Chapter 7 Giulia
GIULIA
“I’ll let you know when I’m on my way out.” I can barely bring myself to look up at Alessandro as he holds the car door open for me so I can get out. It’s been a whole week since he saved my ass, and I still can’t bring myself to look at him. It’s too awkward. I’m too embarrassed.
“Watch it!” he barks. All at once, I’m pressed against his chest with his arm around me, holding me close. My breath catches, and I don’t know what to do with the sudden rush of heat that warms my cheeks and makes my pulse flutter.
Thank God, I come to my senses before I can close my eyes and soak in the smell of his cologne—spicy, musky, something that makes me want to bury my face in his neck and inhale. “What are you doing?” I snap, prying myself free.
Nobody can scowl the way he does. “You almost got hit by a car when you got out without looking first. Where is your head lately?” The derision in his voice is actually a relief.
He’s been strangely nice to me this past week, and it makes me wonder if there’s something he’s not telling me about the blank space in my memory.
Did I, like, pour my guts out to him or something?
And I’m not talking about throwing up, which I remember doing and cringe at the thought every time.
“Distracted, I guess. Thanks for paying attention,” I offer. It seems like he keeps coming up with reasons to make me thank him, and I hate him for it, the way I hate him for so many things.
That might be the problem in a nutshell.
As I cross the sidewalk on my way to the courtyard for a pre-class latte, it hits me that I hate feeling indebted to him.
It’s like he has the upper hand now because we share this secret—saving my ass from some creep in the club, covering for me with Mama and Papa, and even dealing with me being sick and drunk at his apartment.
It hangs between us now, coloring every moment and interaction.
I feel like I owe him something. Like he knows more about me than I do about him. And I can hardly look at him because of that.
“Hey! Giulia!” Olivia waves an arm overhead to gain my attention, and I lift a hand to wave on my way to the coffee cart.
I understand what happened at the club—the girls figured I was set for the night and didn’t want to interfere with what they thought was a good thing between me and whoever he was. I never got his name.
It’s pretty obvious they feel bad about it, but I’m not going to hold a grudge. These things happen, I guess. It was definitely a learning experience.
And dammit, I hate that I have to be grateful Alessandro was there to swoop in and save the day.
Of all people, why did it have to be him?
Life was so much easier when he was a one-dimensional shadow—evil, violent, cruel.
Now he’s a person I cuddled with for hours while he held me.
I slept with my head on his bare chest and had to pretend it didn’t matter.
Even now, my pulse quickens when I remember how smooth and firm his chest felt. His massive shoulders and ripping abs are burned in my memory and never fail to make something flutter low in my core when I think about them.
And God help me, I think about them way too much. Drinking isn’t the only thing I’m not experienced in. Maybe if I had a chance to date around a little, I wouldn’t be so excited by a few muscles. It’s pretty sad when I think about it that way.
Only Serena and Olivia have class this early, so the three of us sit together and chat for a few minutes, as we have done the past two days I was on campus.
I wouldn’t mind if this became a ritual this semester.
It’s sort of a way for me to slide into my school life before class starts, like switching gears away from the life I lead the rest of the week.
And it’s a distraction from the very fresh, very pulse-pounding memory of being pressed against a certain firm chest.
“How is your knight in shining armor today?” Olivia asks, making Serena giggle.
So much for being distracted away from him. “I really don’t get your obsession,” I tell them, shaking my head. “He’s not a knight in shining armor. Believe me.”
“What is it about him that makes you hate him like you do?” Serena props her chin on one hand, narrowing her eyes like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
I really wish she wouldn’t do it. Why does having friends have to be so complicated? “He helped me out last week, sure. But believe me, there’s a reason he works for my family, and it’s not because he’s a good driver. He’s sort of repaying a debt. He’s not a nice guy,” I conclude.
So stop crushing on him, for fuck’s sake.
I can’t say it out loud, even if I almost scream it in my head.
I don’t want to come out and tell them the truth for all sorts of reasons.
We don’t talk about family business with outsiders, for one thing.
It’s not my story to tell, for another. It’s Emilia’s, and I don’t think she would like it if I spilled the tea to girls she’s never even met.
“A bad boy. Even better,” Maddie decides, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
“I swear, I’m going to need a new driver if you don’t quit it,” I grumble while they tease and laugh.
This is how it’s always going to be, having civilian friends outside the bubble I was raised in and still live in, deciding what I can and can’t share, and second-guessing myself, choosing my words carefully.
Sometimes, there will be things I can’t explain and ideas I’ll have to let them run with because correcting them would mean going into detail.
In other words, it’s exhausting.
“What does he do all day while you’re in class?” Olivia plays with her straw, gazing out toward the street like she’s looking for him. “Does he just sit in the car and wait?”
“I really don’t know,” I lie. Why won’t they let it go? “Did you finish the reading for class? I didn’t go to bed until two. My eyes were burning.”
She’s not in the mood to be distracted. “Yeah, I finished it. Have you ever even thought to ask him? He must be bored all day.”
Yes, let’s definitely pull out the tiny violin and play a song for his sad situation. “I don’t know. It sounds like a pretty comfortable gig to me.”
It’s a relief when Serena asks, “What are you doing this weekend?”
A little burst of excitement sizzles through me.
“My brother and his wife get back from their honeymoon tomorrow. We’re going to have a family dinner to welcome them back, and she said she’s bringing back a few things for me.
” I’ve been looking forward to them coming home.
Things are way too quiet without Emilia around.
I didn’t understand until she left for two weeks how much I depend on her.
But then life looked different before the wedding. I didn’t have anything else beyond her and Sophia. Since then, I’ve made friends, gotten drunk, and even thrown up on a random street corner. I mean, I’ve lived. I have stories of my own to tell.
There are some stories I could never find the words to share. I wouldn’t even know where to begin, especially when I consider Emilia’s history with Alessandro.
Jesus Christ. What the fuck am I thinking?
There’s one thing I’m absolutely sure of by the time we get up from the table to head inside for class. It will be much easier to remember exactly who Alessandro is and what he’s all about once Emilia is back home. All I have to do is look at her to remember what he’s capable of.
The warm, sunny morning suddenly feels awfully cold and dark. I’m basically a traitor, aren’t I? Spending the past week fighting off the memory of his arms around me and his heart beating under my ear when I first woke up. How nice that was, even if I felt like deep-fried dog shit at the time.
I have no business looking at him as anything more than the enemy. If anything, now I know better than to put myself in a situation where I’m indebted to him. I guess I’m lucky. It could have been a lot worse.
And I’m lucky in another way. He hasn’t brought it up since. Not a word, no snarky reminders. No threats to rat me out unless I act a certain way or treat him better. In other words, nothing I would expect from a lowlife like him.
Dammit. This was all so much easier when he wasn’t a person. I wonder if Papa would pick another driver if I asked him nicely, rationally.
All I know is, I have to try.
Because the more time I spend with Alessandro, the harder it is to remember why I can’t let myself like him.