This is a private jet—how did I miss him?
“Flying to Montreal, apparently.” He slides into the seat beside me without waiting for permission, his movements fluid and confident in that way that’s always made him seem untouchable.
“Did Matteo send you?” Anger flares in my chest, hot and immediate. “Did he decide I needed a babysitter after all?”
“No one sent me.” His voice is calm, matter-of-fact. “This was my choice.”
“Bullshit.” I twist in my seat to face him fully, ignoring how the movement brings us closer together. “He probably told you the second I left to follow me and make sure I don’t embarrass the precious DeLuca name.”
“Bianca.” There’s something in the way he says my name that makes me pause. “Matteo didn’t send me. This was my choice.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, but I’m too angry to let it soften me. “Then why?—”
“Because you’re walking into a room full of predators who want to see you fail.” His hazel eyes are serious, intense. “Because they’ll be looking for any sign of weakness they can exploit. I can’t let you face that alone.”
The words should piss me off.
They should sound like more protection I don’t need, more people thinking I can’t handle myself.
Instead, they make something warm unfurl in my chest.
Which is ridiculous.
I’m supposed to be angry at him too.
He’s part of the world that’s been lying to me, part of the careful construction that kept me from knowing the truth about myself.
But then I remember the kiss.
Heat floods my cheeks as the memory hits me—his hands in my hair, the way he kissed me back like he’d been waiting years for permission, the solid warmth of his body against mine.
God, I’d liked it so much it scared me.
For those few moments, everything else had disappeared.
The betrayal, the lies, the devastating revelation about my parentage—none of it mattered when his lips were on mine.
“You’re blushing,” he observes, and there’s something almost smug in his voice.
“I’m not,” I start to deny it, then stop. Fuck it. “Maybe I am. So what?”
“So nothing.” But his eyes have gotten darker, and there’s something in his expression that makes my toes curl. “I just didn’t expect you to be thinking about last night.”
“Who says I was thinking about last night?” I ask, my heart rate accelerating rapidly.
“The way you looked at me when I sat down. The way you’re looking at me now.” He leans closer, just a fraction, but enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “The way your breathing just changed,” he whispers, his voice dropping several octaves.
Fuck me.
He’s right, and I hate that he’s right.
My pulse has picked up, and I’m hyperaware of every inch of space between us.
Which is basically no space at all in these airplane seats.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, but my voice comes out breathier than I intended.Come on Bianca, stay cool. Don’t be pathetic.
“I’m not flattering myself. I’m stating facts.” His gaze drops to my lips for just a second before meeting my eyes again. “You’re thinking about how it felt when I kissed you. How it felt when you kissed me back.”
