Page 14 of Not Mine to Keep

“Good. I can tell by your face you’re finally understanding the gravity of the situation.” He slowly rose to his tall height, and I didn’t cower this time. Not that I had anywhere to go; I was still only inches from the wall. As his hands slid into his pockets, he added, “Monday, Armani’s second-in-command is coming for you. Those three assholes he’s had babysitting you for a year will help him take you. You’ll be forced to fly to Sicily. Forced to marry. And forced to fuc—” He let go of that horrible sentence, and I realized my hand was now over my mouth.

I was going to be sick. Because I knew, deep down Iknew, that The Asshole would do exactly that.

Unable to stop myself, I blew past him and rushed for the bathroom in the hall and fell to my knees, hearing a rip somewhere in the back of the dress as I flipped up the toilet seat.

My stomach protested, but I hadn’t eaten all day, so I was met with that horrible, gut-wrenching pain of my stomach convulsing and producing no result.

At the feel of my hair lifting and being twisted, I spotted the handsome billionaire on one knee alongside me, holding back my hair.

“Le-le-leave me alone,” I cried, trembling as chills crisscrossed my skin. I gripped the sides of the toilet. Nothing came. Just pain.

“I’m here to help, however that may be,” he said, his tone softer than it’d been before. I sure as hell didn’t take the playboy (based on what I’d seen online) to be a hair-holder-for-a-girl-vomiting kind of guy.

No. He’s just trying to gain my trust; he has to have ulterior motives.

He must’ve realized all I was going to do was dry heave, because he let go of my hair and left me. I heard the water running before he offered me a small towel and his hand to stand. “You good?”

Hating that I allowed him to help me up, I covered my mouth with the hand towel and stared at this powerful man in a $10,000 suit, crowded inside the small half bath with faded wallpaper peeling at the edges. He didn’t belong there. Or with me. “I’m just ...” I closed my eyes, thinking back to the day Armani forced me to have my blood drawn, discovering I was his daughter. “I had the same reaction of wanting to puke when I found out Armani was ...”

“Understandable.” His firm tone had me opening my eyes.

“I need to change, and you need to go.” I motioned with a little nod for him to move, and he didn’t protest and let me exit the tight space.

“I can’t go, though. We need to—”

“Talk.” I flicked on the hall light and spun around to face him, lowering the towel to my side after determining my breath was probably fine. Not that I should’ve been thinking about that. The man had broken into my house and knew about my father and so many moreandsI could write a book. At least I’d be writing again. I hadn’t written a single song since Armani had come into my life. “So, you want me to run or to marry you?” If my stomach wasn’t still nauseous and in knots, I’d fake a laugh at the ridiculous idea of marrying this man.

He set a hand on the hall wall as if needing it for support, which I highly doubted. “The marriage would be temporary.” His brow tightened as if the idea sickened him more than it did me. “Trust me, the last thing in the world I want is to get married to you.”

Yup, thought so. “Then why would you?”

His eyes lowered to the floor beneath us. “I owe someone a favor.”

“I’m sorry ... what?” I started to move around him, but his hand on the wall went straight to my wrist. It was a gentle touch, but I stopped nevertheless and peered at him.

“It’s a long story.”

“One that ends with us saying our vows? No thanks. I don’t want to be part of that ending.”

“Trust me, I know. But if you’d let me explain, we can formulate a plan.” With a determined look, he pinned me in place, and that somehow made me want to bend to his will. That feeling alone was an immediate cause for concern. I shouldn’t want to bend to him in any way.

“I can’t do this right now. I need to get this damn dress off and breathe. Just please ... go.”

“Calliope.” He closed his eyes and rasped, “Sorry.Callie. Can I call you that?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want you to call me anything at all. I want to be alone,” I pleaded, needing to wrap my head around everything.

“We’re short on time. I had no clue I was ...” He opened his eyes. “I didn’t know who you were when we first met tonight. I didn’t know I was there at that event because of you and for you until ...”

“The call I saw you take while I was singing?” I whispered at the memory, hating I’d confessed to watching him while onstage earlier.

He lifted a brow, then nodded.

“I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“I’d say call your old man and verify, but I don’t think he’ll wait until Monday to come for you if he knows we’re together. He’ll send his men tonight.”

“Why Monday afternoon?” And why was I continuing this conversation? This was utter madness.

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