“I always think,” he says, and his grin widens.
“Just order,” I wave him off. His grin doesn’t fade.
I sit back against the pillows and spot my phone on the bedside table, and remember the buzz.
I reach for it, unlock the screen, and immediately regret it.
Notifications.
Missed calls.
Messages.
My stomach drops.
Antonio’s hand stills on my leg, where he’s been absently running it up and down. “What is it?”
I stare at the screen, heart sinking. “I have a meeting.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “A meeting.”
“Yes,” I say, alreadytired.
He looks genuinely offended on my behalf. “On a Saturday morning?”
“Unfortunately,” I say, and there’s no humor in it. “Yes.”
He watches my face for a second, then reaches up and tilts my chin toward him. “When?”
I swallow. “Soon.”
His gaze flicks to the phone, then back to me.
“Cancel,” he says.
I laugh once, humorless. “I can’t.”
“Reschedule.”
I shake my head. “I missed them last night. I can’t miss them again today.”
Antonio’s eyes narrow slightly. “So you’re leaving.”
“I have to,” I say, and it feels like an admission I didn’t want to make.
He sighs like it physically pains him. “Can you stay a bit longer?”
I feel my resolve wobble as I look at him, and I hate that too.
“Antonio,” I say carefully, “I can’t exactly go like this. I have to go back, shower. get dressed.”
His gaze drops. “You can shower here.”
The suggestion is simple. Casual. But his eyes give it away—dark, hungry, already imagining it.
I point at him with my phone still in my hand. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
He grins. “Why not?”
