Page 40 of Lovely Venom

“Jesus.”

The sound of Cristian muttering his frustration and the jingling of keys stirs me awake. When I open my eyes, I realize we’re at my front door. He’s struggling to figure out the keys to my six deadbolts while simultaneously holding me up.

“I can do it,” I mumble, though I have serious doubts about the factuality of that statement.

“I’ve got it.” He disengages the last lock and opens the door with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what that’s about.”

“You could’ve just put me in an Uber and sent me home,” I deflect.

He gives me a look like I’m insane for even suggesting it. Though I’m certain after tonight, he probably thinks I am.

Insecurity weighs heavily on me as he carries me inside my shabby little house and glances around. It’s old with a lot of things in need of repair or updating, but the rent is cheap. I’ve done the best I could, making it my own with a moody Victorian aesthetic.

It’s an intimate space filled with tufted velvet seating, heavy drapery, and Parisian-style rugs. When I moved in, I painted the walls a deep charcoal color and accented everything else in varying shades of plum, wine, and mauve. I thrifted most of the art deco style décor, including the gold candle sconces, antique jewelry boxes, and trinket dishes.

I’m actually quite proud of what I’ve done with it, considering how it looked when I first arrived. But it’s no comparison to the Vitale family mansion or the luxury Cristian is accustomed to. It’s the same reason I never invited Marco over, or any of my friends.

We live completely different lives.

“You can set me down now,” I tell Cristian. “I’ll be fine, and I’m sure you have much more interesting things to do with your time.”

He ignores me and carries me down the hall, peering inside the guest bathroom before we reach my bedroom. There’s only one, so it isn’t hard to find.

Cristian pulls back my covers and settles me onto the bed, removing my sandals before his eyes drift over my gold dress. He’s so hard to read, I can’t tell if he’s debating whether to help me into some pajamas, or if this tension between us isn’t just my imagination.

I swallow as some unreasonable part of my brain tries to convince me I could have him strip me naked. Then I remember who he is, and how none of this makes sense.

Over the span of two days, our dynamic has completely shifted somehow. He’s gone from my friend’s older brother and boyfriend’s best friend to…my protector?

To say I’m confused is an understatement. For one, I’m not used to men taking care of me. The fact that it’s Cristian is even more perplexing. This is the same man who has only ever looked at me as if I possess the unique ability to disappoint him more than the general human population. But witnessing this side of him makes me want to surrender…at least a little bit.

I could see how addictive it might be, and it would be easy to get caught up in the fantasy. But if tonight has proven anything, it’s that there is no such thing as safety. People will always disappoint you in the end.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask.

“Not everyone has an ulterior motive,” he murmurs. “Sometimes, people just do the right thing.”

“Not in my experience.”

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth because Cristian already sees too much. He doesn’t need to know how I feel too.

“Then maybe you should surround yourself with better people,” he says.

“I don’t get you.” I peer up at him. “I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he answers gruffly. “I avoided you. There’s a difference.”

“Why?”

His gaze lingers on mine, the darkness in his eyes melting into something warmer.

It stirs a shiver of awareness in me when I realize that, somehow, our faces are only inches apart. I don’t know how we got here, and I can’t stop myself from drinking in the details of his handsome features. He’s everything a man should be, and it seems unfair that there’s only one of him, particularly when this model can’t decide whether he likes or hates me.

Right now, I want him to like me. So much so that it steals my breath, reminding me of the nervous little flutter I had the first time he spoke to me. But that’s something I’ll take to my grave. He has enough women vying for his attention as it is.

“I bet you have a trail of broken hearts behind you.” I sigh.

He shakes his head like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.