“Obviously. I’ll pay Miranda well as an apology.”
When we walk inside, we stutter to a stop and take in the scene before us.
All three women are in the kitchen, eating a platter of cannoli—fuck, those look good—and laughing.
Natasha is laughing.
Her face is lit up, and fuck me, it’s stunning. I’ve hardly seen her smile before this. Listening to her laugh is like music.
But when she spots me, she sobers and lowers the cannoli to a plate as she casts her eyes to the floor.
No.I want her smile back.
“I’m glad you three are having fun,” I say as Rome walks around the island to hug his wife.
“I should go home,” Natasha says. She’s still wrapped in the blanket. “All of my things are at home.”
I don’t want her going back there. I don’t want to risk that her asshole father will lay hands on her again.
“I have clothes for you,” Lulu says, and dashes up the stairs to the primary bedroom. “I’ll be right back!”
“Oh, I can just use this blanket.”
“I think your family will ask questions if you do that,” Rome reminds her, and her face drains of color.
“Why don’t you come to my penthouse with me for the night,” I offer.
“No.” She shakes her head, and her hands tremble as she pushes her hair over her shoulder. She looks like she’s on the verge of a panic attack. “My father would?—”
“Okay, we’ll get you home. Wear Lulu’s clothes, and if anyone asks, you fell into the pool, and your dress got ruined.”
She blinks in surprise. “Oh, that could work.”
“It’ll work.”
Just a few more days, and then she’ll never have to go back there.
Lulu shows Natasha to the bathroom where she can change her clothes, and Rome watches me from the other side of the kitchen.
“You’re going to marry her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
The fucker smirks. “You didn’t have to. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“It’s a business transaction.” And I’ll keep telling myself that.
“Right.”
“I’m ready.”
I turn at the sound of her voice and almost swallow my tongue. Lulu’s clothes are just a little big on Natasha, but she looks adorable in the leggings and oversize T-shirt.
“That’s better,” I reply. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”
Eight
NATASHA
