Page 26 of Useless Love

When he doesn’t respond, I glance back at him. Our eyes met, and I feel my cheeks flush red hot. Then Carmine removes his jacket, undoes his tie, and rolls up his sleeves. The rest of my body flushes as I stare at those corded forearm veins I had been fantasizing about earlier.

I quickly point to an area of the room and tell him to start moving boxes because I really need some distraction.

The rest of the afternoon, I watch him from the corner of my eye. He gets so sweaty that he eventually has to remove his white collared shirt. I’m not proud of it, but I immediately freeze in the middle of packing a box, openly staring as he undoes the buttons. His strong fingers work up from the bottom, then he peels the shirt open, revealing sweaty, glistening pecs and abs. My lower stomach muscles tighten as he slips the shirt fully off and tosses it on a small table.

I feel a bit faint.

Carmine's physique is a sculpted masterpiece, each muscle defined with an enticing allure. There’s a canvas of inked art on his tanned skin, and the play of shadows accentuates his chiseled chest and abdominal muscles. A faint sheen of sweat adds a captivating glow, tracing the contours of his well-defined abs.

His broad shoulders carry the weight of authority, and the tattoos that wind down his arms seem to tell tales of battles fought and victories won. Carmine's hands are strong and capable, typical of a man accustomed to taking charge. Dark, tousled hair frames a face with sharp, masculine features—a strong jawline, intense brown eyes that hint at all of his mysteries, and a straight nose that adds to his rugged charm.

I guess I’ve never taken the time to truly study him and appreciate his body and features. I think there’s a reason I’ve avoided doing that—he’s a lot of man to handle and I’m not sure I’m up to the task.

And he’s Arianna’s, not mine.

I continue watching him, pretending to do my own work. The confident way he carries himself borders on arrogance, and yet, it's undeniably alluring. Carmine embodies a potent blend of danger and charisma, a man whose physical presence demands attention.

He doesn’t seem to notice me staring and continues tossing heavy boxes around. One of the other volunteers practically throws herself on him, trying to flirt, and I watch with a clenched jaw. She would keep her distance if she only knew how fierce my sister was. Me, however…I don’t have the courage to speak up.

I do notice, though, how Carmine says something harsh to the woman and she glances at me. The woman leaves him alone. I bit my lip as Carmine meets my gaze briefly. I wonder what he told her.

Several hours later, the room is clean and the walls are painted a lovely shade of blue. But we’ll have to move the furniture back in another day—the walls are still too wet.

Around six, Father Eddie comes in looking as kind as ever. He tells everyone that we’ve done enough. I keep working, so he places a gentle hand on my shoulder and nudges me toward the exit. He knows I have a thing about finishing what I start.

“You two are covered in paint,” he says to me and Carmine, his blue eyes twinkling. “At least wash your faces before leaving. Please.”

I reluctantly let go of my need to keep working until everything is done and guide Carmine to a small bathroom down the hall. I wash my face, removing the paint from my cheeks and parts of my hair. My clothes are basically ruined, so I’ll need to toss them in the trash later. Oh well, it was a cheap outfit.

When I glance back at Carmine, who is waiting to use the sink, I noticed the paint on his suit pants. He also had smudges on his face and drips of blue in his dark hair.

Mindlessly, I turn and reach up for the paint in his hair with my clean cloth. His eyes widen and his body stiffens, so I pulled away.

I look down. “Sorry. I’ll, um, give you this and step aside.” I start to hand him the cloth, but the next thing I know, his body is crushed against mine, one of his arms tight around my waist. He pushes me back against the sink, his gaze burning me.

With a careful touch, he brushes hair off my forehead. His hips push into me, his hardness digging into my stomach. I swallow, my entire body flushing again. I glance down, not really sure about what to do.

He lowers his mouth to my ears and says with heated breath, “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long. Ever since I first saw you hanging around my sister on campus. I guess I just lucked out with the marriage arrangement.”

My stomach flips but I’m still cautious; there’s still an invisible wall between us. I’m not exactly sure what compels me to say it, but I blurt out, “How do you know I’m not Gaia?”

He meets my gaze. “What do you mean?”

“My sister attends the same University. You could’ve been seeing, um, Gaia around campus and not me. What if she’s the one you really want?” I step aside, setting boundaries for both of us. It was probably dumb for me to put the idea in his head that I’m not Arianna but…I keep thinking how he’s not actually mine. I shouldn’t be feeling so attracted to him.

He’s not mine.

He sighs and looks annoyed, his eye twitching. “Why are you playing a game with me? It was you. The day at that birthday party, we both saw each other. Your sister has nothing to do with this. Plus, Carla confirmed only you are in her academic circle.”

Since Carla never knew my real name, she now also thinks I’m Arianna. Now I’m lying to two people and feel even more guilty. My sister and I are identical, but our parents can tell us apart somehow. What if, one day, Carmine figures out how to do that, too?

I swallow, my heart racing. “The one who got your attention was always with Carla?”

Carmine searches my eyes. Then he backs me into a wall in the small bathroom. He lowers his head, bringing his lips within an inch of mine. My breath hitches. I shouldn’t.

I really shouldn’t, but...

My body is on fire, butterflies swirling in my stomach. Whatever my brain is trying to convince me to stop doing, the rest of me isn’t listening. I drop my gaze to Carmine’s lips, and that’s the only permission he needs. He presses his mouth to mine with a hunger that seems like it has been restrained for too long. It's a possessive kiss as he presses me firmly against the wall, his hand grabbing my hips and pulling me against his hardness.

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