Worse.
I grab my jacket and head for the door.
The guard assigned to me stands in the hallway. He straightens when he sees me.
"I need a ride today Carlo," I tell him. "I'm meeting a friend in the city."
He nods. "I'll bring the car around. Where are we going?"
I give him the address Oliver texted me. Carlo doesn't ask questions, doesn't tell me I need permission, doesn't mention Bruno at all. I appreciate that more than he knows. Maybe Bruno asked him not to.
I didn't ask Bruno. Why should I? He made it perfectly clear what this is. A stepping stone to his precious title. And once he gets it, I'll be free to live my own life.
Fine.
If that's how he wants it, then I can do whatever I want.
I find Aria in the sunroom, reading a novel with her glasses perched on her nose. She looks up when I enter, her face softening into a smile.
"Antonella. You look like you're going somewhere."
"I'm meeting a friend in the city." I kiss her cheek. "I'll be back before dinner."
Aria studies me for a moment. “Be careful, cara."
"Thank you."
The drive into the city takes forty minutes. I spend most of it staring out the window. Carlo drives in silence, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror occasionally but never intruding.
Oliver is waiting outside the coffee shop when we arrive. He's wearing his work clothes—dark slacks, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up—and his face breaks into a grin when he sees me.
"There she is." He pulls me into a hug before I can speak. "God, you look terrible."
"Thanks. That's exactly what every girl wants to hear."
"I mean it." He holds me at arm's length, studying my face. "You've lost weight. Are they feeding you?"
"The food is fine. Everything is fine."
Oliver raises an eyebrow. "Liar."
Carlo positions himself near the entrance, close enough to watch but far enough to give us privacy. Oliver glances at him, then back at me.
"Bodyguard?"
"Part of the arrangement."
"Charming." Oliver takes my arm and guides me inside. "Come on. You need caffeine and carbs, and then you're going to tell me everything."
The coffee shop is small and warm, filled with the smell of roasting beans and fresh pastries. We find a table near the back, away from the windows. Oliver orders for both of us—a latte for me, black coffee for him, and two chocolate croissants.
"So," he says once the server leaves. "How bad is it?"
I don't know where to start. The kiss? Bruno's rejection? The suffocating silence of the compound?
"We kissed," I say finally. "Two days ago."
Oliver's eyebrows shoot up. "The wheelchair guy kissed you?"
