He was amused. “If I wasn’t wondering that exact thing myself, I’d say you live a sad life, Gianna.”
“Ha ha.”
While he changed the bulb, I flipped on every light in the apartment for simple peace of mind. “You want a beer?” I asked.
“No.”
I got one for myself and plopped onto the couch. As I went to take the first drink, the beer was ripped from my hands. I sighed.
“Really?”
Luca took a pull on the bottle and sat beside me. He was a large man and didn’t care how much space he took up. Rather than feeling like a sardine in a can, I stretched out my legs, resting them across his.
“We need to have a chat.” He rested an arm across my thighs, his eyes coasting around the living room.
“About?”
“Well, first off, your marriage—or lack thereof—with Richard, and your ever-growing relationship with Vincent Monroe.”
I sighed, knowing I was in trouble. “I would love to discuss that with you, but, gosh, I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” I tried to jump to my feet, but he grabbed one of my thighs, making me choose to fall back to the couch rather than awkwardly to the floor.
“People are talking, Gianna.”
I stole my beer back. “Why do you care if people talk?”
“Ace is getting married, and we need to keep up appearances with the Abellis.”
“Oh yeah. Poor Adriana.” I pouted my lips and took a sip.
“You will attend the luncheon this Sunday with Richard.”
“Yes, sir.” I rolled my eyes.
“And this thing with Vincent needs to cool down. Fast.” His gaze went hard. “Or I will cool it down for you.”
“I promise you, there’s no fire where Vincent is concerned.” A part of me wished there was—to be swept up in an intense affair, one in which we’d both rather die than be without each other. A part of me ached for it, while the other didn’t believe in fairy tales.
“Where there’s Gianna, there’s fire,” Luca muttered, pushing my legs off him and getting to his feet.
“Thank you, Luca.”
He made a noise of acknowledgment and shut the door behind him.
Like most nights, I headed to the kitchen. The recipe was my mamma’s. All of them were. Some of them I’d forgotten or hadn’t gotten a chance to ever ask about, and I often fantasized of going to Chicago in a blaze of glory just to retrieve her old cookbooks. My imagination was a sad place.
The smell of carbonara filled the apartment as I sat at the table with my plate.
The quiet ticking of the clock dulled my mind. A siren blared somewhere below on a busy street. The air conditioner kicked on.
I spun some pasta onto my fork and took a bite.
Unfortunately, loneliness still thrived in the light.
THE ELEVATOR MUSIC PLAYING SOFTLY in the background might as well have been screamo as I walked down an aisle of my local CVS. I sighed, rubbing my temple. Gunfire always gave me an awful migraine.
It was safe to say the luncheon today went over as smoothly as the Titanic. Or maybe that was being a bit dramatic—there’d only been one casualty, after all. Nonetheless, I could see a forbidden love story in the near future, between Ace and the very wrong sister. I had my money on him breaking the contract with Adriana, so he could have Elena—literally. I’d placed my bet with Luca and Lorenzo on the ride home.
I grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen off the shelf and dropped it into my basket. I was perusing the nail polishes when the havoc began.
“Everybody, down, now!” Two men wearing black ski masks stormed the store, slamming the door against the wall. “I said, down!” The taller one fired a shot into the ceiling.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I muttered.
One of their gazes landed on me. My eyes went wide, and I dropped to the floor.
Someone cried. A baby wailed. Another prayed the Hail Mary.
The masked men—who were very inconsiderate to others, I might add—prowled toward the prescription counter. “Give us what we want, and we won’t hurt anyone.”
I struggled with opening the painkiller bottle. I tugged too hard, the lid came off, and pills scattered across the floor. A blonde woman clutching her purse from across the aisle watched me in disbelief. I fought an eyeroll. Like she’d never had a migraine at the wrong time. I popped two tablets in my mouth.
“Don’t lie to us! You have more!”
“W-we don’t have more, sir.”
I grabbed a bottle of nail polish from my basket and gave it a shake. The woman’s incredulous gaze burned into my skin as I painted the red polish onto my thumbnail. I wrinkled my nose. Too Christmassy.
The men’s voices grew frenzied as sirens blared in the distance. Some shuffling ensued, the door dinged, and then they were gone.
I got to my feet, brushed the dirt off my olive-green dress, and headed toward the checkout counter with my half-empty bottle of pills.
“Hello?” I called to the vacant cash register.
I rang the little bell sitting on the counter. Two wide eyes drifted up from behind the register. “Oh, hello.” I grinned at the young female cashier. “Can I purchase these, please? Preferably before the police show up and I’m stuck here for God only knows how long.”
Unfortunately, that was the moment the entirety of the NYPD stormed the store.
I sighed. Better get some rash cream while I was here.
I was sitting at the back of an ambulance flipping through a pamphlet they’d slapped into my hand for a trauma support group, when the feds arrived. I didn’t look up from my brochure as one approached me. If I had to go through the whole question spiel again, I was quitting life.
“Ames Clinical Center,” a deep voice read from the leaflet. “Why do I feel like you’d be right at home there?”
My heart hitched, stopping my breath. The sun was heavy and hot, but it wasn’t why my skin suddenly ignited from the inside. He had my full attention, but I didn’t look at him yet. Simply because I didn’t think I could handle the shock of hearing him and seeing him at the same time.
I flipped a page. “I’m not sure, Officer. Have you been there before?” I drew my gaze up to him, my eyes light with the knowledge of his OCD, his blood-stained hands, and trigger-happy finger.
Broad shoulders.
Straight lines.
Blue.
“They haven’t tamed you yet, I see.” The drawl wrapped around my throat, making it pulse with a maddening tempo.
The sight of him was a punch of fire to the stomach. Some kind of visceral, animal reaction to the mere attractiveness of the man. The memory of the last night I’d seen him rushed back, of his hands on me, and warmth hummed between my legs. He’d been the last man to touch me, and my body hadn’t forgotten. In truth, I’d thought about him too much late at night—the rough glide of his palm against my cheek, the press of his lips against mine, the heat of his body. He was easily my favorite fantasy, while I was sure he’d been working his way through every blonde socialite wherever he’d been for the last three years.
Frustration ripped through me. And then an even worse feeling bloomed in my chest—a thorny stem minus the rose; a feeling I’d pushed down every time I thought of him: rejection.
“I’m untamable.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
I stared at him. He wanted to bring up that night . . . now? As far as I was concerned, it had never happened. The thought of it in daylight made me feel vulnerable and exposed.
Setting the pamphlet aside, I crossed my legs, leaned back on my hands. “Let me guess, you took a three-year stint from the Bureau to pursue your dream of modeling men’s underwear.”
He twisted the watch on his wrist, once, twice, three times. Slipping his hands in his pockets, his stare caressed my skin so heavily I could hardly breathe. He looked pensive, but there was something beneath it . . . like the budding spark of a fire.
I quelled a strange uprising of
nerves.
“No?” I probed. “You blackmailed some unfortunate girl to marry you, bought a house in the suburbs, and had two kids.”
That was an obvious negative. The next guess escaped me before he could respond.
“You visited Antarctica and realized it was home.” I was so pleased with myself for that one, and it showed.
“You done?”
I pursed my lips. “Yes.”
“Good. Sheets over there will be heading this way to question you about your relationship with Ace any minute. You can come with me, or deal with him for the next few hours.”
I glanced at the special agent in question. He was an attractive man, but my attention couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the fact he wore Asics with his navy suit.
“The lesser of two evils, is it?” I murmured, slipping to the ground and standing in front of him. “Lead the way, Officer.”
“Not a very good judge of character,” he said, a dark edge in his voice.
I shivered. “Yes, well, we all have our faults.”
“Some more than others.”
Annoyance flickered through me. I brought my gaze up to his, pity pulling on my lips. “You are so right. A lot of men struggle with impotence. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” I patted his chest and began to walk toward his car while ignoring the burning sensation in my hand.
“Still thinking about why I didn’t fuck you, huh?”
I paused, closed my eyes as anger tore through me. “The only thing I think about you is how refreshing New York is with you not in it.” I continued making my way to his car.
“How you’ve survived this long with such a terrible sense of direction, I’ll never understand.”
I stopped, sighed, and then spun around to follow him down the sidewalk. “Don’t you know? I have a man hold my hand wherever I go.”
“I know—Vincent Monroe. One could debate your use of man, however.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know nothing about him.”
“I know he’s only waiting for the day your husband dies to put a ring on your finger.”
“The only thing you know is whatever Ace or Luca have told you. That’s hearsay in my book, and frankly, none of your business.”
Allister had been back for five minutes and already believed he had my story all figured out. I hated how he made my life seem so transparent . . . so trivial.
I struggled to keep up with his long strides while simultaneously dodging every New York City pothole in my thigh-high boots. I ended up walking a step behind him, fully immersed in his shadow. How apt it seemed regarding our relationship.
“You changed your hair,” he said softly.
I absently touched the dark locks that were my natural color. He always noticed when I did something with my hair. I hated that it made me feel special.
“Yes. I tried to get over you with a makeover. Three years is just too long to wait for a phone call.”
“Ah, I wondered how you were faring.”
“I won’t dye it back for you either. Being blonde is exhausting. I had way too much fun.”
“So I’ve heard.”
I tensed. I had a feeling he was talking about the last time I’d been arrested shortly after he’d disappeared three years ago. There was nothing I could say to explain myself, and then I remembered I didn’t have to care about what he thought of me.
“You seem to have heard a lot about me,” I mused.
“I’m informed about all the disasters in the New York City area.”
“Good to know I’m up there with hurricanes and terrorist attacks.” I stepped over a banana peel. “So, what unfortunate circumstance brought you back from . . .?”
“Seattle.”
“Seattle, then?”
“Business.”
“A man of few answers,” I murmured.
“Few words,” he corrected.
His eyes found mine as we reached his car, and just the look sent my heart flipping in my chest. It had been a long time since I’d seen him. But a prickling feeling on the back of my neck made me believe this wasn’t the first time he’d seen me in three years. Though, if he’d been in New York—anywhere in my vicinity—I couldn’t have missed him. Not with this web of electricity between us that always strummed when he was near. What concerned me was, on the other end of a web often lay a spider in wait to devour its prey.
I swallowed and slid into my seat.
A tense air filled the space, shortening my breath. A feeling that he was going to touch me . . . or hurt me. I trusted the man about as far as I could throw him—a negative number of inches—and a nervous energy coursed through my veins.
Should’ve tried my luck with Asics.
“So . . . how long are you going to be in town?” I asked.
“Why? Counting the days?”
“You know me so well, Officer. We should play The Newlywed Game.” I began to apply some lip gloss just because I needed to do something with my hands.
“You’d think they’d have a requirement for contestants to at least know each other’s names,” he said dryly.
“You always were a stickler for the rules, weren’t you, Christian?”
The look he gave me reminded of the heat in his eyes as I’d sat spread-eagled on his bathroom counter. I glanced away and tried to calm my racing heart.
He took me home. He never asked for my address, and I wasn’t surprised. Allister seemed to know everything he shouldn’t.
“No ring?” he drawled, glancing at my bare finger. “And here I was, sure this marriage would be the one to last.” He was mocking me.
I wouldn’t be married now if he hadn’t disappeared while I was still naked in his bed. I knew it deep inside. Things would’ve been different if he had stayed. But he didn’t. He didn’t care enough. And over the years, I’d begun to resent him for it. He didn’t want me—he’d made that abundantly clear—yet he had to torment me about my relationship, as nonexistent and embarrassing as it was.
My husband Richard was three times my age. He was the oldest available man I’d had the choice to marry, so, naturally, he was the one I’d picked. Too old to hit me, and, as harsh as it sounded, closer to biting the dust than any of the others.
“I have an idea—why don’t you save us both the trouble and not pretend to care?”
“Someone has to. Can’t say I’m surprised, though, that your husband turns out to be one of Ace’s richest men. Must make the marriage bed easier to stomach.”
A bitter laugh escaped me, and I turned my head to look out the window.
“Go to hell, Allister.”
“HE INSINUATED I WAS A money-hungry whore,” I told Val, pulling a cucumber slice off my eye and taking a bite of it. “Does this cucumber thing even do anything?”’
“Yes, but only if you can manage not to eat it,” Val said dryly, blindly reaching for a bowl of fresh slices beside her lounge chair and handing it to me. “And, seriously, what an asshole! As if you wanted to marry an old geezer.”
“I know.” I sighed and shoved a cucumber slice in my mouth.
“Can you imagine if you’d picked another of Ace’s men? You’d be waddling around pregnant with your third child already.” She shivered. Val had so far escaped the same fate with her husband Ricardo only because she was dealing with infertility. Or, so she claimed, anyway.
“Maybe I should have . . . chosen another.” The words escaped me, disturbing me as much as Valentina. I was married by name only, but I’d still been held in tight chains while being denied a family of my own. Sometimes, I thought I was beginning to desire more in life.
“What?” She sounded incredulous. “You don’t mean that.”
“No, of course not,” I said quickly. Right . . .? “I’m just tired, is all. Magdalena woke me up early vacuuming while spewing complaints about all the dust.”
Valentina laughed. “Magdalena, vacuuming?”
“Apparently, she has a date tonight, and she can’t make dinn
er for him at her apartment because her lazy daughter is home. Her words, not mine.”
“Lord, is it weird I want to be a fly on the wall for that date?”
“No,” I chuckled.
“If you’re letting her use your place, where are you going to stay?”
“I’ll probably just sleep at the penthouse after the party tonight.” I used to live there the last year Antonio and I were married, when I was avoiding him at all costs. It was Ace’s now, but it was still a second home to me.
Val groaned. “Honestly, I’m tired of all these get-togethers with the Abellis. It’s not like us women need to get used to their presence for the wedding. I say, let’s put all our men and theirs in one room and see what happens.”
I laughed. “Exactly. Us women are most likely the only thing keeping the peace.”
“True,” she sighed. “Women are goddesses.”
Legs crisscrossed on the lounge chair, I brought my gaze to the cloudless sky. Andromeda.
“So . . . how’s he looking these days?”
I ate another cucumber with a crunch. “Who?”
“Christian, of course.”
The vision of him standing in front of me a week and a half ago, his hands in his pockets and his lazy gaze on me, floated through my mind. An annoying warmth spread through my body.
“Good,” I grumbled.
She laughed. “That good, huh?”
Crunch.
“Gosh, maybe you two should just have sex and call it a day.”
A frown pulled on my lips. “I’d rather sleep with Richard.”
“Uh-huh, sure.”
“I have too much pride to ever let Allister touch me again. There’s no better way to tell a woman you’re not interested than leaving her naked in your bed for three years.”
“Touché.”
“Besides, I’m not interested anyway.”
Valentina made a hmm noise.
I glanced at her. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, just spit it out.”
“If you don’t want anything to do with him, then what do you think of me trying my hand?”
The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2) Page 11