by Bethany-Kris
For the moment, she was grateful.
She needed that space.
Corrado made a noise, and she looked his way. He was still staring down at his phone, but she caught the name on the contact and what the message said before he turned the device off entirely.
Les, the contact said. And simply, I’m in the city—we need to talk, now.
Who was that?
Corrado’s head snapped up, his gaze landing on her. “I think ... would it be okay if I had Chris take you back to the penthouse? I have something to handle right now.”
Ginevra nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
What else could she say?
• • •
Chris was quick to help Ginevra out of the silver Mercedes, and into the building while the rain continued to pour down from the dark sky overhead. At some point during the drive back to the city, the sky had opened, and began to cry.
It felt appropriate.
The sky was breaking open.
Ginevra, too.
Despite how fast Chris moved to get them inside the safety of the building, it didn’t matter. Her loose waves were soaked, and so was the silk dress. Likely ruined, now.
Yeah, so appropriate.
Like her in that moment.
“I can walk you upstairs, if you’d like,” Chris said, making sure to keep his gaze on only Ginevra’s face, and not the dress that would have to now be peeled from her body. “My job was to get you back safely, after all.”
She shook her head.
No.
Right now, all she wanted was to be alone. She highly doubted Chris would understand why, as he wasn’t privy to the things that happened between her and Corrado. She really didn’t want to explain, either.
Why humiliate herself further?
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take the elevator up alone.” Ginevra flipped her hand over, showing the keys in her palm. “He gave me the keys, so I can get in.”
“Okay.”
“Thanks, Chris.”
He flashed her a kind smile. “Don’t mention it, Ginevra.”
“Well, I’ll ...” She nodded at the bank of elevators across the brightly lit lobby decorated in soft, neutral tones. “... get going, then. I didn’t get to see your mom or dad before we left, but you’ll tell them I loved meeting them, won’t you? They were great.”
And considering that she now knew there was someone else in Corrado’s life, that his parents and the rest of his family probably knew about, she was only now realizing just how welcoming they had been, all things considered.
More kind than they needed to be, honestly.
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Ginevra headed for the elevator, head down, but Chris’s voice behind her made her steps hesitate.
“I know things might seem bad right now,” he said, “but it’s always been complicated with them, Ginevra. They act like it’s always been just them, and in their private moments, I’m sure it was. But they made this mess together, and so now they have to clean it up, too. It just so happened that you were the one who got caught in the middle. Give them a chance to figure it out—you might have been exactly what the two of them were looking for without even knowing it, but they won’t know if no one tries.”
Her brow furrowed, and she looked back over her shoulder. “I don’t know what that means.”
Chris nodded. “I know, but you will. Try to have a good night.”
Right.
Once she was hidden by the closing elevator doors, Ginevra tipped her head down, and dragged in an aching breath. She didn’t want to cry—she wasn’t that girl. And besides, she had no business being heartbroken over a man who had never been hers to begin with and was clearly involved with someone else.
Simple as that.
It didn’t help.
She still wanted to cry.
Ginevra wiped away the one tear that escaped the corner of her eye as the elevator came to a stop on the highest floor. It opened to the hallway leading to the penthouse. She took another quick, deep breath; she had her weak moment in private, and now it was done.
Right?
Yep.
She decided.
Soon—surely—she would be back home in New York with her sisters. Back where she belonged, and far away from a complicated man, and whatever mess he had dragged her into here. That’s what would happen.
Ginevra unlocked the penthouse and opened the door to the dark entry. She couldn’t remember if Corrado had turned off the lights when they left, or not. Probably, though. Kicking off the heels and pulling down the wet straps of the dress around her arms, she tried to remember where the light switch was for the damn entry.
Then, the lights came on.
All at once.
She spun around fast, letting go of the straps of her dress as she froze in place at the sight of a stranger leaning against the wall at the very end of the hallway. A man, actually. His shaggy, dark hair hung over his eyes, and yet even through the dark strands, she could still see the stormy blue eyeing her from the side.
His lips, the lower fuller than the top, stayed affixed in a grim line as he chewed on something in his mouth—gum, maybe? Her gaze traveled over the golden hoops in his nose, his steel cut jaw line, and the few days’ worth of facial hair covering his cheeks and throat. Even under the leather jacket he wore, and the black jeans that molded to his thighs and ass, she could plainly see he was fit by the way the material of his white T-shirt stretched across the bands of muscle that made up his chest.
He leaned against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world, his black, scuffed combat boots hooked one over the other, despite the fact she could clearly see the tension wrapping his body. Like he was forcing himself to stay right there, and not come any closer.
My God.
He was devastating.
That was the first and only word to come to her mind.
Devastating.
A lot like Corrado, really. That first look at him had made her silent, and took away her breath, too. This was no different.
Except she didn’t know this man, and why in the hell was he here?
“Who are you?” she asked, her voice faint.
The man smiled.
Just a ghost of one, though.
He lifted his head a bit, giving her a better view of the planes that made up his handsome face, and the war that raged in his stare. “Alessio Sorrento—I like Les, though.”
Les.
That text ...
“But it ain’t about me, is it?” Alessio asked, his voice a deep bass that came off both edgy and dark. “Lately, it’s been all about you, Ginevra.”
How did he know her name?
She wondered ...
No one had said either way—man or woman, they didn’t say who the other person was for Corrado. She hadn’t assumed, but a part of her just figured it was a woman because that was the default. Not that she cared either way who someone loved or fucked behind closed doors. That was their business, and as long as people were happy, what did it matter?
But now, staring at this man, and the way he looked at her like he was both curious, but he wished she would drop dead on the fucking spot, too, made her think ...
This was him.
This man was Corrado’s ... person. They were a them before Ginevra ever came into the picture, clearly. Those shoes with different sizes on the rack when she first arrived at the penthouse; the different style jackets, like they belonged to entirely different personalities; the offhanded remarks Corrado made without realizing it—and we use it, he’d said—and then ignored when she questioned him; or even his hesitations when he nearly slipped up like telling her the master bedroom was his, but he’d almost said something different.
She knew now.
It meant these two men had been a thing for a while. She was in the middle. He came before her. She understood what she had missed.
It hurt worse because of it.
26.
Alessio
Above all things, at the end of the day when the sun went down, and he no longer had to pretend like he gave a shit, Alessio was still an asshole. Oh, he had people he cared about—those he loved, sure. He usually cared to make an attempt with those people not to be an asshole, but most others were fair game.
And even those he cared for, if he were being honest, weren’t special exceptions to the rules when it came right down to it. When things began to feel like they were falling apart around Alessio, or like his life was spiraling out of control ... that asshole side of him liked to make an appearance.
It became worse.
Like now.
The fact that he was an asshole was the entire reason why he happened to be standing at the end of that hallway in their penthouse in Toronto. It was every single fucking reason why he had come here to do this tonight.
Near the front door, the pretty thing he’d likely scared the wits out of—whoops—made a sound that drew his gaze to her again. And shit, she was pretty. Disregarding the rest of this shit that pissed him off about her, and her presence here, Ginevra was a beautiful thing.
He wasn’t at all surprised she managed to catch Corrado’s eye. He always did have a taste for pretty, delicate looking things when it came to women. Ones that looked innocent because he enjoyed finding all the parts of them that were far from it.
Ginevra was certainly that.
Pretty, that was.
Okay, he might have been being an asshole again. Pretty was a bit ... nice. If he were being honest, he would say that he understood entirely why she caught Corrado’s eye because Alessio couldn’t stop his gaze from drinking her in from where he stood ten feet away, either.
Like the way that silk gray dress, wet from the rain pouring down outside, had molded itself to her body. Silk was un-fucking-forgiving against a body. Instead of accentuating beauty, it highlighted every single goddamn flaw it could, but especially when it was that tight. Not on her, though.
Because he couldn’t find a flaw.
He couldn’t find something to dislike in the shape of her hips, or the length of her legs, her skin golden with a sheen from the rain, but olive-toned, too. Her breasts, emphasized by the beige lace of the bra cups peeking out from the low-cut front of the dress, lifted and fell quickly with her breaths, which only drew his gaze higher. To the delicate column of her throat, tense with her nerves, and making that diamond choker glitter as it caught the light.
And her face.
Her face.
Small featured, wide eyes, stained-red lips, and beautiful.
Yeah, it was no fucking wonder to him why this woman had caught his lover’s eye. Because frankly, it took very little effort for her to make Alessio pay attention to the way she looked, too. Although, physical beauty was one thing.
Anyone could be beautiful.
Lots of people were.
What was it about her that made Ginevra different?
That was his question.
He’d thought, maybe stupidly, that he would come here and find out why Corrado had been so willing to lie to Alessio for nothing more than a woman—if he wanted a woman, there were thousands of them all around him, he could go find one.
What was it about this woman?
Why lie for this woman?
And that just pissed him off.
A lot more.
“Where is Corrado?” Ginevra asked.
Her voice was musical, really. Soft, and light. Like a melody floating through the air to reach his spot down the hall. He could hear the nerves working in her tone, too, and yet, she still managed to sound polite.
Why was she being polite?
If she knew who he was—did she even know?—then she would have no reason to be nice. It made him wonder if Alessio wasn’t the only person Corrado had been lying to lately. It wouldn’t be such a stretch, all things considered.
“Well?” Ginevra demanded.
Okay, there went her politeness.
Alessio, who hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall since she opened the penthouse door, tipped his head up a bit. He’d not really met her stare since she found him standing there. Oh, he looked her way, and she looked his. He took his time to check out what made up the woman that his lover seemed determined to hide from him, and he hadn’t missed the way she looked him over, either.
Still ...
He hadn’t met her gaze.
Not until now.
Through the longer strands of his shaggy hair, he met Ginevra’s stare head-on, unfazed and calm on the outside. He wanted her to see that—needed her to think that despite her presence here, he was fine.
Even if he was anything but.
He felt like a war, really.
She wouldn’t know it.
Ginevra stilled in place, her milk chocolate-colored eyes widening. No, she didn’t know her presence put him on edge, but he absolutely could see what his company did to her. Not that the beautiful woman wanted him to know, he thought, because she was quick to clench one hand tightly around the clutch she held, and her other formed a fist at her side. That trembling in her shoulders stopped, and she tipped her chin up.
Staring right back at him.
Standing tall.
As beautiful as ever.
God.
Any other fucking time—any other fucking woman—and he would have really appreciated that spirit. That determination he found in her gaze, hell yeah, he would have liked it, and urged her on to show him more.
He loved when people surprised him.
Not this woman, though.
Not right now.
“Are you going to answer me, or not?” Ginevra asked.
Fine.
But he was having fun here, that’s all.
She didn’t have to know that, right?
“Oh, I tricked him,” Alessio said, grinning.
He tipped his head to the side a bit to watch her from that angle. He kept finding new things about her to stare at depending on the angle, and the direction at which he watched. Like now, he could see the way the side of her smooth, creamy throat worked as she chewed on her words, and held them back.
Come on, girl, say what you wanna say to me, I fucking dare you.
She had to know who he was.
Had to.
He just felt it in his bones.
Good.
Because he wanted her to.
She’d came into this place after him; she came here when he’d already been here. His thing—his person—was not for her. And he wasn’t going to hand it over; he would not give Corrado to anyone. They would have to take him from Alessio first.
“I tricked him,” Alessio said again, shrugging one leather-covered shoulder. “See, I knew he wouldn’t give me five minutes alone with you when, up until now, he seemed determined to keep you from me, for whatever reason.”
“I thought he was with you tonight.” Ginevra’s fingers drummed against the side of her clutch, and she glanced away from him. All those nerves—he saw it all and took them for what they were. “I saw the message you sent—that was you, right?”
“That’s how I tricked him.”
He laughed.
Ginevra simply stared.
Alessio rolled his eyes, getting bored now. “See, if I got him away from you ... then I wouldn’t have to worry about him being over my shoulder when I came up here to find what I was looking for.”
But, oh, he certainly planned to have a conversation with Corrado, and very soon. He suspected the man was realizing, if he hadn’t already, that Alessio was not, in fact, at a bar two blocks away from this penthouse that he and Corrado frequented together to play pool when they were in the city.
It wouldn’t take much for Corrado to put two and two together—it always made four, after all. He’d be on his way back to this penthouse so
on, if he wasn’t already, and then Alessio would move into the second thing he came here for.
Dealing with Corrado.
Letting him know he knew.
Simple, really.
“And did you?” Ginevra asked softly.
There was something about her lips that kept drawing his gaze in. The bottom lip was a bit fuller than the bottom, making her look as though her mouth was set into a sweet pout. Stained red from whatever lipstick she had been wearing earlier in the evening, the color took away the innocence her mouth might held and made him think of dangerous things.
Like how one might smudge what remained of the stain, or how it got that way to begin with. Was it the rain? Her tongue wiping at the line of her lips? Corrado, even? Had he kissed it off her—licked it off her?
All things Alessio didn’t need to wonder.
Yet, he still did.
“Well, did you?” Ginevra asked.
“Did I, what?”
“Find what you were looking for here.”
How simple that question felt.
The answer was far from easy, though.
Because no.
No, he had not found what he was looking for. Some crazy part of him thought he would come here, lay eyes on this woman, and just know what it was about her that had Corrado willing to hide her. Whatever it was about her that made his lover prepared to throw away the trust that Alessio gave to no one.
He still didn’t know.
It pissed him off.
Pushing away from the wall, Alessio moved down the hallway faster than Ginevra could react to his oncoming form. She took a step back, though, but it was too late because he’d already come close enough to her that his proximity alone allowed him two things.
To see the darker brown flecks in the lighter tawny irises of her eyes. To see the splattering of freckles on the edges of her cheeks, closer to her hairline. To back her against the wall as she stared up at him.
And to feel the warmth of her body.
He was entirely too close.
Alessio still didn’t back up.
“No,” he said simply, “I haven’t found it yet.”