“Guess it’s time,” I say, forcing steadiness. “Let’s go see what’s up with Marco.”
Damian nods, his gaze serious.
We don’t talk as we cross the street, but he grabs my elbow when we hit the icy sidewalk. He steadies me when my foot slips and I wobble.
An hour ago, I was furious he got into my car.
Now, I’m oddly comforted that he’s here.
There’s something calming about Damian. It’s partly his size and the knowledge that he could handle anything or anyone that threatens me, but it’s more than that. It’s his composure. The way his eyes scan the street, alert without being frantic. The way he keeps close without crowding me, his presence a quiet shield.
At the doorway to the restaurant, he comes to an abrupt halt and puts his hands on my shoulder, spinning me to face him. He has to bend slightly to bring his piercing blue eyes down to my level.
“Hannah,” he says in that deep, gravelly voice of his, “I’m asking you one last time not to do this. I’m telling you. Marco isn’t who you think he is. You’re better off just walking away.”
Anger stirs, burning deep in my belly. I shake off his hands. “What do you mean I don’t know who he is? How wouldyouknow?”
Damian sighs, unable to meet my gaze. “I just do,” he says quietly. “I can’t tell you how, but I wish you’d trust me.”
For a minute, I almost relent.Almost.
Because I don’t know Damian, but in some weird, unhinged way Idotrust him. It’s the misery in his face, the way I can tell that he’s struggling with himself to not just pick me up and drag me away.
But I can’t give up now. I need to see Marco, to let him know how I feel.
ThatImatter.
I square my shoulders. “I’m going,” I say. “You can stay out here if you want.”
Then I turn and push through the doors without looking back.
Because something in me already knows—
He’s going to follow.
Chapter 3
Double Booked
Damian
I almost have a second panic attack the moment we step inside the restaurant.
The noise hits first. Silverware clinking, voices overlapping, laughter too loud, too sharp. The smell of food, garlic, butter, something sweet, twists my stomach. Bodies everywhere. Too many of them. Too close. People brushing past, bumping chairs, existing without any regard for my personal survival.
The lighting is dim but somehow still too bright, reflecting off glass and mirrors and polished surfaces until it feels like the room is watching me back.
I fight the urge to turn around. To bolt. To drag Hannah with me and lock us both safely behind my front door where the world makes sense again.
Instead, I straighten my spine and breathe through my nose like a man who belongs in public places. Like a man who hasn’t just realized he’d happily burn this entire building down if it meant keeping Hannah safe.
In my dismay, I hesitated by the doorway.
Hannah didn’t.
She’s moved ahead, a few steps in front of me, her head swiveling as she scans the room. I see the exact second she spots Marco, how her shoulders snap rigid, how a flush crawls up the back of her neck.
I open my mouth to say something, a word of caution or comfort, but she’s already gone. In what’s becoming an all-too-familiar pattern this evening, Hannah stomps across the room and I try to keep up.
