Sure, it is . . .
Or it’s something. Something that won’t change even if a million miles separates us.
48
Victoria
I sitat the long table with my arms crossed. I’m still wearing yesterday’s sweater, and if I’m being honest, I’m also still in a bad mood.
My foot bounces under the table.
I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. There’s no reason for me to be worked up, but I am.
Across from me, Lorenzo reads something on his phone. It’s infuriating how calm he is. He’s got his damn elbow on the table, and untouched coffee in front of him, and hair still damp from a recent shower.
The kicker . . .
He hasn’t looked at me once.
Not once.
Which somehow makes everything worse.
I clear my throat loudly.
Nothing.
I shove my plate away; the porcelain scraping against the wood. The jarring sound gets his attention.
Despite everything, he takes his time acknowledging my existence. His gaze lifts so damn slow, I want to punch him. He’s trying to piss me off. I know he is. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Lorenzo is baiting me for a fight.
Insufferable asshole.
“Something wrong with your eggs?” His smooth voice is conversational, as though he didn’t almost kiss me last night while simultaneously egging me on for a battle.
Did I mention I hate him?
I lean forward, palms flat on the table. “I need to leave.”
One brow lifts. “You just got here. You’ve barely touched your breakfast.” He gestures toward my plate.
I bite the inside of my cheeks while counting to five slowly in my head so I don’t throw something at him, most likely my plate.
“My parents’ house,” I clarify, each word clipped. “I need to go to my parents’ house.”
Silence stretches. Long and tedious.
Lorenzo sets his phone down. “No.”
My jaw tightens. “I wasn’t asking.”
“You don’t get to not ask.” He folds his hands. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to do anything, Little Bird.”
“That’s how you think this works?” I push back from the table and stand. “I’ve been trapped in this house with guards who won’t speak to me, cameras in every corner, and a husband who, quite frankly, sucks. I need to see someone, even if that someone is my mother.”
His eyes sharpen. “There’s staff.”
“I can’t talk to them,” I fire back. “They report to you.”
