MIA
The road stretched ahead, slick and gleaming under the headlights as I drove us back toward Fabi’s.
Romolo was fiddling with the heat.
“It’s one night,” I said.
“It’s not happening. I’m going home.”
“You can leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I’m not staying at Fabi’s,” he snapped. “It’s not even your place to invite me to.”
He was right. It wasn’t my house. But Fabi wouldn’t hold it against me. The storm was an easy excuse for bringing Romolo along. And considering she was about to become part of his family, it wasn’t as if he’d be unwelcome.
“I’m not inviting you. I’m telling you that’s what you’re doing.”
“When did you get the impression that you can tell me what to do?” His voice was low and edged with frustration. He hadn’t shaken off what had happened back there. For a man like him, that must have been a cataclysmic event. A moment of raw vulnerability in front of someone playing for the other team.
He hated every second of this.
“We all have our weak spots, Romolo.” A beat passed. “You don’t have to be so angry that I saw yours. The more you try to repress something painful, the more it tends to rupture to the surface when you least expect it.”
His jaw ticked. “What painful feelings have you been repressing?”
I sighed. He was trying to deflect the conversation to me so he wouldn’t have to talk about himself.
Fine. I’d humor him.
“In high school, I had anxiety. It got pretty bad for a while.” I stopped at a light. “Had to see a therapist.”
“Anxiety over what?”
I hesitated. “A lot of things. My classes. My grades. My family.”
Why my dad sent me away and never visited unless I begged.
It wasn’t that abnormal at Valais Academy. Fabi and Elena’s family never visited either. Most kids there had parents who were busy running multibillion-dollar corporations or managing their generational wealth.
If my mom had been still alive, I knew she would have been there as often as she could. She would have loved the campus. Especially the view of the mountain range from my dorm window. I’d have taken her to my favorite restaurant in the village and made her try the fondue.
I would have felt wanted and loved, instead of discarded.
“What did you do about it?” Romolo’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I cleared my throat. “For a long time, I didn’t do anything. I showed up to class and pretended I was fine. But I wasn’t. Then, one day, I had an anxiety attack during a final exam. Had to be escorted out and taken to the school medic’s office.” I winced at the memory. “It was humiliating. But after that, I realized I needed to deal with my problems instead of pretending they weren’t there. So I found a therapist.”
“Did it help?”
“It did.’ Of course, I knew that just because it hadn’t happened again, didn’t mean it never would.
“I’m not going to a shrink, Mia,” Romolo muttered. “And I fucking hate the Hamptons. I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when I’m back in Manhattan.”
“It can start to rain again at any moment. You really want to have a repeat of what happened? Alone in the car this time?”
“I would’ve preferred to be alone.”
“You’re more concerned about your pride than staying alive. The male ego is truly something,” I said, trying to lighten the heavy mood that had descended inside the car.
He flicked a clump of grass off his jeans “What pride is left? I look like some mud creature. These clothes are ruined.”
I glanced at him, regretting it immediately. Heat prickled at my cheeks as I took in the soaked fabric clinging to his chest and outlining the powerful lines of his shoulders and arms.
I found his current state of disarray to be charming. His usual polished exterior was gone. He was unfiltered. Sulking. Grumpy.
But real.
I liked real.
“It’ll be fine after a wash,” I said, forcing myself to focus on the road. “And there’s no judgment here,” I said. “I look just as bad.”
He shot me a sidelong glance, his gaze dipping to my bare legs just long enough to send goosebumps racing up my skin.
“You’re cold.” His voice had lost its earlier edge. It seemed I’d won the argument.
He reached behind his seat, grabbed his leather jacket, and tossed it across my lap.
I adjusted it to cover myself.
“Mia?”
“Yeah?”
A beat passed.
“Can you keep a secret?”
He didn’t want anyone to know about what had happened back there. That he’d cracked open, even for a moment. “Yeah.”
His gaze lingered on my face, warming my cheek. “Thanks.”
The jacket carried his scent, and for the rest of the drive, my blood hummed, too aware of it.
Too aware of him.
Fabi, Nina, and Zo weren’t back yet when we arrived at the house. I punched in the code to the front door that Fabi had given to all of us and wiped my muddy feet on the welcome mat before stepping inside Fabi’s mom’s pristine home. Romolo followed me.
The house was dark and eerily quiet. I reached for the light switch and blinked against the harsh glare as the overhead lights flickered on.
We caught our reflections in the entryway mirror at the same time.
Oh God.
We were a mess. Mud-streaked. Soaked. Completely wrecked.
Romolo exhaled through his nose. “Straight to the shower.”
It wasn’t meant suggestively, but an image of us under steaming water together flashed through my mind before I could stop it. Heat bloomed across my face. When I caught his pensive gaze in the mirror, I wondered if his mind had gone in a similar direction.
We were alone in an empty house. Light rain still bounced against the windows, and just beyond the glass in the living room, waves crashed over the shore. The sound of them filled the air.
It was intimate.
Dangerously intimate.
I felt myself drawn to him in a way I shouldn’t be.
Don’t forget what you thought of him before the car swerved.
Right.
He’d been awful. He wanted information on my dad, and he’d been ruthless in trying to get it.
No matter what happened tonight, I couldn’t risk further associating myself with him. I needed to get him out of my life.
And that picture… God. Was it worth trying to get him to delete it now that I had something on him, too?
The idea felt icky, but I had to use the little leverage I had to protect myself and the campaign.
I’d let him clean up first. Then I’d bring it up.
I nodded toward the stairs. “There’s a bathroom upstairs. Third door on the right.”
He rummaged through the gym bag he’d fished out of the trunk. “I only have a spare pair of sweatpants in here. Think you can find a T-shirt my size?”
“I can check.”
We climbed the stairs, careful not to touch the walls or railing with our filthy clothes. At the bathroom door, I stopped. “Go ahead. I’ll find you something to wear.”
His gray eyes lingered on me for a moment before he nodded and disappeared inside.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. The near drowning must have been horrific to traumatize him. How had he survived? Did someone pull him out, or did he fight his way to the surface?
He wouldn’t tell me. But I wanted to know. He’d been a black box before, and now the lid had been lifted just enough for me to glimpse inside. There were layers to him. Dimensions.
He wasn’t just the manipulative asshole he pretended to be.
The shower started.
A shirt. Right.
One by one, I checked the bedrooms the girls and I had taken. Besides our stuff, there were only a few bathrobes in the closets.
Finally, I found two neatly folded T-shirts in the master suite’s walk-in closet. They were roughly his size.
I grabbed the one that didn’t say The Hamptons, Long Island—since he said he hated this place—and knocked on the bathroom door. “Found you something.”
The water had stopped. “Come in,” his deep voice rumbled.
Steam spilled into the hallway as I opened the door and stepped inside. Romolo stood by the vanity raking his fingers through his damp hair, a towel slung low around his hips.
My mouth went dry.
Broad shoulders. Defined abs. Water still glistening over his skin. Tattoos wrapped around his torso and across his back—intricate images and patterns that must have taken hours upon hours to create.
It wasn’t fair.
Our eyes met in the mirror. His brows lifted slightly like he was amused. “What did you find?”
His voice coasted over my skin like a warm summer wind. I flushed, thrusting the shirt toward him. “Just a black T-shirt.”
He took it, his fingers grazing mine for the briefest moment. The room felt too small, the air charged and heavy.
“Why do I have a feeling this is Messero’s?” he mused, holding up the shirt.
The disdain in his voice made it clear how he felt about Fabi’s brother.
“No love lost between you and your future brother-in-law, huh?” I said, forcing my focus on anything other than the smooth planes of his chest.
“For the love of God, don’t remind me he’ll be family soon.”
“Well, just pretend it’s someone else’s. Maybe Fabi’s mom has a boyfriend.”
He shook his head, his expression unreadable. A few beats passed before his gaze slid back to me. “You’re staring, Mia. See something you like?”
I was staring.
I did like what I saw.
Too much.
Heat crept up my neck. Leave. Why are you still here?
He turned, giving me his back.
The towel dropped.
I made a strangled sound and spun toward the wall, my eyes snapping shut. “What are you doing?!”
“Getting dressed.” The fabric rustled as he pulled on the clothes.
I didn’t know why I was still standing there, but I couldn’t move. My feet were glued in place. My brain was short-circuiting.
He chuckled, low and knowingly.
I stared hard at the towel rack like it held all the answers to the universe.
And then I felt him.
Felt his warmth at my back. His shirt brushing against my dirty, damp cardigan. The barest graze of his lips near my ear.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured.
A violent shiver ran through me. I wanted to lean back. Wanted to see if he’d—
He brushed past me and walked out of the bathroom.
