Sometimes I think he feels bad for me, and other times, I think he’s just plain annoyed.
I peel off my coat and hang it in the foyer closet. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”
Nico’s mouth twitches. “Rafe texted that yourhusbandis in his study.”
The way he says husband makes me pause. Almost like a reminder to me that he, too, covered for Lorenzo, or maybe it’s something else . . . I’m not sure.
“Did Rafe mention if he’s in a mood?”
“From what I’ve gathered, yes.”
“Charming.” I adjust my sweater, needing something to do with my hands.
Nico lifts a brow. “Don’t wander around.”
I glance at him, letting my smile sharpen. “Wouldn’t dare.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, then takes a step outside.
I nod, but as soon as the door closes, I do the opposite of what he tells me. One place is calling my name, and even though I probably shouldn’t go there, I find myself standing outside the door to the study.
My hand reaches out and rests on the wood. Should I? I pull back, hovering now, deciding whether I dare. What about Lorenzo makes me so damn confused?
I should hate him, and I shouldn’t be seeking him out, yet . . . I push the door open anyway.
Lorenzo is stretched on the couch, one ankle propped on his opposite knee, scotch in hand.
He looks . . . wrecked.
Yet dangerous all at the same time.
It’s scary.
His dark shirt is half unbuttoned, his tan skin peeking out, and his sleeves are shoved up to his forearms.
His hair is slightly out of place, the way it looks when he rakes his fingers through it because he’s pissed. And if I weren’t sure of his attitude, his jaw seals the deal. It looks like it’s been clenched for hours.
I stand in the doorway for a few seconds, and he doesn’t look up. Just continues to swirl the scotch in his glass slowly.
“You’re home.” He finally breaks the silence with a voice deep and rough.
I step farther inside and shut the door. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”
His gaze finally lifts, finding me with that intensity that always makes my skin feel like it’s under a spotlight. He drags it over me, then settles back like he didn’t just make my whole body tingle.
“How was it?” he asks, the words casual.
I blink once, forcing my mouth into something neutral. “Wonderful.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You don’t look like you believe that.”
I walk deeper into the room, heels silent on the rug. “Doesn’t matter.”
He takes a slow sip, eyes never leaving mine. “Your parents behave?”
I shrug. “They made tea.”
“Enlightening. And you,” he prompts, rolling the glass between his fingers. “Did you behave?”
