Page 33 of Salvaged Hearts

He was as relaxed as you could get in a sweaty set of gym clothes, staring down your very hostile, soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Everything about Greyson’s life seemed stiff and uncomfortable. The gorgeous beach house—known in the community as Hart House—was full of strategically coordinated color but sterile with its lack of personality as though he’d had it staged by a designer. The furniture sat in precise angles, beautiful but intimidating in its pristine condition. Certainly bore no Friday night pizza stains or the forlorn remnants of a glass of wine that sloshed while laughing with friends. Therewere no scratches from Cap’s nails or worn spots where someone clearly sat more often.

I hadn’t ever really cared to notice before. At first, he intimidated me despite my determination to tell him to shove it where the sun didn’t shine, and then because of my distaste for him. But sitting here now, observing the ostentatious floral arrangements that likely had a four-figure price tag and the art so meticulously chosen…the space felt empty. It checked all the required boxes of shelter and reputation without fully being embraced as a home. Perfect light blue rugs lined the pale, wide-plank flooring in the hallway, where tables sat below the artwork, but there were no discarded books or magazines, no rings left from full cups of coffee hastily set aside, or dents in the corners. It was like I’d wandered into a gallery rather than occupied space. As I stared up at some modern calamity of color framed in gold filigree, I felt…melancholy.

Because only a heart empty of life could exist in a space so…untouched.

I was still staring up at the chaotic slashes of blues and yellows where they harshly intersected against a canvas that seemed too white when Greyson stepped up beside me.

“They gone?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I had Arthur take Leighton home. Ollie walked across the street.”

I nodded, but his hand gently settling between my shoulder blades pulled my attention to his eyes.

“That’s twice in twenty-four hours, Alessandra.”

I knew what he meant. Didn’t need to ask. I’d kept his secrettwice, just filling Leighton in on the arranged marriage half of this fiasco. Pursing my lips, I returned my focus to the painting. “I have ten more of those to appease, Greyson.”

“If you’re going to back out, now’s the time to do it.”

Studying those abrupt splotches of color, I asked, “You think of an alternate?” When silence was my answer, I said, “Then let’s do this. But be prepared; my older siblings are even more protective than the younger ones.”

He blew out a breath adjacent to a laugh. “Thought she was going to take my jugular out with her teeth.”

Smiling, my gaze fell to my feet. “I wouldn’t put it past her. Don’t forget that.” When he canted his head as if to say ‘noted,’ I added, “I’m sure Ollie would do the same thing for you.”

“Maybe,” he chuckled.

Daring a glance his way, I found those evaluative eyes doing the same. “You two are tight.”

“He’d assume I got myself into the situation and likely be correct. If I were wronged in some way, he certainly wouldn’t approach it head-on like that.”

“I assure you, the slowly destroy your life siblings just haven’t arrived yet.”

“Goodie. Something to look forward to.” Every nerve ending in my body tuned in to where his fingers traced over my shoulder blade until he could gently squeeze my arm. “Come on. I have something I need to show you.”

Greyson led me through the house in an uncomfortable silence, his face thoughtful, and steps unhurried across the soft padded throws. I’d been here dozens of times, but never when the air felt saturated with the weight of so many unsaid things. We made it to one of his guest rooms, and he gently threw open the door. “This can be your room. I had the house cleaner pay it special attention, and she stocked the linens in the bathroom.”

That sickly sensation threatening me stirred my anxiety, a writhing monster beneath my skin.

My room.

Because I had to move into this big, sterile house. Struggling to swallow, I looked around the stunning, immaculate space.The wall to my left bore white floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that kissed the chunky coastal window frame with a view of the ocean wrapped around the far wall. There were a couple of hardbacks scattered between forced-feeling pieces of décor. To my right was the door to the sizable bathroom. Oblivious to my body revolting against me, Greyson explained, “Everyone but security leaves at night, so you can stay in here once they’re gone. I figure you’ll keep your belongings in the owner’s suite with mine to ward off suspicions most effectively. But this will be your space. Use it as you wish.”

My mouth popped open as I stepped onto the lush carpet. It felt criminal to be wearing heels in here, and I glanced at my feet as I looked around with my stomach in my throat.

My. Room. Oh god, I would be living with my boss, lying to the entire world about being with him. Forthreeyears. Oh, god, I couldn’t do this.

Before words could form, that throbbing ball in my throat turned into something far more malicious, and I bolted for the ensuite bathroom. That slowly brewing nausea I’d kept at bay while we diffused Leighton became a roaring beast I could no longer contain in my chest.

“Alessandra?” He barked after me, concern thick in his tone. But I couldn’t stop. I was going to puke. I was going to puke all over the luxurious carpeting in the room he set aside for me today. Bless every god or goddess or ruler of the universe because I made it to the pristine porcelain bowl as the contents of my stomach roared up my throat. Leighton was a dainty puker—a ladylike ejector. Meanwhile, I threw up like someone was performing an exorcism. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t neat. Everything hurt. It was like my stomach was attempting to blow the capillaries in my face. But as I heaved again, warm hands snatched my long hair off my neck and then gently stroked over my back.

“Jesus.” Another sweeping motion over my shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.Greyson Hart was soothing me. Somehow, that awareness sent me heaving into the toilet all over again. I was going to die plastered to the side of my boss’ toilet. What a shitty way to go. Pun intended.

A frantic laugh spilled from my lips as my stomach stopped its emergency ejection. His harsh fingers kept hold of my hair as I sat back on my heels, gently tugging through it, soothing me as I caught my breath.

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