Why did he have to be like that?
Why did he have to be right?
“Okay?” Corrado asked. “Was that what you wanted me to say? Because fuck knows you still won’t let me tell you I love—”
Alessio’s hand hit the papers on the desk, sending them scattering everywhere. He didn’t let Corrado finish his statement before he spun on his heels and left the office without a look over his shoulder.
No, Corrado didn’t get to say those words.
Not yet.
They still struck like a fucking weapon.
Alessio wasn’t ready for the impact.
• • •
The music filtering out of the tiny speaker on the middle of the kitchen island had Ginevra dancing to the beat, a wooden spoon swaying with the rest of her body in her grip. She didn’t seem to care at all that Alessio sat at the right side of the island, a thriller opened in front of him, while she cooked and danced.
In fact, she barely paid him any mind at all.
He was sure Corrado had found the speaker for her and let her steal his phone for the massive music playlist he kept on the damn thing. Not that he cared to ask at the moment, because despite how interesting his book actually was, Alessio was far more concerned with watching Ginevra.
A curious thing.
Smart, and quick.
She didn’t miss a beat.
Innocent, but sinful.
Sly, but sweet.
He found it odd he was able to sit down and have an intellectual conversation with her about things that no one else ever wanted to talk about—like his appreciation of the written word. She calmed his constant, excessive energy, and brought him back down to earth with nothing more than a conversation. On the flip side of that coin, he watched her handle an uptight and stiff Corrado, and make him more playful than Alessio had ever seen.
He had yet to grasp how to deal with it. Unlike everything else, compartmentalizing this woman was impossible. It was how Alessio liked to deal with anything in his life. Things fit in neat little boxes inside his mind, and he handled them accordingly.
Ginevra was not the same.
At all.
There were too many facets to her personality, and he couldn’t unveil them all before another one came along to make him do a double-take of her yet again. He was still trying to find that thing in this woman that had made Corrado change the landscape of their relationship, but the longer he searched for it, the more Alessio realized something else.
He liked Ginevra.
Finding the parts of her that had Corrado spun up in the woman became almost insignificant when suddenly, Alessio had his own interests in her.
And that was a goddamn problem.
He didn’t ask for that.
None of it.
“Want to try it?”
Alessio blinked to find Ginevra had stopped dancing and came to stand on the other side of the island from where he sat. On the wooden spoon in her hand, a red sauce coated the concave tip. A rich red, and smelling like spices, his mouth watered as she held it out like it was a treat she might tease him with.
That cunning smile on her lips said the same.
“Well?”
“Who taught you to cook, hmm?” he asked.
Ginevra grinned. “My Mama.”
“Oh?”
“She worked a lot, so I had to look after my little sisters. They didn’t like things that came from a box when our mom wouldn’t dare feed them something like that, so I had to learn how to make them what they liked.”
“And you liked that.”
She arched a brow. “What do you mean?”
“Taking care of your sisters.”
He didn’t miss the way her throat jumped, or how a sadness dimmed her eyes. “Of course, I did. I love them, Les.”
“You haven’t seen them in a while, huh?”
“Too long. I don’t like to think about it. There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t talk to them, they can’t be told where I am, so ... I don’t bother.”
Yeah, he could tell.
The emotion in her eyes, and the thickness in her tone, that made him lean forward to take her sauce. Perhaps then, she would go back to smiling and dancing, and his chest wouldn’t feel like a fucking elephant was sitting on it because she was sad.
Yeah, fuck.
He didn’t ask for this.
Alessio shouldn’t have any emotion for this woman.
Yet, he did.
More and more each day.
He did.
That would be a problem.
Alessio took the sauce on the tip of the wooden spoon Ginevra held out to him, surprised at the richness and varying notes that glided across his palate from just one taste. Leaning back on the stool, he nodded.
“It’s good.”
She gave him a look. “Just good?”
One breath in.
Another breath out.
He had to remind himself to breathe with her, too.
“It’s wonderful,” he murmured. “Really.”
A lot like her.
And that’s enough.
Alessio liked this woman—did he need to say that again?—and he hadn’t planned for this at all. It wasn’t why he came back here, not even a thought until it stared him right in the face and laughed at him.
The universe having another joke.
He wasn’t ready for it.
He was pissed, but not at her. Ginevra hadn’t asked for this situation, and mostly, she gave him and Corrado as much space as she could to work out their issues without her stepping in. That’s why she still slept in a separate bed even though he didn’t give a fuck if Corrado was fucking her.
Because she had a heart.
She gave a shit.
Even though this hurt her.
Alessio needed to be mad. Mad this became less and less about why the fuck Corrado had done what he did—more about why Alessio thought he was doing the same fucking thing.
He pushed off the chair, despite Ginevra’s confused expression, and turned to leave the kitchen without an explanation. Corrado, standing in the entryway, and watching their exchange with an amused smile really sent his blood pressure spiking.
Like the man just knew what was happening—expected this.
And he liked it.
Fuck that noise, too.
“Les,” Ginevra said, a question lingering in her tone, “are you okay?”
Not at all.
Not one fucking bit.
He left the kitchen in a rush, sliding past Corrado who met his stare, before he tried to put distance between him and them. That was the problem with him deciding to stay here.
There was no space.
Only an illusion.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Ginevra said, her tone quaking but faint. “What did I do?”
“Nothing,” Corrado replied. “I doubt it was you, Ginny.”
“But—”
“Everything is all right, keep cooking.”
Alessio didn’t want to see them—didn’t want to smell, or hear, or feel them. He went to the only place which might give him some sense of privacy, if only for a short time, to clear his fucking head. Maybe that was his biggest mistake; he thought he could stay here, and not change anything.
He found the solace he needed in the attached bathroom of the bedroom he’d been using. Three bedrooms, and three bathrooms, the penthouse gave them all their own personal spaces, if needed.
Not that it helped.
Clearly.
Alessio wanted to do and be nothing. He wanted to be able to ignore the fact his cock was hard as he stripped out of his clothes, all because he’d enjoyed the sight of Ginevra dancing in far more ways than one.