Page 27 of Out of Control

“What’s wrong? You reclaim that last name of yours and now you’re too good for me?”

“It’s not like that.”

But I see it. It is. The way she glances continuously over her shoulder to no doubt where her brother or God knows who is. The way she shifts her feet and keeps fidgeting.

She’s embarrassed that she slept with me.

Holy fuck. Like . . . I shake my head and try to process that reality but it’s just not computing.

“It’s not?” I finally ask. “Because from where I’m standing it sure as shit looks like that’s the case.”

She blinks rapidly and then averts her eyes. “Isn’t this who you are? So I’m not quite sure what you’re not understanding.”

“Who I am?” I cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly is that?”

“Not one to stick around after you get what you want . . .”

“Wow. Okay.” I purse my lips and nod. “So I’m one-night stand material. Rebellion against your family material.” I lean in closer and lower my voice. “Definitely orgasm material. But that’s all I’m good for?”

She clears her throat as a response.

“Don’t look now, Bellissima, but there’s so much material here, you might just be able to make a dress of shame that you slept with me and wear it.”

“That’s not”—she sighs—“I told you, Simply Sofia.” As if that explains everything.

“Yep. Got it. I was good enough for the peasant but not for the princess.” I take a few steps back, smile insincerely, ego fucking bruised.

When someone shows themself to you, then you best believe them.

Too bad I thought the real Sofia was the one from the festival.

Reality check given.

Even footing found.

I’ll be what she expects of me. Nothing less. Nothing more.

Lesson goddamn good and learned.

CHAPTER NINE

Rossi

“The car’s running good? Feeling good? You’re ready to prove to that prick he made a mistake?”

“Babbo.” Dad. “If you came to a race, you’d know.”

There’s the same pregnant pause on the other end of the connection that I get every time I say this. “I can’t leave work.”

I grit my teeth and pull down on the back of my neck. I know it’s coming but it still fucking irritates me every time he says it. “I’ve paid off your house. I’ve sent you enough money to live out the rest of your life. I did what you asked of me—succeed . . . and yet you’re still working.”

“I am. Yes. It’s busy here. There’s never enough time in the day. You know.”

Fucking frustrating. No. I don’t know.

“You’re good though? Your head’s in the right place?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”