Page 185 of Mine Again
“Of course.” I shrug, not the least bit apologetic. “You have always been the dutiful daughter.” I mean it without a trace of irony.
“I really must keep a diary. With such full days, I’m clearly becoming forgetful,” she quips. “So, pray tell… what did I say?”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Isabella
Instead of answering, Luca opens his desk drawer and pulls out my phone, placing it in my hand like it’s some kind of peace offering.
I stare at it, then at him, looking for even the smallest flicker of guilt for deciding things on my behalf… again.
Nothing.
His face is blank, carved in that cool, unshakable way that says he’s either a master at hiding his thoughts or genuinely doesn’t see the problem.
I’m betting on the latter.
If I were any less patient, I’d throw the phone at him just to see if I could crack that perfect, smug calm of his.
There’s a faint crease between his brows, as if he’s genuinely puzzled by my reaction.
Men, especially über-intelligent ones. Brilliant minds, but at times emotionally illiterate to a fault.
My fingers tighten around the phone, the plastic warm against my palm. I wake the screen, and my stomach dips.
Seventeen missed calls in the last two days. Mamma. Aldo. Numbers I don’t even recognize.
God, I dread those voicemails, already knowing they’ll be a mix of worry and accusation.
Nobody knew about this device except Mari, Andrea, and Sebastian. That secret is clearly out now.
I’d saved Mamma and Aldo’s numbers, ready for when I needed to tell them about my elopement with Sebastian. Now Mamma’s name glares back at me from the screen.
I tap open the last exchange with her, each message dropping like a stone into the pit forming in my chest.
I read the first message Luca sent in my name out loud, dismay threading every word.
Hi Mamma, Isa here. I’m sure the staff will have told you I’m gone by now. I’m so sorry, I never intended to worry you.
I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m with Luca. We eloped to Las Vegas.
I’m happy, safe, and will explain everything when we return.
I stare at the screen, my brows knitting, torn between laughing in his face or launching the phone at his head.
In the end, I just breathe out through my nose, slow and deliberate, because either choice would be a complete waste on someone who assumes he’s done nothing wrong.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter. “That’s not a bombshell at all, is it? I ran off with you to get married? After you disappeared for years for good reason? Why would you tell her that?”
He pushes away from the desk and rises with that maddeningly calm, deliberate ease, his gaze locked on mine as he crosses the room.
“Because your mother knows how much you love me. She’ll believe it. And if she believes it, she won’t panic and start a search party. She’ll wait for you to come back and tell her the fairytale yourself.”
“Fairytale?” I glare at him.
“It also tells her the important things. That you are happy and safe. And that you chose me. That part matters.”
Before I can fire back, he’s standing in front of me, pulling me to my feet and straight into his arms. My body stiffens, but I don’t push him away. His hands settle low against my back, his heartbeat steady and unhurried against mine, as if he already knows I won’t fight him.
