I force a laugh, already bracing for his reaction. “I’m staying in Italy for the year. And before you start worrying—don’t. Gabriel’s here, and it looks like he’ll be staying as long as I am.” I glance down at the folder beside me. “He’s even buying an apartment for us to live in.”
His expression hardens instantly. “I knew that asshole was lying about not knowing where you were.”
“Wow. Try to contain your excitement for me,” I say dryly, rolling my eyes.
“You already know how I feel about Gabriel, Zalea,” he replies, frowning. “I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled you’re living with the guy who ruined your life and made the whole family sick with worry.”
“He didn’t ruin my life,” I say quietly. “And please stop telling him that. He’s asking too many questions.”
His jaw drops, fury flashing across his face. “Does he not know what you went through?”
“Zale—”
“No, Zalea. There’s no way you’ve kept that from him all these years.” Disbelief sharpens his tone. “And you’re just moving in with him like this is some fairytale where the past doesn’t exist?”
I let out a frustrated groan, tugging at my hair. “I’m going to tell him. I just haven’t found the right time yet.”
Okay, that might not be entirely true. There have been chances, I just haven’t taken them.
He studies me silently, breathing through his anger before finally exhaling. “Send me your new address,” he says, calmer now, but I can tell there’s still some tension between us. “I want to send you a housewarming gift.”
“I’ll text it to you” I say. “But we don’t move in for three weeks.”
“Okay,” he pauses. “Good night, Zalea.”
“Good night, little brother.”
After my call with Zale, I sign and initial every page in the folder before carrying it to the adjoining door. I unlock my side and ease it open, finding Gabriel’s door already cracked.
“Come in,” he calls, surprising me. I’d assumed he’d be asleep by now.
I push the door wider and peek inside. He’s sitting on his bed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, wearing the sexiest pair of reading glasses I’ve ever seen. A large book rests open on his lap as he studies the pages, turning one absentmindedly.
“You read?” I ask.
He glances up, a brow arched.
I clear my throat. “I mean—you wear glasses?”
“I do,” he says, closing the book and sliding the glasses up onto his head. “Do you have the signed papers?”
I lift the folder and give it a small wave. “I’ll leave it on your desk?”
He stands, and my mouth goes dry when I realize he’s shirtless. He walks toward me, hand outstretched, and I pass him the folder while trying—unsuccessfully—not to stare. He flips through it, checking each page.
“I’ll have these sent over to Antonio and the lawyers,” he says, closing the cover and lifting those blue eyes to mine.
“Okay,” I reply softly, focusing very hard on his face.
“Okay,” he echoes, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Okay,” I repeat, swallowing as my gaze betrays me and drops to his lips.
“You said that already,” he murmurs, voice lowering.
“Right.” My eyes drift again, down the strong line of his chest, the definition of his abs, and I hate how obvious I’m being.
“If you want something, Z,” he says, setting the folder aside on his desk, “all you have to do is ask. You know I’d give you anything”
