“At two in the morning? And in your dress slacks?” she asked, incredulous. Dammit, I was too tired to think of a plausible story. How could I get out of this?
“I couldn’t sleep, Queenie,” I said, maybe I could fake it till I made it. “I thought I’d take a little stroll around the track.”
But she took a step closer, zeroing in on me.
“Are you feeling okay?”
Christ, how many times was I going to be asked that in one day? “Yep.”
Antonio began to work himself up to a full cry, stealing her attention. Thank God. I took a step backwards, then another. By the time Molly looked back up, I’d made it to the railing of the staircase.
With the exception of a few key security upgrades, our new mansion was almost an exact replica of the old one; Luca had done it intentionally, wanting to bring back the familiarity of home and make everyone feel safe again at the same time.
He’d been successful for the most part.
“Hope the little man gets his bubble out,” I said, then started upstairs. As soon as Molly turned her back, I switched directions and headed down to Greta’s room. I knew she was probably asleep, but I needed her. I already had to spend half my time at the hospital, at clinics for follow ups, and in doctor’s offices. If I could avoid yet another visit, I would.
Greta answered her door almost immediately, telling me she’d been up. Looked like half the house was either awake due to extenuating circumstances or suffering from some form of insomnia tonight.
She applied several different fixes, everything from butterfly bandages to some numbing lidocaine cream, and covered it all back up with nonstick gauze. She escorted me back to my room, made sure I took my regular dose of antibiotics, patted my head like I was five again, then left, closing my door behind her.
Grateful beyond belief for my old nanny and struggling to keep my eyes open, I finally slid face first onto my mattress, and within seconds, I knew nothing more.
7
Kelly
Why did I kiss him?
Those five words had raced through my head on repeat all night long, keeping me awake when all I wanted to do was sleep. I relived that bizarre moment over and over, trying to identify what had made me lose my common sense. Normally, I was a practical girl. I didn’t sit around and pretend to be somewhere else. I didn’t waste time or money on frivolous pursuits.
I knew what I had to do, and I went out and did it. That’s who I was.
So whatever possessed me to lay one on the new owner of the business I worked for was beyond me. Not that it’d been passionate or anything. There hadn’t actually been much to the kiss at all, just a split second of my lips to his. I barely even made contact.
But I didn’t know why I’d done it. Why I’d felt compelled to do it. Had I meant it as a thank you? As a gesture of comfort? Had some weird hidden part of my psyche taken over and decided I needed to experience was those firm full lips of his felt like?
Because that wasn’t me. I didn’t kiss anyone. Kissing wasn’t in my wheelhouse. It wasn’t even near my wheelhouse. I didn’t initiate such intimate actions with men. I wasn’t open to receiving them, either. I just didn’t go there. Ever.
My high school boyfriend Steven had been the last person I’d shared a kiss with. Steven had been perfect for me. At least on paper. He’d been a straight-A student, a member of every academic club, and both my parents adored him. Adored. Him. He’d been one of those rare somethings they agreed on. When he’d kissed me, though, I’d been tremendously disappointed.
There’d been no sparks and nothing special.
Worse, he apparently decided to heat things up a bit by French kissing me. I’d heard of French kissing. I’d seen others do it. I’d even thought I might like it. But I didn’t. Not the way he did it, anyway. He’d stuck not just a little of his tongue into my mouth, but the entire thing. Like, all of his tongue. Yuck.
Honestly, it’d grossed me out.
Since that time, I hadn’t been a fan of kissing. It’d been five years since I’d kissed or been kissed, and I felt thoroughly satisfied with that.
Yet I’d given Marco Varasso one, and as surface level as it was, it’d felt good. Touching his lips with mine had been a unique experience for me.
And for the first time ever, I’d felt something. That spark. The one I’d heard so many others talk about and wax poetic over. It had happened. With my boss.
Lord.
My parents had brought me up to be a nice girl. A good girl. Someone with high standards and moral fiber. Someone who didn’t sleep around. A girl who didn’t make waves or get into trouble.
And I’d always been that. I couldn’t stand the notion of not meeting someone else’s expectations. I couldn’t imagine letting anyone down.