Her mouth tightens. “Then maybe you shouldn’t be with me at all.”
The words land like a punch. I don’t flinch—but I feel every ounce of it. “Is that what you want?” I ask, voice low.
Her lips part. She looks away, breathing hard.
“That’s what I thought,” I murmur, hating that she is so agreeable even if she can’t admit it.
She snaps back. “That isnotwhat you thought. You think I’m scared of upsetting them. You think I’m…obedient.” Her eyes narrow on me. “I’m not.”
“No?” I step closer, crowding her without touching. “Then why are you so defensive about it?”
“Because you’re wrong.”
“Then show me,” I repeat, wanting her to go against her better judgment—her mother’s judgment—and choose me, here and now.
Her breath catches, and my pulse jolts. Maybe I pushed too hard. But every part of me rebels at the idea of her walking away.
I drag a hand down my face. “Dallen, look… I don’t think you’re weak. Or that you’re your mother’s puppet. I just—” I exhale. “I don’t know how any of this works if your family hates me on sight.” They will hate me enough once they know my name and those who make up my family.
“My family doesn’t?—”
“Your mother does.” I let out a dry laugh. “And she hasn’t even Googled me yet.”
Dallen’s spine straightens. “What would she find if she Googled you? What is your name. Your full name?”
The wind whips between us, tugging at her hair, but neither of us moves. A taxi horn blares somewhere behind us, the city pressing in as if eavesdropping on a fight it has heard a thousand times before.
“I’m Stephen Moretti and I’m pretty sure if she looked me up, there’s nothing she’d approve of.”
She stares up at me, eyes a storm. “I don’t care what my mother thinks. I make up my own mind with regard to the men I date.”
“Liar.”
Her chin jerks up. “Fine. I care, but not enough to let her ruin something I want.”
My heart kicks hard. “You want this?” I ask, softer now, the anger dissipating like smoke. “Because there’s no turning back if you do. I want in. I want you, and I won’t care if both your parents hate me on sight. I’ll not let them or anyone take you if I commit.”
She hesitates—but only for a second. “I thought I wanted you.” She pauses. “Well, I did until you pissed me off.”
Something inside my chest eases, just a fraction. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“To my car,” I say. “Because we’re not debating this on a sidewalk while half of Manhattan passes by.”
Her lips part—ready to argue again—but I reach for her hand, not pulling, just offering. After a beat, she takes it, doesn’t speak as we walk to the car. The tension is still thick, but different now—coiled, electric, the kind that hums beneath the skin. Something that always happens the moment we touch.
I open the passenger door. She slides in without meeting my eyes. I round to the driver’s side and climb in, shutting the door.
Silence greets me.
Her chest rises and falls—fast, sharp. I can feel her anger. Her emotions war in the confined space. My hands curl around the steering wheel. I fight the urge to reach for her before she finally turns in her seat, facing me.
Then she does something I don’t expect. She climbs over the center console—swinging one leg across mine, then the other until she’s straddling me. Her dress rides up. Her breath fans my face. Her anger hasn’t vanished—no, it vibrates between us, thrumming like a live wire—but the way she looks at me makes everything inside me go still.
“Does this look like someone who does what she’s told?” she whispers, fire in her voice, in her eyes, in every inch of her body pressed to mine.
I swallow hard. “Not even close,” I manage to mumble, completely thrown off guard.
