Page 6 of Love Starves

"How are things going, Ms. Blythe?" he asks.

I almost smile around a bite of eggs. "They're just fine. Classes are set to start back tomorrow."

"That's good, yes? Are you looking forward to the ones you're assigned this time?"

Clearly, I'd been overheard last semester complaining about the path I've been placed on. Being as I am the only child of the Clemonte family, I'll be taking my father's CEO position eventually. In all honesty, that title is nothing but a fucking joke. He spends more time on his private jet and out of the US than he does at his office. Which is one reason why I'd vehemently argued there was no sense in my taking business education. In his words exactly, I'd been informed that no Clemonte attached to his name would embarrass their family by receiving an education that couldn't be practically used. Even when I'd had the dream of trying my hand at an acting career. That option was never on the table. What he hadn't said—that I’d come to realize a few years later—is that bringing in my own wealth without the use of his money meant that he'd lose all control over me. For a man that is never around and has absolutely nothing to do with his daughter at all, he sure does like having that power. It was one of the main reasons I'd rebelled and partied it up as hard as I could. Just to prove that I wasn't just one of his sheep to be herded around wherever he pleased. That shit just backfired in the worst way possible with Farrah. Now, I'm back to playing good ole daddy's game and taking the classes he requires of me. It's all a load of bullshit, but I do still have a few cards up my sleeve that haven't been revealed yet. Hoping to save them for the most desperate of times, they'll stay hidden until absolutely necessary.

Lying has always come second nature to me, making it easy enough to do now with my answer to Stewart. "These definitely aren't going to be as boring as the ones last semester."

Feeling the pressure to lie to him on top of the dark turn my thoughts have twisted down, the fluffy eggs now taste like cardboard. Clemonte spies are everywhere, and I wouldn't ever rule out Stewart being one of them. Necessity rather than hunger spurs me into eating the last of the food on my plate. Passing it over to him as I leave, I give him a dry thanks. My paranoia and outspokenness comes off as me being a bitch to most people, but if they aren't in my shoes then they could never possibly understand. With that nasty little thought, I sip my latte and make my way upstairs to get ready.

Later, after a few hours later spent at Lush Life, my favorite spa, the negative energy I’d walked in with seems to have seeped out of my pores in the steam room. I’ve got a Coach bag flipped over my shoulder with the latest handbag nestled deep in protective tissue paper heading up the escalator at the mall when I spot a familiar dark head of hair heading toward the downside. A collision between the two of us is inevitable. Schooling my features, I prepare to do a casual brushoff. That is until I notice a petite brunette who has her arm locked in Giovanni’s elbow. My heart seems to stutter in my chest. An emotion that I have no right nor intention of feeling bubbles up through my gut and into my throat. Anger and jealousy war; one pushing me to walk away as though this entire scene and the man himself means nothing, and the other screaming to slap him into next week before yanking the mousy brown-haired beauty off his arm and introducing her face to my heel. I wait for the shame to surface at having such thoughts directed towards a man that clearly shares zero ties to me other than the amazing sex. Does his girlfriend know he pumps more than iron at that gym? Another temptation to make sure she's aware of that and much more.

Riding the relaxing high from the spa, I decide to take the high road and pretend that I didn't even see them in the first place. It puts a nasty feeling in my gut that I'd rather not pick apart at present. Casually flicking my gaze toward a store to the right, I pretend to be focused on the mannequin in the window, but I'd be hard-pressed to tell anyone later what the damn thing even had on it. The only thing I can think about is the ball that's sitting in the pit of my stomach, refusing to budge.

Just as the escalator crests at the floor and I step out onto the metal plating, a hand closes around my bicep and squeezes gently.

"Blythe." My name is spoken on an exhale and is deep enough to make that ball in my belly start bouncing around.

Thankfully, there's no one directly behind me coming up, because Giovanni hasn't given me a choice of stopping dead in my tracks. It'd do neither of us any good to ponder on my reaction to his voice, so I'll swear it's his hand that pulls me up short instead.

My lips purse automatically in irritation at having to face him with the woman at his side. When my eyes turn to them, my ‘resting bitch’ face mask is already in place. It might raise my nose a little higher in the air, but so fucking be it since he wants to call attention to this right now. I don't open my mouth to speak, not like he makes it necessary anyway, taking over the conversation from the start.

"You're the last person I expected to run into here," he says, a smile hovering on his lips. Using the grip he still has on my upper arm and the other woman's hand still hooked in his elbow, he tows us both over to the glass rail out of the foot traffic before dropping his touch from my skin. With it, he motions toward the petite woman who barely comes to his shoulder in height. Her eyes are a familiar ice-blue framed behind a set of long, dark eyelashes. With skin tanned to perfection in a way that only comes naturally, her resemblance to the man standing beside her is uncanny, making it obvious where Giovanni plans to lead us down this fucked-up rabbit hole.

"Blythe, I'd like for you to meet my sister, Sofia," he says, that smile finally breaking loose.

Hearing the word only dampens the fire these unexpected emotions have lit. For some odd reason, I still find myself glaring at the tiny woman and Giovanni for half a second before I paste on my best Clemonte smile and hold out the hand not clenched around the handles of my Coach bag. She takes it without hesitation, even though I can clearly see the gears turning in her head as to how I might know her brother.

"Nice to meet you," I tell her, hoping the fake smile isn't bleeding into my voice.

The corners of her lips pull up like she's not used to facing southern manners, making her beauty stand out even further. Pretty sure the guy coming up the escalator stumbles at the sight. She seemed to have been caught off guard, which speaks a lot of where their family is from. Our arrangement may not include personal business, but I'm not a complete idiot jumping into bed with strangers. I'd made sure our little crew all passed their background checks before getting any kind of involved. I know Giovanni's family is from a small town in New Jersey, so her reaction to my politeness doesn't surprise me.

"Pleasure," she replies as our hands separate.

"Her business brought her down this way, so she stopped in to say hello," Giovanni explains, though I don't know why he feels the need to.

Yes, you do.

Hushing the voice in the back of my mind doing a short-lived victory dance, I nod a couple times, coming up short for more to carry on the conversation. Fortunately, I don't have to as he glances down at his watch then back up again.

"It was good seeing you, but we're running late for dinner already."

Sofia's expression perks up at the mention of dinner. "If you haven't eaten already, you could always join us."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. She couldn't be any more obvious if she tried. If I accepted, she'd likely find a way to grill me the entire time over who I am and how I know her brother. Not a conversation I want to be having, truth be told. I mean, how do you tell the relative of your fuck buddy that he's nothing more than a good roll around the hay? Point of fact, you don't. The mere fact we're even in this position at all means that we've broken yet more rules.

"Thanks," I tell her, letting my lips pull up into a softer smile. "Raincheck, though. I'm actually late for something myself."

Giovanni opens his mouth to speak, but Sofia cuts him off by tugging on his arm after lifting her hand in a short wave towards me. I wiggle my fingers and watch their retreating backs. He'll turn around for one more look. I know it with every fiber in my being, and he doesn't disappoint. Rooted to the spot waiting for those ice-blue eyes, when they flick over his shoulder, I give him the hardest glare I can manage with a small shake of my head. Putting us both on the spot like that will cost not only himself but me as well. Letting him stew on wondering what the hell I'm late for, or maybe who, plus a few weeks of not speaking to him sounds like the perfect punishment. That's if I'm strong enough to stick to it.

Giovanni

Fuck.

I don't know what I was thinking by introducing Sofia to Blythe. We're nowhere even close to where I want us to be, and this just adds another chink in our already unstable...whatever...we've got going on. I'm one hundred percent certain my woman will find some way to pay me back for this.My woman. Ever since we made our ridiculous deal, I've thought of her as such, and no one can tell me otherwise. I haven't slept with anyone other than her and have no plans to. Now, on top of that, I've got explaining to do to Sofia, who will soak up every single word like a sponge and take it all back to Maman. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She'll have my wedding planned by Christmas, knowing her. The best I can do is try to salvage the situation and block the questions she's, no doubt, formulating in her mind right now.

We're barely out of earshot when she starts in. "So, Blythe, huh? Who is she?"

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