Page 67 of My Italian Love Affair

And hate is closer to want than it is to indifference.

She turns the corner, muttering something under her breath - probably a detailed list of ways she’s going to kill me in my sleep.

I smirk to myself, quickening my pace as I follow.

Then, right as she slows - right as she hesitates for just a second, glancing over her shoulder - I grab her.

She gasps, and before she can make a sound, I press her into the wall, into the small alcove hidden away from the corridor. I bracket her in with my arms, and her own hands fly up, landing against my chest as she glares up at me.

Her green eyes wide and wild, her lips slightly parted.

Anddio, she’s so fucking pretty.

Even like this - flushed, furious and practically vibrating with frustration - she’s fuckingstunning.

"What is your problem?!" she hisses.

I blink at her, feigning offense.

"I’m wounded, Sinclair."

"You should be," she snaps. "You wereunbearablein there."

"Unbearably charming?"

"Unbearablyrude," she corrects.

I let out a low whistle, smirking.

"Ouch."

Her hands press harder against my chest like she’s debating pushing me away, but she doesn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, she tilts her chin up, her eyes burning into mine.

"You think this is funny, don’t you?"

"Depends," I muse. "Are you still thinking about me?"

Her lips press into a firm line.

"I hate you."

"Wow. So much passion," I grin.

Her fingers curl slightly against the fabric of my hoodie before she yanks them back, like she’s just realised she was touching me.

I tilt my head, considering her for a moment.

"You know, Iwasjoking about the crush," I say slowly. "But now? Now I think I might be onto something."

"Oh,please. You’re so full of yourself,” she scoffs, crossing her arms.

"Sinclair," I murmur, lowering my voice just slightly, leaning in impossibly closer so that my lips almost,almostbrush against her ear - like I’m about to tell her a secret.

"Remember, you get all pink when you’re mad."

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