Our eyes are still locked as he stalks toward me, ignoring the people trying to get his attention as he passes. And then he’s in front of me, blue eyes burning like a cold fire, square jaw dusted with a purposeful five-o’clock shadow, muscles twitching with rage.
I can’t help but notice how he’s filled out, how the teen boy has become a sculpted Adonis of a man. His signature cologne scent—sandalwood and citrus—reaches me, and I’m suddenly that heartbroken seventeen-year-old girl who lost everything again.
Sloane places a hand on my shoulder, her mouth close to my ear. “You okay?”
Tiny black dots appear in my vision as I realize I’m not breathing. I force air into my constricted lungs and nod slowly.
I feel her squeeze my arm and then reluctantly leave my side.
Sandro’s icy gaze trails down my body and his nostrils flare.
My chest flushes, and I have to resist the urge to tug at my top. If I could crawl into a hole and disappear right now, I would. Of all the ways I imagined running into him again, this was not it.
Finally, he speaks. His tone is rough and laced with anger. “You’re back in Tampa.”
It’s a statement, not a question so I don’t answer him. I don’t know if I could push the words past my dry throat anyway.
I’m embarrassed by the hold he still has on me. His voice. His scent. Those thick-lashed eyes I’ve watched sparkle like sapphires in the sunlight and turn midnight blue when his mood darkens.
Like now.
Everything familiar about him, about the boy I knew is there, beneath the surface of this man I don’t. Like a shimmering mirage. But I have a feeling that, like a mirage, the boy will disappear if I get close.
Because I’m looking into the eyes of a man who has spent the last ten years being molded into someone who’s embraced the darkness he was born into.
A fist grips my heart, crushing it. Mourning the death of the sweet boy I once knew.
Oh,Sandro.
As we stare into each other’s eyes, I see the conflict rise.
“Jesus, Lennon,” he whispers, his gaze falling to my mouth. He steps closer, about to say something, when someone interrupts, lacing their arm through his.
I tear my gaze away from him and blink at the beautiful woman pressed against his side, a cruel smirk tugging at her filler-enhanced lips.
Giada Zerilli.
“Lennon.” Giada draws out my name as she looks me up and down. “I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
The blush is now creeping up my neck, radiating heat. She’s referencing my mother being a worker at Club Paradiso. How dare she bring up my mother. A flash of my mother’s smile makes me bite the inside of my cheek to keep the emotional pain in check.
But what comes out of Giada’s mouth next is much much worse.
“Has Sandro told you we’re getting married?” She lifts her hand, fluttering her fingers so the large diamond engagement ring sparkles in my face.
I try to hide the shock ripping through my soul like an earthquake, rearranging everything I thought I knew. By the satisfaction glittering in her dark eyes, I know I’ve failed.
I move my gaze back to Sandro. He’s watching me, his eyes the blue-gray hue of storm clouds. Shuttered. Unreadable. I’m numb.
“Congratulations,” I manage to croak out. My chest is tight and the urge to flee is strong. “Excuse me,” I mumble and give in to the urge.
Sloane finds me in the kitchen, takes one look at my face, and wraps her arms around me. “Okay, whatever that was, we’ll deal with it. Just get through the next few hours. I’ll be out of here by ten at the latest. I’ll meet you at your place. Ice cream or wine?”
The clinking sounds and voices from the kitchen are far away. Her warm hands clutching mine are the only thing keeping me anchored to this moment, so I don’t float away into the abyss.
“Tequila,” I whisper.
“Oh, babe. That bad, huh?” Sloane squeezes my hands until I meet her gaze. “You’ve been through worse, Lennon. Remember who you are, a badass goddess who doesn’t owe anybody a damn thing.”
