Chapter 2
Rory
I cursed my involuntary instinct to cower, especially since the stranger had been so helpful and kind, but it wasn’t something I could control. Tall men—those easily over six feet—had made me nervous ever since I’d gone on the run from my husband.
Seven years was long enough for me to stop looking over my shoulder everywhere I went, but apparently not long enough that I wasn’t triggered at the sight of a man who towered over my petite five-one frame.
Greenish gold eyes peered back at me from beneath lowered eyebrows. “Problem, Ro?”
I blinked at him. “H-how did you know my name?”
When he reached toward me, I flinched, and he dropped his hand, a look of chagrin on his face. “Sorry. It’s just that your nametag kinda gave it away.” He gestured to the rectangular pin affixed to my shirt.
Heat flooded my cheeks. “Oh, right.”
Get it together, Rory. It’s a damn miracle you’ve survived this long on your own if you’re freaking out over a guy pointing out that obviously your name would be visible when working in the service industry.
The man standing opposite me ran a hand through his chin-length dark brown hair, the action causing his tattooed bicep to bunch.
Damn, now that I got a good look at him, he had defined muscles everywhere.
And while his rugged appearance was enticing, it was the glasses and neatly trimmed beard that really had my mouth watering.
He gave off the vibes of being both strong and smart, and I swiped a hand over my mouth to make sure my tongue hadn’t lolled out.
“I’m John,” he offered.
John. I took comfort in the Anglo-Saxon name. It was a far cry from some of the more ethnic ones you found within organized crime families—my own included, considering I was the daughter of a Seamus O’Malley and the wife of a Giovanni Bellini.
A shiver rolled down my spine just thinking of Gio and what he would do to me when he discovered my location.
I was living on borrowed time because, if I knew my husband at all, he would never stop searching.
The head of the Bellini Mafia was a prideful man, and my unauthorized departure would have been a direct hit to his ego.
“John.” I gave the man a curt nod. “While it was nice running into you—”
A bark of laughter cut off my polite attempt at a getaway.
Pressing a hand to his chest when his amusement tapered off, John flashed me with a brilliant smile. Damn, his teeth were amazingly white. “You made a joke.”
I lifted a shoulder. “Figured it would help lighten the mood.”
He shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “It worked.”
“I’m glad, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to let the kitchen know we need a refire on the entire table.”
When I turned to leave, he called out to my back, “Wait.”
Halting my steps, I fought against a sigh as I peeked over my shoulder. “Yes?”
Sheepishly, John dropped his gaze to the floor, which was extra colorful, courtesy of the eight dropped entrees. “You’re going to have to pay for this, aren’t you?”
“It’s fine.” I waved him off, even though he was right and I’d be in the hole over a hundred bucks on my next paycheck.
Whipping out his wallet, he pulled out several bills. “Hopefully, this is enough to cover it.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You really don’t have to—”
He shoved the money into my hand. “I insist. And I’m going to leave my number at the hostess stand. If you end up needing stitches, please reach out so I can cover your medical expenses as well.”
Almost as if on cue, a sharp stinging sensation roared to life where my skin had been sliced open. Glancing at the injury, I saw that while the cut stretched across the entire length of my palm, it wasn’t very deep.
I lifted my eyes to meet John’s. “Little liquid glue, and I should be right as rain, but I appreciate the gesture.”
“Regardless, my number will be up front. Call if you need anything, Ro.”
Okay, time to extract myself from the situation because I wasn’t in any position to be accepting numbers from men.
I might be on the run, but I was still legally married to Gio, who very much believed that I was his property.
God help anyone who so much as looked at what was his, let alone touched it.
They would be marked for death, no questions asked.
I hitched a thumb toward the kitchen. “I gotta go handle this.”
“Of course.” John ducked his head. “Sorry again for the mess.”
The minute I cleared the swinging doors to the kitchen, I let out a deep exhale, and my eyes fell shut. When I opened them again, I found my co-worker, Alexis, peeking through the circular window toward the dining room.
“Who is that?” she breathed.
Turning around to see who she was referring to, I found John still standing there, his green eyes staring directly at me. Groaning, I muttered, “The guy who bumped into me so that I dropped table forty-three’s entire order.”
Alexis rolled her eyes. “Obviously. I saw the whole thing happen.”
“Funny, I didn’t see you rush over to help,” I grumbled.
“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome seemed to have it covered.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’re going to call him, right?”
“Definitely not.” I moved further into the industrial kitchen, relaying to the cooks that I needed a refire on forty-three.
Alexis was hot on my trail. “Why not?”
I blew out a frustrated breath. “Because I don’t date.”
“Girl, you need to get over your psycho ex and get back on that horse. That guy out there?” She gestured toward the door to the dining room.
“He looks like he could give you the ride of your life. Did you see how big he was? Imagine if he’s that big everywhere.
” She widened her eyes for emphasis, like I hadn’t already figured out she was talking about his dick.
“Bigger doesn’t necessarily mean better,” I huffed, grabbing the first aid kit and wrapping gauze around my injured hand.
She snorted. “That’s something people say when they’ve never been dicked down by a monster cock.”
“Let me rephrase that. It’s the guys who are packing below the belt who are usually the biggest assholes.” I knew that from experience.
Alexis tilted her head from side to side. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”
“He was nice enough to cover the cost of the refire, so we’re going to leave it at that.”
But of course she couldn’t let it drop. “I’m just saying if he was trying to give me his number . . .”
“If you want it that badly, go get it from Tiffany because I sure as hell am not interested.”
She hummed, pursing her lips. “Maybe I will.”
“I’m serious. Be my guest.”
“Ro, order up!” Nick called over to let me know table forty-three’s food was ready.
Grabbing the freshly loaded tray, I tossed over my shoulder at Alexis, “I gotta get back to work.”
This was my life now. I woke up, worked at least two of my three jobs, came home, ate dinner, and went to sleep. Rinse and repeat.
My days as a prissy, pampered mafia wife were so far behind me that I could barely see them in the rearview mirror.
And I’d never been happier.
“Ro! We’ve got someone who needs help with a recommendation in romance.”
At the sound of my manager’s voice, I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the pages of the book in my hand.
The hockey coach’s daughter had just shown up at the star defenseman’s front door, wearing nothing but his jersey, to taunt him after he’d left her a drunken voicemail confessing that he had feelings for her.
Since I wasn’t having sex anymore, I lived vicariously through the characters in the romance novels I devoured. Which was why I was the go-to girl anytime someone came into Bizzy’s Book Boutique needing a recommendation in that genre. I’d read almost every book we carried in that section.
Positioning a ribbon to mark my page, I set the book down before walking toward the back of the store. When I turned the corner to the romance section, I stopped short.
No, it couldn’t be . . .
I rubbed at my eyes, blinking a few times. But no matter how hard I tried to clear my vision, the man from the restaurant last week—John—was still standing there, perusing the titles on the shelf.
When I cleared my throat to announce my presence, his head whipped up, and a smile formed on his face as recognition lit up in his green-gold eyes.
“It’s you.” His ultra-deep voice did funny things to my insides.
“Yep, me again.” I gestured to the shelves. “My manager said there was someone back here needing help?”
John nodded. “Yeah, I’m looking for something specific.”
“In romance?” I was still having a hard time believing that he was the customer I’d been sent to advise on a recommendation.
He cocked his head. “Is that so hard to believe?”
Heat rose up the back of my neck. “Uh, kinda?”
“You know”—he casually leaned against the bookshelf—“if only more men realized this section was full of instruction manuals on how to treat women the way they deserve, it would prevent a lot of broken hearts.”
I gaped at him. That was an incredibly astute observation.
Curious, I asked, “Has it helped in your love life?”
John let out a sigh, his lips turning down at the corners. “Sadly, no. I’m still woefully single at thirty-six, but these books give me hope that, maybe someday, the right person will just walk into my life and turn it upside down in the best possible way.”
“Ah, so you’re a hopeless romantic, then,” I teased.
“Guilty.” He ducked his head with a shy smile.
Venturing closer, I trailed a finger over the spines of stories that, by rule, always featured a happy ending. “What can I help you find today?”
“I know there is an overabundance of enemies-to-lovers and friends-to-lovers books out there, but what I’m really craving is one that features a strangers-to-lovers storyline.
Something where they’ve never met before, but that initial encounter sparks an instant attraction.
I want one of the main characters to be consumed by thoughts of the other, making them almost desperate for another chance meeting. ”
My breath stalled in my lungs. If I didn’t know any better, I might have believed he was describing our run-in at the restaurant a week ago and in a roundabout way confessing that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about me since.
No, that couldn’t be right. While I’d been raised with a silver spoon in my mouth and taught that others were beneath me, I had come back down to earth quickly when forced to work three jobs to survive.
Stripped of designer labels and high-end beauty products, it became glaringly obvious that, in fact, I was nothing more than average—far from special and not at all the type of woman who would have bagged a billionaire if it hadn’t been for an arranged marriage.
I almost laughed out loud, thinking of all the women who had once openly coveted my husband—or more accurately, his bank account.
Not one of them would have survived a day in my shoes.
Money was meaningless when you were stripped of your humanity, your sole purpose to be an incubator for the don’s heir.
Thank God the opportunity to get out came when it did.
Already, Gio had become suspicious that our five years of marriage hadn’t produced a baby, forcing me to undergo invasive testing to determine if there was a cause for my infertility.
I kept my mouth shut, the whole time knowing my barren womb was the result of the secret birth control stash hidden in my underwear drawer.
To this day, I had no regrets. I would have endured every one of those procedures a million times over before I allowed Gio to get me pregnant.
“Ro?” The sound of a male voice brought me back to the present.
“Oh, sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Strangers-to-lovers? Yes, we’ve definitely got some of those. Any particular subgenre you gravitate toward?” Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the shelf, I listed a few. “Hockey, cowboy, small town”—I swallowed thickly—”mafia?”
John hummed. “You know, small town would really hit the spot right about now. Maybe something in the mountains?”
Fuck. There went my wishful thinking that he wasn’t looking for a story to mirror our situation.
When I dared to face him, there was so much hope alight in his eyes that I felt like a total bitch for what I had to do. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but this was truly a case of it’s not you, it’s me.
“Look, John.” I blew out a heavy breath. “You seem like a really great guy, and I can’t thank you enough for covering the bill on that overturned tray, but I don’t date.”
Silence stretched between us for so long that I began to squirm.
Finally, he repeated my words. “You don’t date? Like, ever?”
“No, I’m sorry. I have a past, and it’s just safer if I stay single.”
A disappointed exhale rushed past his lips. “Sure, I get it. But I hate how a few bad apples can ruin it for everyone else.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, me too.”
“Well, if you ever change your mind . . .”
“Not possible,” I replied.
“So . . .” John rocked back on his heels. “If you could point me toward that book rec, I can get out of your hair.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline. “You still want the book?”
“That is why I came in here, after all. Though getting to see you again was a welcome surprise.”
Shaking out of my stupor, I switched into work mode.
“Right, okay. Um, let me see.” I scanned the titles, landing on one that would meet his specifications.
“This one here”—I pulled the book from the shelf—“has a strangers-to-lovers plot, though I’m afraid the small town is coastal instead of mountainous. ”
“That’ll work.” He extended a hand to take the thick paperback from me.
“Great. Bizzy’s up front at the register, and she can get you all checked out.”
John held up the book. “Thanks for this. It was really nice seeing you again, Ro.”
“You too, John.”
When he turned his back to walk away, I cursed both the family I’d been born into and the one I’d married into. Together, they would forever cast a shadow over any happiness I might’ve been allowed to have.
I could almost hear Gio mocking me inside my head.
“Poor little mafia princess with the world at her fingertips, and still it wasn’t enough.”
But what he never understood was that he couldn’t give me what I wanted most.
Love.