Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“He took her to the gym?” Elio says, disbelief thick in his voice.
“Yeah,” Nico replies. “Taught her self-defense.”
There’s a beat of silence before Elio breaks it with an unsteady tone. “Maybe he was serious when he said he wasn’t interested in keeping her after the ruse was over.”
My heart stops as my happiness circles the drain.
Nico snorts, but that is the start and end of his reply.
He leaves the floor to Elio.
“If he wanted her, why teach her how to protect herself? It’s pointless unless he’s planning to ship her back to her piece-of-shit ex.” Elio lowers his voice, but I still hear him. “It’s also suspicious that the gym is directly across from the bakery Antonio frequents. Anyone would swear Matteo wants this over sooner rather than later. He’s flaunting her in front of Antonio even more than the schedule she gave him.”
My stomach flips when Nico rejoins the conversation. “He also said they didn’t fuck.” He pffts. “There’s no way I could stop if I made the woman I want scream my name.”
“He stopped because he knew Giovanni was right. Antonio would have seen straight through their lies if she had arrived at the event looking how she did at lunch.”
Nico hums in agreement. “One climax had Antonio frothing at the mouth. But…”
I flatten myself against the wall, my heart pounding so loudly that I can’t hear what he says next. This can’t be right. Matteo didn’t make me come to provoke Antonio. He was on his knees, apologizing. It was completely unrelated to Antonio, right?
My heart screams yes, but my head is on the opposing team.
It all makes sense.
Too much sense.
He made me pliable under his touch, and then I acted like an idiot who believes an orgasm fixes everything. I was jealous and possessive, and in minutes, I pushed aside plans years in the making.
I feel stupid. So stupid.
I thought our connection was more than strategy, that the cake represented something meaningful. I thought he taught me self-defense because he saw me—the real me, not the version I’m supposed to show—and he cared enough not to want to see me get hurt.
But it was all part of the plan, the ruse.
It’s just a game to him.
None of it is real.
While swallowing hard, I blink away the sting in my eyes. I refuse to cry. Not here, not over this, and not over him.
I will myself to move. My legs feel like they’re made of concrete, and my thoughts are a chaotic mess of humiliation and heartbreak. I need to get to my room, close the door, and pretend I didn’t hear any of that.
As I move away from the door, it swings open, and Nico exits.
He balks, his brows rising as his eyes bore into mine.
He takes in my tear-stained cheeks, trembling mouth, and rigid grip on the sketchpad before asking, “Azra… are you okay?”
No. Absolutely not. I’m falling apart. But I can’t reveal that to him. I can’t let anyone know that. So I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and lie through my teeth. “I’m perfectly fine.”
He doesn’t buy my lie. Concern softens his usually sharp expression.
Before he can say a word, I thrust the sketchpad toward him as if it’s a prop in a play I’m desperately trying to improv. “Camille got me a really thoughtful gift.” I muster a watery smile. “I’m a bit of a sook when it comes to being spoiled.”
His expression shifts. First confusion, then understanding, then sympathy.
“Azra—”
My feet finally answer the screaming prompts of my brain.
“See you at dinner,” I call over my shoulder, my voice too high to hide its brittleness.
I practically sprint down the hall as the weight of everything presses down on me so hard that I struggle to breathe.
I don’t answer the screams of my lungs until I reach my room and the door clicks shut behind me.
Then I crumple.
Chapter 25
Matteo
The gun range manager snaps a gun case shut with a clean metallic click, and the sound settles in my bones like a promise I’m not sure I have the right to make.
I just purchased Azra a gun. It’s a small, sleek design for someone who shouldn’t have to lift a finger to defend herself. She should be protected by the people around her.
But Azra isn’t that kind of woman, and I’m not that kind of man.
She handled herself fine at the gym. More than fine. She tossed me around like a fucking rag doll, and I loved every damn second of it. But a niggle in my gut won’t leave me alone. It warns that she needs more protection than she realizes.
Possibly even more than I can give her.
The manager of our on-site range clears his throat. Clarke is a good man. Too old to still fight on the front lines, but smart as a whip. He’s kept the Caruso soldiers at the top of their game for the past ten years with marksmanship skills that rival those of world champions.