Page 29 of Broken Pieces
I’m sorry for what happened. I hope this can make up for it. If you need anything else, let me know.
—Alex
I smile faintly. Leave it up to him to use the nickname he knows I pretend to hate so much. He’s trying to get in my good graces after his big fuckup. It’s going to take more than that to make me feel better, and even though that insecure part of me screams to not take this opportunity, I still do. Because this job is too important to let my insecurities filter through.
“Aria?” Damian says, pulling me out of my trance.
“I figured out our issue. A curator from Rome can meet us in two days. We will have to leave today to hopefullymake it in time and actually be rested for the meeting,” I point out.
He quickly gets up, grabs his phone, and fires a text right away. “Got it. I can have the jet ready for tonight. Be ready at seven. I’ll pick you up.”
I bite my lip nervously as I nod.
A two-day trip with Damian, what canpossiblygo wrong?
Ipick up Aria at seven o’clock sharp, just as promised. I’m still exhausted from the past three sleepless days, so I decide to have my personal driver take us to the airport.
It’s only Monday, and this week has already been shaping up to be the shittiest week. I’m so pissed that someone stole from under my nose. All I know is that whoever did this is going to pay for it painfully. I will fucking make sure of it.
On top of it, I haven’t stopped thinking about myalmostkiss with Aria. Which is funny considering all I did was work nonstop all weekend, and somehow, I still found time in my day to think about her. And now, the fuckingcherry on top—a two-day trip with her. Deep down, I’m equally concerned and excited to be alone with her.I’ve been wanting to get alone time to sort through these annoying feelings I can’t seem to place. I’m an art enthusiast; of course. So I’ll treat this situation the same way I study a piece of art. Scrutinize it. Understand it. Find the meaning behind it. Find out why this woman, with her fiery personality and all, has filtered her way through my thoughts; becoming the center of my attention. I want to know what makes her happy; sad; mad;her. But, of course, my inability to stay the fuck away from her doesn’t help this situation.
This is bound to be nothing but a challenge. Losing my focus and making rash decisions—like punching a guy—will probably keep happening. Honestly, no regrets; I’d do it again just to have the satisfaction of breaking the nose of any guy who dares touch her.
Fuck. This is going to be a long trip.
It irritates me to no end; the inability to keep my emotions in check around her. My mind just takes all rational decisions out of the picture and makes my heart take over.
But it’s okay. I just have to remind myself this is just another challenge I need to conquer. AndI love challenges. I’m Damian fucking Romano. The last thing I do is let emotions get in the way.
Yet, that’s all you’ve been doing.
I can and will control myself.
Can you really, though?
The car ride has been silent, and tension has been building up between us since this morning when she walked in through all the chaos. It’s not that I don’t trust her. I do—really—I trust her more than I do most people, but there wasn’t any point of ruining her weekend. There wasn’t anything she could have done to get the painting back.
She did make this meeting possible, though.
Honestly, I’ve been kicking my ass for not calling her. She… well; I’ve come to learn that she wears her emotions on her sleeves. She was clearly hurt that I didn’t ask for her help, and that made me feel like shit.
Ha. Hilarious. Here I thought I wasn’t capable of emotions.
The ruthless businessman isn’t. But this man she brings out of me like it’s her calling? This one does. The emotions I’ve kept buried over the years just slip; pulling my mask away. Doesn’t matter how hard I hold on, they just… fight back. For her. For what it could be.
I welcome the silence between us, because what I’ve been doing this whole time is stealing glances here and there, admiring her from afar. She’s wearing a basic hoodie, leggings, and white sneakers. Knowing this girl, she always opts for comfort. Her face has no makeup, making her natural gold freckles shine on their own. There’s something about her natural looks that just makes her more attractive, more…her.
I wonder how her skin would feel beneath my touch, how it would feel to explore every inch of her, or how her pouty red lips would feel on mine. The power she holds over me is maddening, and she doesn’t even know it.
“I can't believe you're wearing a whole suit for a red-eye flight,” she remarks, pulling me from my thoughts.
I smirk, asserting with extreme confidence as I wink at her. “I'm Damian Romano. I have to be ready at all times.”
She rolls her eyes, making me relish in the familiar push and pull of our dynamic—an endless game—that leaves me feeling a slight thrill and frustration.
Heading to Italy makes me nervous. When my father passed away and I inherited the business, my mother decided to stay permanently in Italy by herself, wanting to be close to what my dad loved. Though Italian by birth, I was raised in Chicago, where my father pursued his version of the American dream.
My conversations with my mother are frequent, and I support her financially out of gratitude for how she raised me. But every time I see her in person, she has this natural talent to bring up my father. She has always had a guilty conscience over my strained relationship with him, even though there’s literally nothing she could have done. It wasn’t her fault; that much is clear. My father was simply an asshole, and I always got the short end of the stick.
