Page 78 of Out of Control

But no one understands my family. Understands the tradition we’ve lived by. Understands the control our family patriarch still holds over us. Nor do they understand why we respect all of that.

It’s just how it is.

“And you told him no, right? You told him you’ve been busting your ass for weeks to get the grand opening ready and that you’re not changing shit for some party for Cruz.”

My silence eats the room. Second after second. I struggle to swallow and my pulse pounds in my ears. “I’ll figure it out.” And I will. Somehow. Some way.

“No, you won’t. You’ll give up your dream, your plans, for the good of the family.” I open my mouth to refute him but then close it. “I admire that about you but damn it, Sof, I also dislike you for not being more selfish as well.”

“Unless you’ve walked in my shoes, it’s hard to understand.”

He lets the comment sink into the stifling silence of the room that feels buffered somehow by his quiet understanding and the nonstop tracing of his fingers up and then back down my bicep.

He makes me feel lov—

“Come early to Japan with me,” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath heating up my skin and saving me from a thought I can’t afford myself to have. “Just you. Just me. Another city. A different bed. Just us.”

I don’t answer.

I open my mouth.

Then close it.

Then sit there and think how to answer him because I want to, but isn’t that why I came here last night? To figure out what this is? Now I’m even more confused.

“I have to go early. Just me. I thought maybe you’d come with me.”

“I can’t. I have the gallery. Contractor deadlines and . . . things.”

“Sure. Fine. I understand,” he murmurs and presses a kiss to my shoulder.

But I don’t.

I don’t understand the lie I just told or the distance I suddenly feel the need to create.

It’s because you’re falling for him, Sofia.

It’s because you’re falling for him, and you know you can’t.

Because if el patriarca won’t accept my gallery, he’ll never accept the Oliver Rossi I’ve come to know and . . . lo—adore.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Rossi

I rub my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. No one said pulling a huge surprise off was easy, but now I’m beginning to see why I never put the effort in before this.

It’ll be worth it.

I know it will.

But tracking down ghosts and trying to have meetings with them is a ridiculous fucking feat. One that my agent helped with but that I had to handle in person once we knew the contact information was right.

Now, I wait.

And I’m not good at fucking waiting.

I meander throughout the hotel suite, unsettled and yet feeling fucking good about life. About things with Sofia. About the race this week and my chances.