Page 36 of Surprise Twins for the Mafia Prince
“Paige?” Who else would he be talking about? There’s never been anyone else for me.
“Yes. She didn’t look too happy.”
I bite back a sarcastic reply.No shit she’s not happy. You killed her father.
“Are you guys a couple now?”
I run my hand through my hair, tugging slightly at the roots. “Fuck if I know. I don’t know how to define what’s happening between us.”
“But you’re getting along?” he presses.
“For the most part.” Until five minutes ago, we were getting along spectacularly. “Your visit today might set things back a little though. She’s not a big fan of the family...”
Understatement of the fucking century.
My father’s face turns serious as he downs his second scotch. “That’s a complicated mess you’ve got,” he says, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something that might be sympathy. “But Dario, she’s wrong about the past. The Andrettis didn’t kill her father.”
17
PAIGE
I hate awkward silence.It makes me hyper aware of my body, but not in a good way. My muscles lock up, and my skin seems too tight somehow.
Sitting at the dining room table with Dario, I feel like every move I make, every furtive glance in his direction, is noticed and catalogued in some way.
It’s tense and I hate it.
After his father left the apartment a couple of hours ago, I expected him to come find me, but he didn’t. Instead, I stewed in my room for a little while, angry at Dario for bringing me to Vegas, for being an Andretti, and for not making sure his dad wouldn’t show up to ruin an intimate moment between us.
Even more than all that, I was furious at Lorenzo. The bastard was responsible for the destruction of my happy family and the complete derailment of my life.
I’ve held on to blaming all the Andrettis over the years, because of the nature of the mafia. They all work together. But I knowthat Lorenzo is the Don. He’s the big man in charge, and he has to have been the one to order my father to be killed.
I hate him and I fear him.
And I really hate that I fear him.
They are complex emotions, but the ones I have for Dario are conflicting and churn inside of me uneasily.
I spent the two hours after I heard Lorenzo leave pacing my bedroom with a heavy and confused heart.
When I finally came downstairs to talk to Dario, I found him in the kitchen, the same place we’d been making out when his father arrived. But the atmosphere was completely different.
I thought the awkwardness was because of my tumultuous emotions, but as we sit and eat dinner, I notice that Dario seems bothered. It’s not guilt for his father coming over, although he did apologize for that as soon as he saw me.
Whatever is weighing on him is separate from that, but I still don’t know him well enough to put a name to it.
I shove a forkful of lasagna into my mouth, fighting back the urge to moan at the rich taste. The chef Dario hired is Italian, no surprise, and the man knows what he’s doing. Everything he’s made for us has been delicious.
As I chew my food and swallow, I think about the other meals we’ve shared together since I came here.
At first, neither of us had much to say, but we’ve grown more comfortable with each other as the days have passed, and we usually talk over dinner. Then, we spend the evening together, quiet in the living room.
I like to read during that time, and ever since the art show, he spends the time sketching. He hasn’t let me see any of them yet, but I don’t mind. I know how personal art can be, and I’ve secretly been hoping that one day, he’ll be comfortable enough to let me see some of his.
Oh God.
I wasn’t lying on the phone. I think I really am falling for this man. It’s not love, not yet, but I think that one day it could be.
