“You hate me,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on her lap.
The almost inaudible words hit him like a blow to the chest, sending an ache through his entire ribcage. He barely resisted the urge to rub where it hurt.
Hate her?
He might be confused as hell about his feelings, but hate was so far removed from anything he was experiencing it was laughable. Did she annoy the hell out of him? Daily. Did she make his head hurt with her constant defiance? Absolutely. Did one soft, vulnerable look from her stop his heart? Every damn time. No, this wasn’t hate.
He straightened his spine, his gaze insistent and his voice firm. “Look at me.”
Vanessa didn’t move, her fingers still absentmindedly petting the rabbit. Defiant at every turn.
He leaned closer to her, his tone taking on an edge. “Vanessa,” he growled.
Her eyes—brown, bright, and unusually defenseless—finally met his.
“I don’t hate you.” He held her gaze, needing her to understand. “Do you know how I know that?”
A single blink, then she slowly shook her head.
“Because when I got back, and you weren’t exactly where I left you, it felt like a bullet blew through my chest.” He swallowed hard, the memory tightening his throat. He leaned back, his voice low and rough. “This isn’t hate, baby. Not even close.”
Her brow furrowed, and he could see the wheels turning in her head. Yeah, she was confused, but, hell, so was he. The woman tied him in knots that he didn’t have a clue how to untangle, but he was quickly becoming familiar with the sensation.
He cleared his throat, desperate to steer the conversation away from the unspoken tension. “And I don’t agree that you have an overactive imagination.” His voice was gruff as the words spilled out. “Your mind’s not chaotic, Vanessa. It’s organized. You’re decisive. You have a vision, and you see it through. It’s not random. It’s brilliant. Determined. Clear. So if you tell me you saw the flash of a camera in your face, I’m going to believe it.”
When she didn’t respond, he wondered if he’d said too much. But then he saw the shimmer in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill. The sight twisted something deep inside him.
But as quickly as it came, the moment passed.
She blinked rapidly, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her voice was a bit unsteady, but wrapped in the same sarcastic humor she always wore as armor, when she said, “Wow, Zeus. I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard you string together.”
The unexpected laugh that bubbled out of him surprised them both. Damn her. She had a way of disarminghim, of making him laugh when heshouldbe keeping his guard up. And yet, every time she did it, he couldn’t help but admire her more. It was torture being around her.
Because he could never have her. Because he didn’t deserve her.
But as he sat there, the weight of everything unspoken between them heavy in the air, he realized something else. He was slowly forgetting what his life was like before she came into it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sunday was the day Vanessa was supposed to call her parents. That’s how it had been since she’d arrived in Portland for her hiatus.
If she didn’t call Maria and Luciano Barone every Sunday morning before noon, she could expect a call on Monday morning from her mother, with a guilt trip that included some version of, “I guess you don’t love your parents anymore?”
So, she never missed a call. The melodrama wasn’t worth it.
She glanced at her phone.1 p.m.Two hours past when she normally called them. But Thursday night’s events left her rattled, and she feared that calling now would invite a third-degree she didn’t have the capacity for today.
It was so stupid, this anxiety. Three days had passed, and nothing else happened.
Granted, she’d only left her apartment to work on the fashion show at The Link. For those outings, she kept to her strict routine—apartment to Anderson’s car, car to The Link. No detours, no deviations from the route. She hadn’t evengone to Natalie’s salon this week, her usual escape, and she had limp hair to show for it. But the thought of stepping outside her bubble caused a cold foreboding to gnaw at her.
If she could’ve avoided The Link, she would’ve. But she couldn’t quit the fashion show. The whole thing was more than a PR fix for her now. She’d become attached to those kids.
Besides, she knew her anxiety was mostly an overreaction.
Despite her blocks, the comments continued to flood her social media. The Vancouver incident. The video from a lifetime ago that kept resurfacing. The mysterious flowers and creepy DMs. It all fed the paranoia inside her that was taking over like an infection.
She needed to tame it. Fast. Like before she called her mom.
