The urge to march down there, rip his hand off her, and throw him into the orchestra pit is so strong my muscles tremble with restraint.
Who the fuck is he to look at her that way?
Who the fuck is he to touch her like that?
Who the fuck is he?Period.
My jaw locks.My breath turns sharp.
Because seeing Adrianna—my Adrianna, the girl I lost, the woman I can’t stop wanting—smiling politely while some other man claims space around her?
That’s a whole new kind of torture.
And I’m not sure how long I can keep standing here without snapping.
ChapterEleven
Adrianna
I honestly don’t knowhow I’m functioning right now.
Some fuckshit showed up on my porch claiming to be Bella’s father—Bella’s father—and demanded to seehislittle girl like she was a toy he misplaced instead of a human being my sister brought into this world alone and scared.
My head pounded, my stomach crashed into my shoes, and every instinct in my body screameddanger.
My first instinct?Well, I just wanted to grab Bella and run, but I didn’t.I couldn’t.
She’s built a life here.We’ve built a life.And maybe it’s not the one I imagined for myself when I was still a kid, but I love that little girl and I’ll do everything I can to keep her safe.
Fuck Giovanni Russo.
If he thinks he can just waltz into her life and mess everything up, he has another think coming.
And even with all those turbulent thoughts and emotions roiling through me I somehow slapped on the brightest, fakest smile I own, grabbed my gloves, and drove to the school with Mom chattering beside me like everything was perfectly normal.
Like my insides weren’t shaking so hard I could hear the tremors in my teeth.
Thank fuck there was enough going on when we arrived to distract me.
Setting up the bakery stand.
Making sure we had enough change.
Making sure Mom’s heavy wooden sign didn’t fall on Adele’s foot again.
Making sure the cocoa urn didn’t explode like last year.
Busy hands.Busy mind.
That’s the only reason I’m not curled up crying in the bathroom stall.
Once the stand was up and running, I grabbed a few bags of cookies to drop off with people who sat down early—mostly elderly sweethearts who donate to every PTA raffle and fund drive.
I was halfway down the aisle when Justin somehow materialized at my elbow like a dependable-but-unwanted woodland creature.
Rather than tell him to fuck off—which I really, truly wanted to—I pasted on a polite smile and let him walk me back toward the bakery table with his hand hovering at the small of my back like a librarian herding children.
Ugh.
