But when I got inside I didn’t do any of that.
I just leaned back against the door, staring at my apartment—at all the things I hadn’t packed; at all the chaos I still hadn’t dealt with—and thought,God, I wish I didn’t want him to come back tomorrow.
But I did.
I really,reallydid.
CHAPTER 26
VALENTINA
Marco showed up at exactly 9:00 a.m.
He knocked once, as if he were the police or the Grim Reaper or someone who had never, in his entire life, been told to chill out.
And there I was, standing in the middle of my veryunpackedapartment, still wearing the shirt I’d slept in, sipping on coffee. Because no, I hadn’t packed. Not a single thing. Not a sock. Not a candle.
Oops.
Not that I was going to apologize for it. He’d told me to be packed. He hadn’tasked.And I didn’t do well with orders before I’d had caffeine or a reason to care.
I opened the door with the mug still in my hand, sipped dramatically from it, and raised one eyebrow. “Morning,” I greeted passively.
He looked around me. Took in the mess—the boxes that didn’t exist, the books still stacked on the shelves, my shoes still scattered in the exact same chaotic corner as yesterday.
His mouth pressed into a line. “You’re not packed.”
“Wow,” I said, “look at those lawyer instincts at work.”
He stepped inside without being invited. “I told you?—”
“Yeah. Youtoldme,” I cut in. “You barked some instructions, assumed I’d follow them, and then magically expected results. Not how I operate.”
“So what’s the plan then?”
“Easy,” I said. “You move in here.”
His silence was the loudest thing in the room. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly.”
And we argued. Obviously. Because that was what we did.
He said his place was better suited. I said his place wasn’t mine.
He said I was lazy. I said he was complicated.
He said I was exhausting. I saidhe’d picked me.
Eventually, he stopped arguing. He just stood in the middle of my apartment with his hands in his pockets, brow drawn like he was debating whether or not murder charges were worth it, and said, “Fine. I’ll stay here.”
Like it physically pained him.
I wanted to say,“Good.” Wanted to roll my eyes or make some kind of snide comment. But instead I just stared at him, because a part of me was shocked he’d actually folded, and a part of me hated how satisfying it felt.
At first I thought he was bluffing. I expected him to return with one sad overnight bag and a stack of legal documents outlining mutually agreed-upon sleeping arrangements and “acceptable volume levels after 10:00 p.m.” But no. He showed up the next morning with two suitcases and a dry-cleaning bag. He didn’t ask where to put his things. He just ... made space.
It wasn’t like the man even had a lot of things—only the basics.
