Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe that slimy son of a bitch did this to you.” He takes a long drink. “He must’ve been planning it right from the start.” He clenches his jaw. “That asshole used you.”
Rolling my hair into a bun, I secure it with a pencil. “Don’t rub it in. I feel bad enough about the whole thing. It’s silly, but I feel like my privacy has been invaded. After all, I did let him in.”
“It’s not silly.” He gives me a stern look. “He lied. He tricked you. If you knew what he was planning, you never would’ve let him in. That is an invasion of your privacy.” He adds with scorn, “In the worst possible way.”
“No, that’s not the worst.” I bite my lip, contemplating if I should say more, but the sinister promise is too scary to face alone. “The worst is that he said he’d come back for me.” I add in a barely audible voice, “Always.”
“Fuck, Bella.” He sits up straight, anger flashing in his eyes. “You have to get a restraining order against that bastard.”
That’s not an option, not as long as I can’t go to the police, and with what Dad’s done, I can never go to the police.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m going to talk to my dad. He knows people in the force—”
“No.” I lay a hand on his knee. “He was just bluffing, trying to scare me. He got what he wanted. He has no reason to come back.”
“I still think—”
“No,” I say more forcefully, thinking fast. “My dad doesn’t want the news to leak out to the media. It won’t be good for his company’s shares on the stock market. You can’t tell anyone. Understand?”
The look that passes over his features is conflicted. “I still think you should get protection, but I’ll never do something you don’t want.”
I blow out a shaky breath. “I knew I could count on you.”
If he feels this strongly about going to the police for a restraining order, I’m not telling him about Roch. It’ll only make matters worse. Angelo is gone. He won. There’s nothing we can do about it. But Roch is here. Colin won’t let such a blatant trespassing slide. He’ll see it as his duty to tell my dad. If my dad finds out a man is shadowing me, he’d rather get himself arrested and thrown in jail in the midst of a bribe scandal and destroy our family in the process before letting me keep my mouth shut. I’m sure Angelo is only covering his ass, making sure I don’t step out of line. In a few days, when he realizes no one is talking to the police, he’ll call Roch back.
“Yeah.” Colin ruffles my hair, messing up my bun. He doesn’t seem convinced. “Anything for you.”
“Shall we work on those exercises?” I ask, forcing brightness into my tone. “That’s why you came in the first place.”
“Why not?”
He puts the ginger ale on the nightstand and picks up his bag, but his actions lack enthusiasm.
For the next hour, we go over the notes he took and do a couple of exercises. My mom calls me down just after seven and invites Colin to stay for dinner. Colin and I work another two hours after clearing the table and helping to tidy the kitchen before he says goodnight.
“You sure you’ll be fine?” he asks, hovering in the doorframe when I see him out.
“Yes.” As he doesn’t budge, I add, “I’ll tell you if I’m not.”
He nods once, climbs down the steps, and stops at the bottom. “Are you coming to class tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
Colin was right. I can’t afford to mess up my future, and I sure as hell won’t let Angelo be the cause of missing out on my dreams.
Trying to lighten the mood, I say, “Only if I’m driving.”
I meant to tease, but his response is serious. “Sure.”
I watch him walk away, feeling like a fake and a liar because I pretended it’s not serious. Because I pretended it doesn’t matter. Because I lied when I said that Angelo coming back for me is the worst.
The worst is far from that. The worst isn’t even mourning the loss of my first love.
The worst is that my heart can’t bear the thought of Angelo never returning.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Angelo
My mother comes downstairs as I exit the dining room after breakfast. She’s wearing a camel-colored Dior coat, a Hermes scarf, and a Louis Vuitton handbag over her arm. Since we made our money, my father has turned her into a walking luxury brand. It’s an overkill. He’s trying to make up for those days none of us can forget but will never mention.
“Morning,” I say, the nagging guilt and questions from yesterday still burrowing like splinters under my skin.
She pulls on a pair of gloves and stops at the bottom of the staircase with a soft smile on her face. Her words are equally soft, as if she’s scared to speak up, scared she’ll be heard. “Good morning.”