“Got shit to do.” He was working in the boathouse that had become his workshop. He was building a fancy rack to hold fishing rods up on the wall. It was looking good, but I didn’t think it was urgent in any way. “Make a list. I’ll get what you need picked up.”
“But…” I started, ready to reason.
“Tia,” he warned, not looking at me.
“How about if---”
“Fuckin’ no! I don’t wanna go to the fucking market, all right?”
I growled and turned on my heel and stomped back to the house.
Not ten seconds after I was in the kitchen, needlessly wiping the spotless granite island, he was there, right in my face.
“Seriously? A fucking temper tantrum from you because I’m not ready to drop everything and go to some fuckin’ market? Maybe your priorities are fucked up, Athena.”
“I just have cabin fever. I told you yesterday I wanted to go out today and you didn’t give me an answer. You’ve been all moody and broody since yesterday. No, the day before.”
“Can’t help it if I don’t wanna go play tourist, Tia.”
“Not really looking at doing touristy stuff only. There’s a yoga class there and they also do salsa lessons, and I wanted to check out this spice vendor. Thought we could go back to that little café for lunch.”
He had bought a Jeep for us. We had transportation.
“I want us layin’ low here. Not mingling with the fuckin’ locals. You join a yoga class? You’ll meet some bitches who want to hang with you. Then what? Valentina Caruso? You bring them around here? Word gets around. People start nosing in our business?”
He glared at me. And it wasn’t fair for him to be this angry at me. He was in the workshop half the time, the rooftop, or the office. I got mealtime with him and bedtime.
“So, this is life now? Stuck at home? No human contact but you when you’re not in the boathouse, on the roof beating up the punching bag, or in your office talking to your brother?”
His eyebrows shot up.
“It’s been days, not weeks, not months, certainly not years, Tia.”
“And you don’t talk to me about why you’re in these moods. You don’t tell me what’s got you like this. I don’t know if there’s something wrong at home, if we’re in danger, or if it’s still all the other stuff weighing on you. You say nothing, so why wouldn’t I try to see if we can go to a fricking store, to a café? Thinking if we get out of the house maybe it’ll help. I can’t spend my life like this.” I folded my arms across my chest.
He glared. “What’s that supposed to mean? What are you gonna do instead?”
I was ready to push. I knew he needed a release, and to be honest, I wanted one, too.
“I didn’t say I was gonna do anything. Don’t be ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. I came across bitchy. Intentionally.
“If I could turn back the clock, I would,” he said softly.
My heart skipped a beat.
“Huh? To when?” My blood ran cold. He backed up and leaned against the opposite counter.
“To the day I first saw you. So fuckin’ innocent, humming along to some stupid pop song on the radio, excited about your life. Your plans. Shoulda left you there, walked away and left you behind that ice cream counter, instead of tainting you with my poison.”
I took the two steps separating us and slapped him straight across the face.
Yeah. Not a smart move, but I was suddenly furious. And Tommy? He was stunned.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again!” I demanded.
I was quickly pinned against the wall, my arms over my head in his grip. He was breathing fire at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his jaw clenching.