Page 66 of Blood Debt

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Then her face shifts—serious now, and something close to guilty creeps into her eyes.

“I’m sorry about that night,” she says quietly. “It was…wrong. I shouldn’t have—especially with you being engaged.”

I watch her carefully.

Then I shake my head.

“I’m not engaged.”

Her brow furrows. “But the other woman—”

“Alessandra?” I cut in, voice flat. “My father’s pick. One of his many political moves. I never agreed to anything.”

Her eyes soften. I step forward.

I reach up slowly and run a hand through the back of her hair, my fingers brushing the nape of her neck.

Her breath catches.

“I want you,” I say softly.

She closes her eyes for a second. “I’m not a toy.”

I nod. “I know.”

I want to ask her then—why don’t you remember me?—but the words get caught on something fragile in my throat.

Instead, I lean down and grab her by the waist.

She gasps as I throw her over my shoulder.

“Cristofano!” she shouts, slapping at my back.

She kicks once. Then again. But I’m laughing now, steady on my feet.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Taking you on our first date.”

****

Melbourne – Night Carnival, City Streets

The city smells like sugar and grease, fried within an inch of its life.

And she’s walking beside me like she wants the pavement to open up and swallow her whole.

I bite back a grin. Her arms are crossed. Her mouth is tight. But her eyes—God, her eyes—don’t know where to land. There are too many colors, too many people, too much life.And none of it makes sense for a girl like her who folds towels in silence and keeps her voice soft like she’s been trained to disappear.

But she’s here.

With me.

At midnight. In a street pulsing with carnival lights.

I glance sideways.

“I told you,” I say. “It’s a date.”

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