Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55750 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Do you want some advice for my daughter?”
“Of course.”
I’ll take any connection with the mother of the woman I want that I can get. She seems like an emotional, sincere person. It seems like she only wants the best for her child.
“Don’t push her too hard, and … trust her. She’s always been wise beyond her years. Believe in her if she has an idea, even if it seems wild. I did that when she came to me as a little girl with hope in her eyes, asking to learn the violin. I believed, and I know it will lead to greatness.”
I swallow a ball of emotion, nodding. Her love for her daughter is impossible to ignore. “I agree, but for what it’s worth, your daughter is already great.”
“I wanted to hate you,” she goes on. “Then I saw this look on my daughter’s face. It was a look I hadn’t seen since she came to me as that excited little girl, eager because she had so much to learn.”
“And you gave her that chance.”
She smiles with a sad quality. “I’m not a saint. That’s what you need to understand. I’m not a hero. You said you wanted to earn the respect of her parents, but her father is dead. He ran out on us when she was a kid. I got word he died two years after that, but I never told her.” Her voice cracks. “I never told her …”
“You wanted to give her hope,” I say, reading her.
“That doesn’t make it right. Oh, God, it feels so good to say it, though—I lied—and not have to keep it inside.”
“She’ll forgive you. She’ll understand.”
“Sometimes, I think I don’t deserve her,” she says tearfully. “She’s just too perfect.”
“We can agree on that,” I say, conviction burning in my voice. “Not that you don’t deserve her. She’s perfect, though.”
When I head inside, her words are bouncing around my head. Maybe that’s why I say yes when she asks me something that should be an instant no. I find myself agreeing to something I never thought possible.
I’m putting my sister and my woman in danger now.
CHAPTER THIRTY
MATTEO
Ilie in bed, eyes closed, knowing I need to sleep if I’ll be of any use tomorrow. My mind goes back to the conversation with Bella after I spoke with her mother. “Your sister wants to help; no, she needs to help …” Maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to let either of them play if it wasn’t for my brother’s plan, but it’s possible with things as they are—still not risk free.
I turn over when my cell phone vibrates from the nightstand. A smile twitches both edges of my mouth when I see who it is. I wonder for a second if I’ll ever stop reacting like that when she texts me, and I know I won’t.
Are you asleep? I feel too wired, and the performance isn’t until tomorrow night!
At least you’ll be safe behind all that glass.
That was Elio’s insight. In regular circumstances, having performers behind bulletproof glass would be suspicious, but Elio had the idea of creating an artistic point behind it. They’re not hiding but representing society’s need to contain artists or something like that. He phrased it better than me.
What are you doing? she texts.
I smirk. What do you think? Texting you …
Ha ha ha …
I’m happy to go on one of our nighttime adventures if you are, I text back.
Three dots appear. It’s laughable how significant those dots seem to me when they never did before. The idea of texting, by itself, having any special significance is laughable. Or it should be, but not with Bella.
I thought you’d never ask.
I drive through the city in my bulletproof car, one hand resting on the wheel and the other resting on Bella’s thigh. My cock stirs every time she shifts in her seat. She’s wearing a summer dress that does a damn fine job of outlining her shape.
“Is there anywhere specific you want to go?” I ask. “Anything specific you want to do?”
Her hand tightens on mine when I say the word do. I glance at her. Fuck. She’s looking at me with wide, excitable, almost dangerous eyes.
“What’s on your mind, my virgin virtuoso?”
For a moment, this almost lost look comes across her face. Or maybe it’s broken, terrified on some core level. It triggers something so deep inside me I almost can’t accept it. It feels so damn natural, like it was always there, waiting to be revealed. Then her look changes back. Am I going nuts?
“Just that …” she whispers. “It’s the whole V thing.”
My manhood gets rock-solid at the hitch in her voice. She gets raspy, almost like she’s on the edge of an orgasm right now.
“I always dreamed of losing it in this one hotel,” she goes on, my balls swelling the more she speaks. “The problem was, whenever I imagined it, I could never see a specific person. I couldn’t imagine doing it, so I stopped caring.” Her hand moves up and down her leg in the most tempting way, my cock twitching, aching.