Flinching at my touch, lips stiffening at my kiss.
Cordial and casual.
“Can I steal you away for a second?” I ask, nodding toward the baby. I can’t leave on this note.
She finally glances my way.
I motion for her to come closer. I refuse to have a conversation like this from across the room.
She hands Lucia a stuffed elephant and pushes herself up, slowly making her way across the room.
Arms folded, she asks, “What’s up?”
“Are you upset that I’m leaving?”
She frowns. “No. Why would I be?”
I rake my hand along my jaw, studying her, attempting to read between any and all lines—only she’s not giving me much to work with.
“I just … we were getting along so well … and Friday night was amazing … and then yesterday something changed,” I say.
Folding her arms, she shrugs. “I just think we’re moving too fast.”
True. We’re moving at the speed of light.
“This whole thing between us,” I say. “It’s not exactly conventional. And it’s not like there’s some timeline we’re supposed to be following. We can slow it down, if that’ll make you more comfortable, but if you’re into this, Rossi, like I am. For the love of God, don’t pull back. I’m having the time of my life with you. With Lucia too. This is all new for me, but I’m loving every crazy, confusing second of it.”
Her lips press together and her attention skims past my shoulder. “You always know exactly what to say, but sometimes the things you say are too perfect, you know?”
“Sorry?” I smirk. “I didn’t realize that was a bad thing?”
“If I hardly know you, how can I know that what you’re saying is genuine?”
“You can’t know. These things happen with time. You just have to trust me, and meanwhile, we’ll keep getting to know each other.” I go to reach for her and stop myself. She’s clearly not receptive to being touched right now. “Are you scared? Because it’s okay if you are.” Swallowing, I add, “We’re in this together—whatever this is.”
Her eyes catch on mine, lids heavy with exhaustion. I slept in her bed last night, but rather than curl up in my arms and fall asleep with her cheek against my chest, she stayed on her side, tossing and turning until the covers were a twisted heap on the floor.
“What are you afraid of?” I ask.
Clearing her throat, she says, “I just think we’re being selfish about this. For Lucia’s sake, I mean. We shouldn’t be doing this because if it blows up in our faces, it’s only going to hurt her in the end.”
My jaw tenses.
I see what she’s doing.
“If you want to use Lucia as your excuse to do—or not do—things that scare you for the rest of your life, that’s your prerogative,” I say.
“I’m not using her as an excuse,” her expression twists and her words cut sharp. “It’s a valid concern. I don’t want her to get hurt if things get strained between us.”
“Why would they become strained?”
“Because I don’t know what you’re doing and what you expect from this,” she says. “And in a few weeks, you’re going back to California, back to your actual life. And I’ll still be here, thinking about the gorgeous man who waltzed into my life and said all the perfect things and made me feel things I had no business feeling and made me hope for things I had no business hoping for.”
I scratch my temple, chin tucked as I wrap my head around this. “You honestly think I’m just going to walk out of here three weeks from now and act like none of this happened?”
“As opposed to the alternative, yes,” she says. “I’m trying to be realistic here. Your life is in Malibu. Your coach, your assistant, your friends, your business deals, everything.”
“My life can be anywhere I want it to be,” I say. Fuck it. I grip her waist and pull her against me before tipping her pointed chin upwards. “If you really think I can walk away from the two of you after this, then you have me all wrong.”
I drag my lips against hers, teasing the promise of a kiss that I won’t fulfill.
If I’m going to make my runway time, I’ve got to go.
“When I get back,” I say, inhaling her vanilla-sweet scent. “I’ll show you just how wrong you are.”
Chapter 25
Rossi
* * *
“Ms. Bianco, it’s Harold,” the malpractice attorney I’d contacted last week calls me late Monday morning. “Just spoke to the clinic’s counsel, and I have good news.”
I sit up in my desk chair. “Okay?”
“They’re currently putting together a settlement package for you at the request of your donor,” he says. “He waived all rights to his settlement and asked them to give it to you instead. I don’t have any of the details yet, but they said it’s significantly more than the original one they offered you a few weeks back. They said they’d send over preliminaries this afternoon, so I’ll get back to you when I have more. Just wanted to let you know the good news.”