Falling for Her Billionaire Boss

He stopped his perusal and turned his head. The kiss they’d shared was suddenly in the front of her mind.

“I haven’t given it much thought.”

He turned back to the painting before him.

She found a bench and put down her bags. It was true. She hadn’t had time for things like art appreciation. In the last store she’d merely followed his lead. She’d had more immediate needs, more pressing concerns. Like getting her life back. Taking charge. Moving forward instead of being paralyzed by fear.

And she’d done quite well, until that phone call. The one telling her Robert had served his time. Had fulfilled his debt to society. It was no solace at all—what about his debt to her? To her mother? Where was he now? She could swear up and down she’d rebuilt her life, but all she’d done was run. Run and pretend. Now she didn’t even know where her mother was. If she’d run as well. If she was even okay. She’d gone years telling herself it didn’t matter, but now with Robert out of prison, her thoughts kept turning back to the one parent she had.

Luca didn’t get any of that. Nor would he. She couldn’t bring herself to explain it to him. Despite their new-found closeness, she certainly didn’t know him, or trust him enough to fill him in on the sordid details.

“Are you feeling well?”

“Excuse me?”

Luca was close to her shoulder. “Mariella, you are pale as a ghost. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Show me the paintings you like.” She had to stop giving her stepfather any power. She’d left that life behind.

He took her hand and showed her his favorites. She dutifully nodded and commented. She ignored the way he looked at her with his brows meeting in the middle.

She bluffed her way through it, going through the motions as best she could. The paintings he liked were lovely, she could see that. They were mostly landscapes, and with the Rocky Mountains being their backyard, sweeping mountain scenes were prevalent. He favored those over the wildlifes or stills, she noticed numbly.

“Whichever ones you want will be fine.”

He stopped in his tracks. “You have no opinion? You’re not going to pull out your calculator and quote budgets to me?”

Mari swallowed. “You’re going to do what you wish anyway, Luca. Why argue?”

“Because it’s what we do best,” he replied.

“I don’t want to argue. The paintings are fine with me. They are very nice.”

He stepped closer, his face puzzled. “But how do they make you feel, Mari?”

Feel? “Luca, it’s paint on canvas.” She didn’t want to talk about how she felt. Today she’d felt like she was the girl she’d always wanted to be but hadn’t been allowed. She could do what she wanted, buy what she wanted, feel what she wanted, and no one would punish her for it. She could take a morning off and no one would berate her. She could splurge on vanity and it was fine. The self-indulgence had been heady. Then reality had crashed in and she felt alone again, too weary to fight. Luca could make her forget, and it was wonderful while it lasted. But coming back to earth was a big thud and it hurt a little more each time.

“Yes, and The Cascade is a hunk of rock on a hillside. Even you know better than that.”

“I’m afraid I’m not an art aficionado.”

“You don’t have to be to have feelings, Mari.”

“Of course I have feelings!” she snapped.

She turned away, ashamed. Even-tempered, reliable Mari was suddenly all over the page. One moment she was sighing into his eyes and the next she was so overwhelmed she was biting his head off. She didn’t know who she was any more. He kept pushing at her, demanding things of her and her well-ordered life wasn’t so black and white. She certainly didn’t feel up to dealing with everything she was feeling.

He led her around a corner. “Look at these. Tell me what you feel. Let them speak to you. You’ll know it when you see it.”

She sighed, put upon. When he got like this, there was no deterring him. She had learned that already. She may as well humor him.

These were no landscapes. The paintings here were different, angled shapes and colors and impressions. Mari walked past, feeling no connections, longing simply to return to the hotel. She was tired. She was drained. The whole day had been something special, but she doubted he’d understand how much it had meant to her. She’d felt a part of something.

Something based on a lie.

And then she turned a corner and saw it. Sweeps of blue with a brilliant core of red, exploding out from the middle in splashes.

It made no sense. But something about it spoke to her and she stepped ahead, lifting her fingers, coming close but not actually touching the canvas.