Page 35 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“I guess he left out the bad parts. Like Mommy Dearest would no doubt do when talking about you.” His eyes flash with anger at the mention of his mother, but I’m not finished. “I’m happy to fill you in, though. I’m stubborn. Like a mule. I’m super competitive. My friends won’t play Scrabble with me anymore because of all the screaming. And when I die, I’ll need two caskets—one for me and one for all my grudges. And the only thing keeping you”—I stab my angry finger into his bulletproof chest—“off my permanent shit list is that plane ticket. Which I will pay you back for, even if it kills me, because I’d rather be down to my last cent than be indebted to a rival in business.”
I already am down to my last cent, but he doesn’t have to know that. I’m going for the biggest dramatic impact here, not a prize for truth telling.
Matteo stares at me for a long time, measuring my anger, letting his gaze rove over my face. He says thoughtfully, “A rival in business.?
??
It sounds like he’s plotting a war.
The slow smile that spreads over his mouth is even worse.
“All right. Rivals it is. Best of luck with your new endeavor.” He leans in close, so close his warm breath fans down my neck as he whispers into my ear, “And technically, since your father died, I’m your ex-stepbrother. I’ll look at you however I want.” With a dark chuckle, he spins on his heel and is gone.
I listen to the sound of his footsteps echoing off the wood floor and my heartbeat crashing in my ears, hating myself for the pulse of heat throbbing between my legs.
Whatever this thing is between us, I can tell it’s gonna get ugly.
ELEVEN
“Dominic, I need a lift to my hotel, then Papa’s shop. Are you available?”
“Certo. When?”
“Now.”
There’s a pause. “Er, now?”
I look up at the late-summer Italian sky. It’s an indescribable shade of Technicolor blue, so vivid it hurts to look. All the colors of this country are so saturated, so alive. Even the bowl of the heavens looks like something from a Disney movie, endless and electric and perfect, whimsically painted with the faint crescent slice of a new moon.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s short notice.”
It’s also the riposo, the traditional daily afternoon shutdown of business, Italy’s version of the siesta. I can tell by Dominic’s sleepy voice that I woke him. Italians take the riposo very seriously, but this is an emergency.
I’m at war.
I’d take my father’s car, but I’m afraid I’d wreck it within two blocks. Italians drive like psychos.
I hear a sigh over the line, then Dominic says, “Give me twenty minutes.”
“Thank you! See you soon.” I hang up and call Jenner. As soon as he picks up, I say, “I’m moving to Florence.”
Silence.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes. I’m just trying to picture what the kidnapper holding a gun to your head looks like. I’ve always had a fantasy about being held hostage by a brute of a man with too many tattoos and a limited vocabulary.”
“Don’t be silly. There’s no kidnapper.”
“So it’s drugs, then. You’re on drugs.”
“You know I don’t do drugs.”
More silence. “You’re not actually serious, Poppins.”
He sounds affronted, as if moving to Florence is a ridiculous idea. Okay, it might be a tiny bit ridiculous, but I haven’t told him why yet.
“Are you ready to hear something really freaky?”
