Page 19 of Her Dirty Secret

I didn’t mean to say the last part and I can see it’s not sitting well with him.

“So this is more a vacation fling for you?” he asks, hurt in his voice.

“Why are you suddenly so worried about this?” I ask.

“Because I found out today that I need to go back to Seattle on Sunday. My company needs me. And you’re welcome to stay, but I want to see you once we’re home. Though it doesn’t sound like you feel the same,” he replies genuinely.

“I’m surprised you do,” I admit. “I figured this was just a vacation fling for you too. Surely you don’t really want to piss my brother off. Or Sera. I’m not sure she’d be okay with this, either.”

“I think Serafina would be happy for us,” he responds. And though I’d never admit it, he’s probably right. “And I thought you weren’t worried about what the giant thought anymore.”

“When he’s not here to care, no.” But it’s so much more than that. I can feel myself fighting being with him. Still, my brother is the first and most obvious reason this just won’t work.

Though it clearly was the wrong thing to say. Alessandro rises, fuming, and folds his arms over his chest. “Not wanting a relationship is one thing, but I didn’t sign up to be your dirty secret, either.”

“Oh, please, you’re not my dirty secret, don’t be so dramatic,” I snap, rising to my feet as well.

Alessandro barks a laugh and runs a finger under his chin, clearly agitated. “Coming from you, that’s ironic,” he retorts. “Everything is drama with you. I can’t even tell you I want to date you without you getting upset.”

And just like that, I’m seeing red. I whirl on my heel, stomping away.

“Dammit, Emily, come back,” he demands. But I don’t listen. I stomp up the beach as he follows. The Alessandro of legend is finally making an appearance.

“Fuck off, Alessandro,” I bark back at him.

He jogs up beside me, putting himself in my path.

“I won’t,” he says obstinately.

“You want to see drama? I’ll give you drama,” I spit at him. “I shouldn’t have come here with you. My opinion of you before we met was dead-on, I just let your stupid fucking charm cloud my judgment. God, I should know better by now. I always date the same jerks, just with an accent this time. News flash: you don’t get to make demands from me and then tell me who I am.”

He throws his hands up in the air and I flinch away, my guard momentarily down. “Fine. You want to throw a temper tantrum? Be my guest.” He steps aside, and I scurry off as fast as I can, away from his wrath, away from him, my heart pounding in my chest.

The arduous walk back to the house doesn’t do much to cool me off. When I get back to my room, I pace around until I hear everyone returning. It’s still early, so I hear them settle in downstairs to chat and, presumably, drink in the living room. I stop pacing, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Sitting on the bed quietly goes a long way toward calming me down, finally. And once I do, I’m able to admit to myself that I may have overreacted a little. But he’s still got some apologizing to do too.

I trudge downstairs and peek into the living room, but there’s not even half a dozen people there, and he’s not among them. Assuming he’s gone to bed, I head to his room.

I knock once, and nobody answers, but there’s clearly a light coming from under the door. So I knock again.

“Alessandro, it’s me. Please, I know you’re angry, but we need to talk,” I say through the door.

I hear shuffling, then, “We’re busy, fuck off little girl.” The voice is unmistakably a woman. And not just any woman. Valentina.

My heart drops, and I turn on my heel and run back to my room. Thankful that almost everything is still in my suitcase, I pack even faster than when I did to run here with Alessandro. Because now it’s time to run away.

I flee back down the stairs in time to see Alessandro standing at his door down the hallway, looking at me in terror, realizing that I’m leaving.

“I hope she was worth it,” I spit at him. But I don’t wait for a response, I just keep going. Predictably, he follows.

“Can you please stop and talk to me?” he calls.

“No,” I call back over my shoulder as I fly out the front door. “Why don’t you go back and talk to your girlfriend?”

“Emily,” he calls. “Ow!” I look back, and he’s holding a bare foot in his hands, pulling something out of it. Good. I hope he really hurt himself.

Practically blind with the tears I hadn’t realized I’d started shedding, I flee down the hill, looking for a place to hide and call a taxi. It’s time to go home.

Five