“Do you …” I swallow. “Do you love me too?”
“I’m still trying to figure out what love is.” He shuts his eyes. “But I feel for you, and if I had to guess what love is, it’s how I’m feeling for you.”
A mixture of comfort and desire fires through me. His breathing hitches when I brush my lips over his.
Softly.
I suck in a breath when he drags his hand up my back and hooks it around my neck, and he deepens our kiss. He undresses me as I pull down his boxers.
And for the first time, Cristian makes love to me.
His movements are slow.
Gentle.
Like a man worshipping the woman he’s in love with.
I jump out of the Suburban when Gigi strolls out of the airport.
People gawk when she passes them—a common occurrence. Beauty runs in the Marchetti family, and Gigi is no exception. Her wild mess of curls blows in the wind as she makes her way toward me. Bruno, her bodyguard, is behind her, carrying their bags.
“There’s my best friend,” she says, wrapping me in a tight hug. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you more,” I reply, squeezing her.
She pulls away to hug Benny next and then Luca while Bruno dumps their bags into the back of the SUV.
I’ve entered a world of having security, as if I were the president. Cristian won’t let me leave without always having two men with me. Luca hasn’t complained about babysitting again—most likely because he knows it’s no longer simple babysitting. He’s protecting my life so that another Lombardi situation doesn’t happen.
We load into the Suburban—Gigi, Bruno, and me in the back, and Benny and Luca in the front—and Luca drives off.
We go to lunch to catch up, and Gigi teases Bruno about how much he loves Italian macarons. Then, we stop at the bridal store for Gigi to try on her bridesmaid dress.
I’ve missed my best friend. Now, I just need to figure out how not to make it weird that I’m sleeping with her father.
I’m relaxing in Gigi’s bedroom, watching Bridezillas and sipping on my vodka and cranberry. When we got back to the mansion, we grabbed snacks, a bottle of alcohol, and mixers. I shift, my feet dangling off the edge of her bed, when my phone chimes with a text. I shove the rest of the Snickers bar into my mouth, wash it down with a drink, and grab my phone to find a text from Cristian.
Cristian: Where are you?
I sneak a glance at Gigi, whose attention is glued to the TV as she dips her hand into a can of Pringles, before replying. It’s a slow reply, and I do it with one eye open. Drunk texting isn’t exactly easy.
Me: Hanging out with Gigi.
Cristian: Find a way to get the fuck out of there and come to me.
Shivers dance up my spine.
Is this a good come to me or a bad one?
Me: Why? I don’t like being bossed around.
Cristian: Because I want to fuck you, obviously.
I swallow down the gasp sneaking its way past my lips.
Me: What am I supposed to tell her? BRB, I need to go screw your dad really quick?
Cristian: You’re creative. I’ve seen you in action.
Heat rushes up my face, and I rub my thighs together.
Me: Give me 10 minutes.
Cristian: You have 5.
Me: Or what?
Cristian: Don’t test me, sweetheart.
How the hell do I manage this?
Gigi snapping her fingers in my face returns my attention to her. “Earth to Natalia.” She exaggeratedly gestures to the TV. “We need to make sure this doesn’t become you because I can’t do drama queens. Blame it on living with men born with chips on their shoulders and never flicking them away.”
“Sorry.” I toss my phone down. “Your dad texted, demanding we discuss the wedding.” Guilt creeps through me. I hate lying, but what else can I say?
She waves her hand through the air. “Let him know we’re handling it.”
Does Gigi not know her father?
When he wants something, he gets it.
Not even five minutes pass before there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Gigi yells, grabbing the remote to pause the show.
The door creeps open, and Gretchen strolls in. She blushes as she looks at us.
Gigi smiles at her. “Hey, Gretchen.”
Gretchen waves before her gaze quickly darts to me. “Mr. Marchetti asked to speak with you, Natalia.”
Chills prick at my skin.
How will I get out of this?
I gulp, searching for excuses. “Tell him I’m busy, and I’ll come down when I’m finished.”
An expression flashes across Gretchen’s face that tells me she’d rather jump out the window than tell Cristian my response. The poor girl already has to deal with one Marchetti man putting her through hell. She doesn’t deserve another.
I slide off the bed, proud of myself for not falling on my face. “Where?”
Her body loosens, a sigh releasing from her. “His office.”
That’s at least better than the bedroom.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Gigi asks.
I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I’m sure it’ll be quick.”
“I’m totally fine with it.” She rises from the bed but stops when her phone rings, and she checks the screen. “Shoot, I need to take this.”
“Answer that. I’ll be right back.”
“Come back with more snacks,” she calls to me as I leave her bedroom.
“Thank you,” Gretchen says as we walk side by side down the hall.
I playfully bump my shoulder against hers. Gretchen needs a friend, and as someone who didn’t have many, growing up—being the principal’s daughter doesn’t make you the cool kid—I know how loneliness feels.
We separate at the bottom of the stairs—her walking toward the kitchen and me stopping at Cristian’s office. I knock—it’s a quick one and nowhere near the nervous ones I once had—and walk in.
Cristian is sitting behind his desk and smiles. “I missed you today.”
Since the kidnapping, we’ve spent most of our days together. I tag along with him to the club, we have lunch together, and he watches movies with me in the evening. And yesterday, we decided I’d work at the club behind the scenes, doing administrative work.
Even though I’d enjoyed working for Bonnie, I don’t want to return to the gallery. Bonnie apologized profusely, which I accepted, but walking in there would give me nothing but bad memories.
“You missed me?” I stroll deeper into the office. “Look at my monster, growing a heart.”
“I only show that sliver of a heart to you.” He rolls out his chair from under the desk and stands. “Otherwise, I’m the heartless bastard others say I am.”
“Glad I get to see that side of you.”
He circles the desk and leans against the front of it—his usual stance in here. “How is spending time with Gigi?”
“Good.” I stretch the word out. “I kind of refrained from talking about us, though.”
“What does my daughter think we are?”
“We haven’t discussed it.”
“She’s going to find out about us. It’s better to tell her than have her assume we were being deceitful to her.”