Chapter Two
__________
Alessio
Alessio was honest.
There was no point in sugarcoating words, sparing feelings, or pretending to fit within societal rules. His fans called him blunt, his haters labeled him as a barbarian, and neutral spectators thought he was rude.
Everyone was the same to him: they had a head, a nose, and a mouth. Eyes, though, were like rare gems because they couldn’t see how utterly irritated he was when forced to deal with them.
But he did remember Meryl, just enough minute details to prepare himself for the haughty, smug twist of her lips when she saw him on set.
If she wasn’t Anya’s friend, he would’ve scrapped her from his memories. Meryl’s protectiveness of Anya was unshakable, as was her distaste for him and his past relationship with Anya.
The feeling was mutual.
He couldn’t care less about her opinion as long as she stayed out of his way.
So when Meryl crossed her arms and tilted her chin in front of the rolling cameras, he knew what she wanted to say.
“You’re the last person I’d expect to see here,” she snarked with a laugh. “I wonder why…”
He didn’t know whether she was taking a jab at him or genuinely unaware, but he chose the latter. Something seemed to click in her mind before the muscle on her cheek twitched.
“Ah.” She snapped her fingers. “Last-minute thing, aye?”
He didn’t deny it.
There was no explanation for how he dug the legal contract out of his manager’s bag, signed and sent it, and then booked the first flight he could find.
All because there was a chance of Anya joining the show when Meryl announced it to her millions of followers.
He hasn’t opened his manager’s messages or listened to the voicemails ever since he joined the set. A headache was an understatement, but it wouldn’t be the first time his manager’s words breezed through Alessio’s brain.
“Nice to see you again, I guess.” Meryl clicked her tongue and waved over her shoulder when she walked back into the house.
The other participants, a polyamorous trio, marched out after her. Alessio could hear them arguing with each other, mainly why one couldn’t comfort the other without asking, and the third partner carped about how he shouldn’t have to decipher mind games.
Four extra people on this ridiculous reality love show were too many, and he’d prefer it if they all went away.
Then Anya stepped through the front door, her eyes landing on the row of high-end cars before they ran up to her scarf. It was the same burgundy one she used to wear with a small baby blue patch sewn at the end because there was a hole in it, and she didn’t want to throw out a perfectly looking scarf.
The trio strolled past him, but not before eyeing him for the longest minute known to existence. Three sports cars simultaneously roared, kicking up white vapor into the night, and sped off to somewhere.
Alessio watched her interview and knew what was written on the envelope. Meryl had a different mission, so Anya couldn’t take her car.
That left him as her only option.
For the past hours, he had waited for her to make up her mind. It was amusing to watch her reluctance become acceptance. Never one to know how to mask her emotions, it was one of the things Alessio liked about her.
He sighed. Impatience roamed through his body, and he knew it would be like prying a weed with strong roots from the ground for her to ask him for a ride.
For his car, he stood corrected. She’d take any chance not to be around him.
He didn’t understand. Their breakup was quiet, mild, and perhaps boring . There were no tormented screams, wretched tears, or bitter aftertaste like betrayal and anger. He hadn’t wanted to break up, but he always respected and put her wants before his—only if it was good for her.
He didn’t know how to feel about the separation back then or even now.
He was certain of the wispy temptation in the back of his mind, the urge to hold some part of her, and the need to be in control this time around.
Alessio was kind to her and their relationship in the past, as much as the words bit at his tongue, so it was time to rein in the selflessness—another uncanny word to describe him.
“Get in,” he uttered, unlocking his car with a discreet click.
Her eyes lingered on the mini croquet toy dangling from his key fob before she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
“I can drive,” she replied.
He nodded. “I’m aware.”
Her cheeks, kissed by the tail of autumn wind, puffed slightly and turned a darker shade of pink.
“Can you stop staring at me?” she grumbled, shifting her weight to the other foot as a nervous gesture.
He shot back, unapologetically blunt, “You’re staring at me .”
A flow of incoherent mumbles, maybe snarky jabs, tumbled from behind her disgruntled pout. She blurted out a quiet “thank you” with her hand resting on the backseat window.
“It’s not a taxi.”
He didn’t want to give her the chance to put any more distance between them. Besides, the passenger seat was and will always be her privilege.
“I know.” Her hand lingered on the window, the condensation dissipating in circles around the heat from her fingers.
“Passenger seat.” He rapped his knuckles on the window as a silent signal and a sign of impatience.
Anya hesitated momentarily before she got in. “But we’ll need to make awkward small talk.”
“Then don’t talk,” he intoned offhandedly as he shut the door and started the engine.
She mouthed something silently while he pulled away from the house, almost forgetting the camera being turned on remotely.
He let out an irked sigh.
He was fine with the silence when they made it to the closest store. He paid close attention to her mood when they parked, and there was a trivial pinch in his chest when she looked nervous yet laid back.
When he took the infuriatingly vivid green shopping basket, it wasn’t just a practical action but a subconscious move, like muscle memory kicking in.
That was when he willfully admitted just how mundanely yet intimately his body reacted to her presence. The familiarity praised his riled heartbeats with a warm crescendo.
The sweet moment was interrupted by another door’s resounding thump from behind. He looked over his shoulder with a scowl plastered on his face as one of the show’s cameramen followed them with a smartphone on a selfie stick.
For someone who despised public scrutiny, Alessio had gotten used to the cameras. Whether paparazzi in trees or fans behind walls, they were always there.
Anya was a bit uneasy, but the cameraman kept his distance, so she was able to pretend she wasn’t being filmed as she admired the massive building bristling with liveliness.
Her eyes were promptly locked onto the list of items on her phone. She zipped into the aisle farthest from the entrance and then dropped a pair of slippers in the basket along with several plain shirts that were of decent quality.
Alessio inspected the shelf beside him, reading the labels, and put a bottle of lavender bedding spray into the basket. Anya was a picky sleeper and only recognized her bed; he remembered she relied on this specific brand when traveling.
Anya was on her phone when he looked over to her, still ignoring the cameraman about two feet from them, and she accidentally skimmed the comments on the live video showing their backs.
502
Something is going on between them. I’m betting every penny of the $98.04 in my bank.
503
I do, too. Like, that wasn’t even bantering. It was straight-up flirting. Source: trust me.
“That was not flirting,” she mumbled, exiting the live feed with a huff.
She cast him a grumpy glare from the corner of her eye. He was tempted to shrug, but that felt like too much work, so he merely raised a brow at her.
He couldn’t control the comments. Every live feed—from the house or elsewhere—garnered an unrelenting flood of chatter. Alessio guessed the total number of comments at the house alone was well into six digits.
Anya took out her wallet from her jacket’s inner pocket at checkout, but he raised his phone to the machine and allowed the payment to go through before she could stop him.
“Free stuff,” he stated nonchalantly as he took the plastic bag off the self-checkout bagging rack.
Anya liked money, and he was positive it was why she signed up to be on the show after it started.
It suited his intentions perfectly.
Friends or lovers, he didn’t care, as long as she was more than just the memories stored on his phone and flash drive.
“Thanks?” she asked, unsure if that was appropriate as her nose wrinkled.
Alessio didn’t respond as they exited the store and placed the bags into the backseat. He closed the door just as she opened hers—an act of timing so unfortunate it almost felt personal.
An act of unwarranted vengeance.
At nine o’clock, with the stars as witnesses, the tip of his shoe caught on a slick patch of condensation, and his knee met the coldness.
There was loaded silence, winded laughter from autumn twigs, and throbbing pain in his joints.
“You may rise,” Anya blurted, fidgeting in self-consciousness.
The corner of his lips twitched into a sneer as he pressed a palm on his left knee for support to stand. She snuck into the car and shut the door at neck-breaking speed as if there was a fire lit behind her, and he was the hellfire.
It was worrisome, in an eerily amusing way, how he glared at her through the tinted window.
* * *
After arriving at the house, Alessio noticed the polyamorous trio wasn’t back yet, but Meryl’s car was parked closest to the front entrance.
Anya hauled the bags and practically sprinted inside the house before he could even lock the car. He watched her disappear while leaning on the car hood as he welcomed the icy air into his lungs.
He wondered what he wanted to do next.
Anya wasn’t avoiding him like he thought she would; she was good at that, retreating into her shell and raised barricades and pretending everything was fine.
Through their relationship, Alessio had learned to read between the lines and understood her patterns of cowardice. Albeit after they broke up, but now, reading Anya felt like breathing air.
Her actions were deciphered and picked apart with a mere thought.
Four years together had merged them in a way soulmates were meant to be. Each piece of themselves fitted perfectly in a different picture—they had fragments of each other, irreplaceable and dutifully cherished.
Heat flared behind his neck. Irritation, he recognized, and he couldn’t stop it from thrashing under his skin as his temple pinched painfully.
All her fault , he thought bitterly, the taste of it sharp on his tongue.
He wouldn’t be here taking the brunt of these feelings , these disgustingly tedious emotions in his stomach, or the rising fervor of actually committing a crime.
They were perfect together. He didn’t think anything went wrong, and he was happy back then. It was odd to admit it, but the acknowledgment came too naturally that it was another passing thought before he caught it.
Alessio sighed, aggravated. His hair was already disheveled when he ran a frustrated hand through it, and it was made worse. He had no worries about looking untamed; he was lucky to even get a hold of himself.
He didn’t want to become a PR disaster because that meant he had to deal with the publicist team, and they were annoying cretins.
What slowed his mind was the realization that Anya didn’t file him under the “piece of shit” category, as many people often did with their ex-lovers. She treated him like any other person—polite and distant, somewhat graceless, but kind.
That wasn’t enough for him.
Greed would power his blood, and envy clouded his eyes whenever he saw clips of her with Meryl in those daily videos. Pride tested him to wait and see if she could survive without him.
Evidently, she could. He hated to admit that.
His phone rang, an incoming call from his manager flashed on the screen, and he supposed it was about time he talked to that man before he called for a welfare check. That man was dramatic, and Alessio had no doubt he would waste resources just for peace of mind.
His manager was shouting through the line the moment it connected, and in the middle of his rambling about Alessio’s irresponsibility, he heard a series of strangled snorts.
“Are you crying?” he questioned, his lips wrapping into a scowl.
The man sniffled, the noise statically loud, and denied the claim.
“An accusation,” he shouted on the line, “I have hypersensitivity.”
There was a moist whine, and Alessio wanted to hang up right then.
He listed every transgression Alessio had committed: violating his manager’s privacy for the reality show contract, lying about his location, and booking a plane ticket solo.
The man highlighted that it was his job to do all those nitty-gritty details like booking and scheduling. Then, he spent another thirty seconds saying he had to rearrange the entire month’s schedule around the show.
“Two-week double pay,” Alessio interjected.
The tears and babbling were gone. How convenient.
In place was an elated and enthusiastic employee, promising to make his time on the set as smooth as possible.
“Alright, boss. Have fun, boss. Call me if you need anything, boss—anything.”
He pocketed his phone and leaned his weight on the car hood, his arms tensing underneath as he tilted his head to look up at the starry sky. It was rare for late October to have stars around this area, and the brightest one glared back at him.
He wanted to do so many things but also nothing at all. At least not now. Little by little, he was going to invade her life again and put more pieces of himself into her puzzle—the future she had decided he was not allowed to be in.
He laughed silently. White smoke slithered upward, scattering above his faded gaze.
He’d be more than happy to crush that plan in front of her, but he didn’t think he should, not too obvious anyway.
Alessio brought a hand to his neck and massaged the inkling of selfishness that looped down his spine. It persisted, so he allowed it to fester and form a distorted kind of strength to push him up from the hood and propel his foot toward the house.
Each step felt purposeful and light.
Inside, he found Anya in the living area, seated next to Meryl, who was showing her something on the phone. They looked at each other, then back at the screen, repeating the motion.
“My ex-husband is here,” Meryl hissed, yanking her hair.
Anya met his eyes over the other woman’s shoulder, and her cheeks dusted pink as her frantic gaze snapped away.
“Which one?” Anya tested.
“I only divorced once. Technically, this one is still my husband, but he might as well be a divorcee.”
Anya grimaced. “Honestly, he’s a catch. He cares about you, has an ambitious career, a sense of humor, confidence, attractiveness, and a stack of credit cards.”
A voice in his ears mimicked a deafening creek in a run-down, abandoned house. It revived the discontentment in his throat, and he stopped a restless sneer from breaking past his scowl.
Meryl scoffed, slamming her phone against the armrest. “With the emotional capacity of a carrot.”
“They’re good for the eyes, though.”
Meryl’s shushing objection was nimble, and Anya smiled sheepishly.
Their conversation stilled as Alessio’s towering frame reached their peripheral, his steps deliberate as he approached.
Anya swallowed fretfully. “You look like you’re about to cement me into the floor.”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice.
Anya tried to suppress the flinch. She didn’t look scared, just startled.
“Did I offend you in any way?” She raised an eyebrow as fascination rallied in her eyes.
“Your self-reflection is admirable,” he intoned dryly and took gratification from her gasp.
Her soft features hardened to an incredulous frown.
It almost felt like the past, just the two of them and slow days.
Good , he mused.
Things needed to be taken slowly, and progress wouldn’t disappoint him if he was patient.