“Like pizza with mounds of toppings?” He wrinkles his nose.
“Oh, no. I’m thinking Chianina steak since they’re better fed than I am.”
His laughter rings out, and I’m transfixed. “You’re not wrong. What else?”
I think about it for a moment. “Fresh sauce, not the Americanized, dumped-from-a-jar, over-sugared variety. I think?—”
But before I could continue, Bryce interrupts our conversation. “Let’s go, you two. If I leave you much longer, we’ll never get to this party on time. Besides, who cares about some Italian cow?”
A look of regret, followed by something I can’t name, flashes on Troy’s face, but he quickly masks it. He waits for me to stand before he takes to his feet. As we pass Bryce, he murmurs, “Your fiancée does. Maybe listen?”
It comes to me just then, Troy’s always had my back since the moment he entered my life. He’s been present, listened. He’s learned my likes and dislikes and gotten to know the real me.
I think back to everything I’ve learned about him and make a vow to myself to learn more.
Starting now.
With a sigh, I throw the covers back and force myself out of bed. The air is cool against my bare skin as I slip a sweater over my head to keep the early morning chill away before wandering to the window. Beyond the glass, the hills covered with grape-laden vines gleam under the morning sun.
I note the crew already hard at work, even at this early hour, and know Troy is out there with them—somewhere. I just know it. Whether he plans on working with his people all day, I don’t know, but he’s too compassionate. I can’t imagine him not checking in to ensure the people working for him have everything they need.
Because that’s who he is, I muse. A ping from my email interrupts my introspection. Moving over to my desk, I hope it isn’t someone trying to lure me away with a lucrative job offer.
Instead, I find something worse.
From:Bryce Parry
Subject:Can we talk?
My stomach knots. I’d made sure I blocked him which means only one thing; he created a new email address to break through my sanctuary after I prevented him from contacting me on every other social media platform I have. Muttering, my hand stills on the touchpad. “I should delete it.” But my hand hovers, because the foolish part of me that grew up with him as my friend, needs to know what hethinkshe can say to make any of what he did right.
I tap on the message to preview it.
Maya,
Please, I need to explain. It wasn’t what you thought. Just give me a chance. I can’t stop thinking about you…us. I’d like to see if there’s a chance to fix things.
“Oh, please. That wasn’t even worth the energy it took to open it.” Not after his betrayal. Not after how he made me question my self-worth even for a moment. Now that I know how Bryce considered me a doormat to wipe his cleats on. Without reading the rest of it, I press Delete before slamming the laptop shut.
Closing my eyes, I murmur, “Think of something that makes you happy, Maya.” Immediately, the memory of Troy’s lips on mine floods through the noise Bryce tried to reintroduce back into my life.
The way his arm banded around my waist.
The faint taste of wine on his lips.
The way I felt tingles race down my spine in a way I hadn’t in far too long. His kiss reminded me of the exhilaration I felt when I jumped out of the plane, something I thought I could conceive but was beyond my wildest imagination.
Terrifyingly perfect.
Getting ready to face the day—and Troy—I worry. Does he regret wanting to give us a chance? Opening my suite door, I head down the stairs before my courage evaporates before I’ve had my first cup of coffee.
I can’t deny the way my heart trips in my chest when I find Troy in the kitchen instead of out with his men. The smile that erupts on his face eliminates every single worry I had. Before I can say a word, he crosses the room with a mug of steaming coffee. Handing it to me, his “Morning, Maya,” carries a warmth that brings back every single memory of what we did in this exact spot.
“Good morning, Troy.” My eyes hold his steadily. Who needs caffeine when my blood pumps courtesy of his presence?
He studies me for a moment, like he’s trying to read what kind of night I had. “You disappeared pretty fast after last night.”
“I didn’t disappear,” I counter, before I lift the mug he handed to me to my lips. Watching him fill a second one for himself, I inform him haughtily, “I went to bed.”
