I gripped the edge of the sink. I was in this deep, and a cold sweat drifted down my back at the thought of how it would end. It would never be over for me—I’d known that going in—and the only peace I’d found was believing I could make her stay with me whether she liked it or not. But now, a feeling in my chest grew heavy every time I looked at her. I didn’t believe I could bear to see her unhappy. And that complicated things.
My gaze met Gianna’s in the mirror as she showed up in the doorway. She wore one of my long-sleeve t-shirts, and the collar was slipping off her shoulder.
“You just missed the best part,” she pouted.
I let out a dry breath. “I bet.”
We really needed to find a happy medium on movies.
She wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, her touch sending a small shudder through my spine.
“Is this what you do when you go to the bathroom? Stare at your handsome face in the mirror?”
I’d needed to get away for a minute. Couldn’t think with her near—her smell, her smile, the feel of her hands on me. It made my head fuzzy and my throat tight. It made me feel like someone was on the cusp of reorganizing every damn thing in my apartment.
“I was thinking,” I told her.
“About?”
How to keep you pacified without letting you into my past.
How to make sure you always look at me like this and not with disgust.
“You.”
“Aw, you come to the bathroom to think about me? Why, Officer, I feel honored.” Her hand drifted down my stomach and over my dick. She frowned. “It must not have been that exciting of a scenario.”
A corner of my lips lifted. I turned around, cupped her face, and ran a thumb across her cheek. “I’m always thinking about you, malyshka.”
Her lips parted, a blush rising to her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes, and breathed against my lips, “I really like you.”
Satisfaction ran hot through my blood, even though I wanted more than that. I wanted everything she had to give and more. I’d take it slowly, I’d make her love me, and maybe then, she wouldn’t leave me when she realized I couldn’t give her everything of me she wanted.
She blinked. “Aren’t you going to say it, too?”
I chuckled. What I felt was so far past that it was laughable. I would have told her right then, but she wasn’t ready.
“I really like you, too,” I said, then leaned in to nip her bottom lip.
She sighed in my mouth.
That was the only scenario I needed.
I picked her up and carried her to bed.
“You f*cking Gianna?” Ace gave me a hard look. “I don’t like it. Makes men think they can sample our women.”
I sat back in his office chair. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you living with your wife before marriage?”
He ran a thumb across his jaw. “I had that under wraps. You’ve been parading Gianna around like she’s your goddamn mistress.”
“Haven’t heard that term since eighteen-ninety,” I said dryly. “Someday, you Italians are going to have to get with the times.”
“Marry her, Allister, and we won’t have a problem.”
If only it was that easy.
My jaw tightened. “She’s not ready.”
“Tough sh*t. If I’d asked my wife to marry me, she would have said no. So, guess what? I didn’t f*cking ask her.”
I couldn’t force Gianna to marry me. I wanted—needed—to be different than the other men in her life. She liked me. I knew I couldn’t handle seeing the betrayal in her eyes now, not after she’d told me that and how much better it had felt than hearing she hated me.
“I could just as easily find someone else for her,” he baited.
“Go ahead.” My voice was dark. “Might save us both some time if you line her prospects up in a row right now.”
“Jesus,” Nico muttered. “Fine. Then, think of it this way—this relationship of yours makes Gianna look like a throwaway. Good enough to f*ck, but not good enough to marry.”
I clenched my teeth.
“I’m not saying it.” He rocked back in his chair. “Just the way it looks, Allister.”
I got to my feet, finished with this conversation.
“Good luck,” he said.
“f*ck you.”
His chuckle followed me out the door.
SOMETHING SMELLED LIKE PANCAKES. IT made my stomach churn.
I loved pancakes.
I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair, then padded out to the kitchen to find Christian at the stove, shirtless, his hair wet. I loved him like this, the casual side of him not many got to see. Like this, he was mine.
But when I wrapped my arms around his waist, he tensed. Uncertainty flickered through me. He’d been quiet the past couple of days, and an insecure part of me was obsessing over what it could mean. Things had been well since he’d opened up to me last week, but I hadn’t asked him for more, either. It was pathetic, I knew, but I was scared the next question would push him away for good. And to test it felt like toeing the edge of the dark.
“Are you hungry?” he asked when I stepped away from him.
I looked at the plate of pancakes on the counter and wrinkled my nose. “Not right now.” Grabbing the orange juice from the fridge, I poured a glass.
The next words out of his mouth caused me to choke as the first refreshing sip slid down my throat. “We should get married.”
I coughed, eyes watering. Slowly, I set the glass on the island and wiped some juice off my chin.
“I don’t think I heard you right.”
He turned to face me, his eyes deep and unfathomable. “I said, we should get married.”
My chest flared from hot to cold. “What?”
“You heard me, Gianna.”
My pulse raced. “We’ve only been seeing each other for, like . . . a month.”
He let out a sarcastic breath. “You’ve been mine for f*cking years.”
The conviction in his voice fluttered through my blood, settling in my heart. The shock had thrown me off-balance, and I didn’t know how to react. I walked around the island to put some distance between us; to find some space to think.
I turned toward him. “I told you how I feel about marriage.”
He shook his head, his eyes flickering with something heavy. “You know those aren’t realistic expectations. Maybe for another woman, but not you.”
I hated that he was right. That eventually, if I did stay, all it would take was one man to be interested enough in me. It seemed Made Men just couldn’t fathom that a woman could remain single and happy.
My blood pulsed in my ears.
My hands were clammy.
“I told you, I would run.”
“And I told you, I would find you.” His tone was dark. “You know this is where you belong, Gianna.”
I’d never been fond of leaving, but I did know I couldn’t willingly go back into another marriage to a man I didn’t know. I only understood the edges of Christian, not the deep, dark center that made him, and until then, I’d never truly know him. But now that the shock had settled, I realized I didn’t hate the idea of marrying him. That sent a prickling sense of anxiety through me; it showed me how deeply I was under his spell. I loved him. And I feared what I would forfeit just to be with him.
