The storm
Chapter 55
Sophia
I have to stop.
I have to focus.
The exact moment he slid those heels onto my feet, the very second I began to dance, I completely forgot he was even there. I forgot the walls I'd built. I forgot who he was. I have to stop this whatever this is. It has to end before it ruins everything. I can't afford to lose my grip. Not over him.
We are back in the car after checking out the gala venue, and the heavy, suffocating silence has returned like an unwelcome ghost. The air inside the G-Wagon is thick enough to choke on.
It is abruptly shattered when the radio announcer's voice cuts through the static.
"We are issuing an emergency weather warning. A severe, destructive storm is moving fast toward the coastal district. All residents are urged to clear the open roads immediately and seek shelter."
Lorenzo twists the volume knob, making the warning echo through the cabin. I glance at the dark, bruised sky through the windshield. "Oh, shit... Clara was right."
"Don't panic," Lorenzo says, his hands tightening on the leather steering wheel. "We have fifteen minutes before it hits. I can drive through it."
"I am not panicking!" I snap defensively, looking out the passenger window.
The palm trees along the avenue are already bending violently under the first brutal gusts of wind.
Pedestrians on the sidewalk are hurrying, their eyes glued to the threatening heavens.
"But it's stupid to keep driving. The storm could trap us in seconds."
"So, what do you want me to do, Miller?" he asks.
I can practically feel his instinctual urge to say something cruelmto mock my fear but he cuts himself off the moment I point a finger toward the intersection.
"Take the next right."
"Why?" he questions, but to my surprise, he executes the sharp turn anyway.
"Because I know a place where we can stay," I tell him, tapping my navigation app shut. I just saw that my favorite little local café is still open for another ten minutes. I know the owners won't mind us staying until the storm passes.
"That's your brilliant plan?" Lorenzo scoffs, pulling the massive SUV up to the curb.
"Yes. Do you have a better one?" I snap, throwing my door open.
The moment my feet hit the asphalt, a ferocious gust of wind nearly knocks me off balance.
The sheer force of nature out here is genuinely terrifying.
I scramble toward the entrance, the little brass bell above the door chiming frantically as we burst inside.
Instantly, the warm, comforting aroma of roasted coffee and baked cinnamon hits me, washing away the immediate panic.
"Hello?" I call out into the quiet room. Felling his tall present warm behind me, shaking the dust from his shoulders as he looks around the modest, rustic interior with an arched eyebrow. "See? I told you it was a stupid idea. The place is empty."
"Shut up. I heard something." I turn back toward the hallway. "Hello? Ma'am?"
A second later, a sweet, elderly woman emerges from the back room, clutching a bundle of thick candles under her arm. She flinches slightly when she first spots us, but a warm, maternal smile spreads across her face within seconds.
"Oh, sweeties! You almost gave me a heart attack," she laughs, patting her chest. Her husband appears right behind her, a lighter gripped in his hand.
"We are so sorry it's already so late," I explain quickly, stepping closer to help her set the candles on the counter. "We were on our way back home and heard the emergency broadcast."
"You did the exact right thing, dear," she says softly, reaching out to gently squeeze my hand. "It must have been quite a shock out there for you two."
"Um, yes. A bit," I say, offering a polite smile.
"You can stay as long as you need. We have everything we could possibly want right here," her husband chimes in, securely locking the heavy front door after retrieving the outside signs.
He turns back to his wife. "My love, can you make our guests a hot chocolate or a coffee?"
the husband asks, looking back at us with a warm smile.
Lorenzo and I speak at the exact same instant
"Hot chocolate, please."
"Coffee, please."
Jane chuckles softly, guiding us over to one of the plush, cushioned booths near the back wall.
I slide into the soft seat, profoundly grateful for the warmth.
Lorenzo remains completely silent, taking in the small, rustic room with a look of quiet bewilderment as if he's never stepped foot inside a regular café in his entire life.
Knowing his billionaire world, he probably hasn't.
"Here you go, you two," Jane says a few minutes later, setting the steaming mugs down on our wooden table. She hands me the chocolate and places the dark coffee in front of him.
"Thank you so much. If you need any help with anything else, we can absolutely assist you," I offer.
"No, no, it's quite alright. You two just enjoy your little date," she says with a knowing wink.
Lorenzo instantly chokes, nearly spitting his coffee right back into the cup.
"Oh, my dear! Are you alright?" she asks, instantly concerned.
I feel my face burning, looking just as shocked as he is.
"Yes, ma'am... but it's not..." Lorenzo clears his throat, grabbing a tissue from the box on the table. He points a finger back and forth between us.
"We are not dating. Definitely not."
"Oh, I'm so sorry. It's just..." Jane looks at me, her smile still incredibly present. "You look so lovely together."
"Thanks," I manage to mumble, the word tasting entirely strange on my tongue.
She taps the table affectionately. "Alright then, I'm gonna go check on my husband. He gets terribly overprotective when a big storm hits."
She leaves us, plunging our table into an immediate, heavy silence. The only sound is the violent rattling of the glass windows as the wind batters the building outside. I take a slow, nervous sip of my hot chocolate. Across the room, Jane and her husband are lighting a few small candles.
The dynamic is shifting. The walls we built to hate each other are suddenly crumbling down, and I can't seem to find the bricks to put them back up. My eyes drift down to Lorenzo's hand resting on the table, tracking the dark, angry scabs splitting across his knuckles.
"What happened?" I ask quietly.
Lorenzo shifts his gaze from the window back to me, his dark eyes unreadable in the dimming light.
"I'll tell you when you tell me why you were crying that day." He pauses, his voice dropping a dangerous octave. "And the other day."
A tight knot instantly forms in my stomach.
I look down at my own hands, tracing the ceramic rim of my mug.
"No. You tell me first," I insist, annoyed that he is trying to control the narrative again.
"Is it true? Did you hit Santos because..."
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence when I see his gaze suddenly sharpen.
"Because?" he prompts, leaning back against the booth. The casual movement shouldn't look that good, but it makes him look effortlessly handsome. "Because of you? Is that what you think, stalker?"
"Well... is it?"
He stops, looking down at his injured hand as a long, deep breath escapes his lips.
"Yes and no."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Yes, I hit him. And no, it wasn't because of you. Well... not entirely."
A wave of strange relief washes through my body, but at the exact same time, a sharp prickle of surprise hits me.
When he notices my bewildered expression, he reaches up and adjusts the little lamp hanging above our booth.
The warm light illuminates the sharp, striking angles of his face, casting deep shadows across his jaw.
My breath catches. I catch myself staring at his lips—one, two seconds too long.
Stop it.
"He had terrible timing that night," Lorenzo swallows, his deep voice slicing through my frantic thoughts.
"I was stressed. I was annoyed. And him talking shit just pushed me over the edge."
He stops, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that burns right through me. "It just happened to be about you."
The words hang heavily between us.
"Okay," I whisper.
Lorenzo lets out a low, husky laugh. "Okay?"
Idiot.
How stupid can I be? Why would I just say 'okay'?
It is not okay at all.
"And now I owe Alex a new car," Lorenzo tells me, tossing the line out as if it's nothing special. Before I can even process the weight of that admission, he presses on. "But now it's your turn." He leans across the table, invading my space without moving a single inch.
I swallow the lump in my throat, my heart hammering violently. "It was nothing. I... I just miss my parents," I lie smoothly. Or at least, I try to. It's the easiest thing to say, and it isn't entirely a lie.
"And what about all those paintings?" he asks, catching me completely off guard.
My eyes widen.
Shit.
"Let's just say... your girlfriend isn't the nicest person in the world," I murmur, bitter memories of Vivien flaring up in my chest.
"She's not," he agrees instantly.
"Wait... what?"
"She's not my girlfriend anymore."
Right at that exact second, the power grid fails.
The overhead light snaps off, plunging the entire café into total darkness.
The only thing illuminating the small room now is the flickering, golden glow of the tiny candles on the counter.
A sudden wave of relief washes over me, because I am entirely certain my face is burning a brilliant red.
I used to think he was just a monster with a pretty face.
But staring at him in the candlelight, I realize the scariest part about Lorenzo Calloway isn't that I hate him. It's that I'm starting to see him in a completely different light.
Which I can't afford. Not now. Not ever.
"What is your dad like?" I ask, the question slipping out before my brain can filter it.
Instantly, the easy expression on his face vanishes, replaced by a cold, hardened shadow.
"He is a perfect father in front of the cameras," Lorenzo tells me, his raw honesty striking me like a physical blow. "And he's a monster the second they are turned off."