarah Morelli isn’t going to tell anyone about one little joyride.”
“Oh, she’s already told everyone at the gala. I’m sure.”
I wince, acknowledging she’s probably right. Which means my mother will hear about it. She’s no fan of the Morellis, but she’s desperate enough to want me married and producing offspring that she’d probably accept it.
“I’ll set her straight,” Eva says, as if offering reassurance.
As if I’m so intent on bachelorhood that I’d be offended at a rumor. “You know my theory on this. Double down. Convince her we flew to Vegas and eloped.”
“Don’t,” she says, laughing. “She’ll start naming our children.”
The idea of children makes my smile fade. “Does it matter?”
Eva looks uncertain. “What?”
“What she thinks? Does it matter? Let her believe what she wants.”
“Finn.”
“I mean it.” I lift up on an elbow, resting her head on my forearm. We aren’t touching anywhere beneath the belt, but it’s still a sexual position. This is how I’d look down at her if I was thrusting inside her, making her moan. I’d lean down and nip her sensitive throat. I’d make her gasp and beg and—No, I won’t do any of that. “We can pretend.”
