Chapter 21 Belle
BELLE
The floorboard outside my room creaks like a gunshot, and I freeze like I've been caught smuggling state secrets.
Act normal, I command myself. You're just a woman going to see her father. Not a pregnant woman sneaking to a prenatal appointment while living in a fortress full of armed men who report your every breath to their boss.
Normal. Right. Because nothing about my life qualifies as normal anymore.
Declan, the staff, Sofia, and most importantly, the very gorgeous man who knocked me up.
I've got it all figured out. Appointment at two-thirty p.m., cab waiting just outside, and a lie so believable I almost bought it myself.
Three weeks of morning sickness and popping vitamins when nobody's looking have turned me into a walking NDA.
Sadly, honesty's cleaner, and I'm terrible at lying. Even my tells have tells. So, I better go out quiet into the afternoon. All I need to do is walk out the front door without running into anyone. Simple, right?
Yeah, sure. Be delusional while you're at it, Belle. It's not like there are twenty goons with pistols milling around.
The hallway's clear. Step one, check.
Since the attack three nights ago, the security in this house has tripled. Everyone's on edge, especially Luca. He's been watching me like I might disappear if he blinks too long.
I make it down the stairs without banging into anyone. Step two, check.
I rehearse my lie as I walk: "Going to see my dad. Won't be long."
Simple. Vague. Impossible to fact-check while I'm gone.
I hear Bruno's nails clicking on the marble before I see him, the giant dog rounding the corner with his tongue lolling out. He spots me and changes course.
"Hey, big guy," I whisper, scratching behind his ears. "Don't rat me out, okay?"
Bruno woofs softly. Traitor.
I'm almost at the front door when—
"Going somewhere?"
I wince and turn around, putting on a smile for Luca. Just looking at him is a slap to the ribs. Dark hair slicked back, jaw freshly shaved, eyebrow raised like I'm the most amusing thing in the world.
Get it together, Belle. He's hot, yeah… but you could be in real trouble.
"Just to see my dad. I…I need to put the past to rest."
"Is that so?" Luca steps closer. "That's interesting, because I just got off the phone with him and he said something about going in for a meeting."
Well, shit.
"Oh, is he?" I backpedal. "I meant, um, I thought I'd just drop in. Haven't been able to forget the things he did and every time I've tried to bring it up, he finds an excuse."
Even I don't believe me, and I'm the one talking.
Luca's eyes narrow.
"Try again," he says, stepping closer until I can smell his cologne—dark and expensive and dangerous.
Smile, my brain screams. Use those dimples. Bat your eyes. Do something before he sees straight through you.
"I just need some space to—" The lie dies on my tongue like roadkill. "To clear my head."
"Clear your head." His voice carries the deadly calm of a man who already knows the answer to every question he's asking.
"By visiting your father who's in a meeting he can't leave?" His eyebrow ticks up. He's calm, which is so much worse than yelling. Calm Luca is the Luca who already has the answers and is making me hang myself with the rope of my own nonsense.
*Lie better, *my brain hisses. Or shut up entirely.
"I thought maybe I'd wait in his lobby," I hear myself say, like a lunatic. "You know, stage an ambush."
"Right."
He takes another step, and the foyer shrinks. My back finds the cool paneling and my heartbeat goes stunt-driver against my ribs. His presence is a gravity field; everything I am tilts toward him like I don't have bones, just poor decisions.
"Belle."
"Luca." I try for breezy; it comes out breathy. My body's a traitor—heat crawling up my neck, breasts tightening under a shirt that was innocent five minutes ago. Goosebumps race down my arms even though he hasn't touched me. Yet.
His gaze flicks to the bag on my shoulder, then back to my face. "One more try."
I swallow. Be normal, Belle. Easy. Casual. "It's not a big deal. I just need… closure. We've been talking, but always skirting around the truth and that feels fake, you know?"
His jaw works, that flash of hurt under the anger like a bruise someone touched. "I haven't seen you all that bothered by what he did. Earlier, sure. But still?"
Gulp. I told him so, myself, that I understood where my father was coming from.
His palm slams against the wall beside my head while his other hand finds my hip, pinning me against the paneling.
The heat of him brands me through my clothes, and my treacherous body responds, knees going weak, thighs clenching, breath hitching like I'm the guilty party in an interrogation I can't win.
"Since when do you keep things from me?" he asks, quiet, lethal. "Don't lie to me. Not you."
That's the cut. Not you.
Guilt punches low. "I'm not—" I try again. "I don't want to lie to you. This has nothing to do with you. I just need… space."
His fingers flex against my hips.
"Belle." He hovers near my mouth. "If you need help—"
"I'll ask." I hear how small it sounds and want to kick myself. "I just… not today."
"Look at me," he commands.
When I do, his dark eyes strip me bare—not just clothes, but lies, defenses, every secret I'm trying to hide. My lips part involuntarily; my tongue darts out to wet them, and his gaze tracks the movement like a predator watching prey.
Heat floods my core even as panic floods my mind. I hate how my body betrays me, how I want him to take control even when I'm terrified of being caught.
He leans in, close enough that his breath fans my lips, close enough to kiss me senseless—and stops.
The space between us crackles with unfinished business.