“How pompous of you,” I shouted.
“I heard you that time.”
Ugh. The man was intentionally being irritating. I marched to the door and flung it open. “What are you doing?” I demanded.
Marco stood by the dresser with a stuffed mushroom in his hand, halfway to his mouth. “Eating?”
I walked out of the bathroom and stood in front of him. “I meant what are you doing eating here?”
He shrugged and popped the mushroom into his mouth. “Eating?”
Ugh. The man knew exactly what I was asking. “Marco.”
“Royal.”
“Why are you in my bedroom right now when there is a crap-ton of people downstairs you can talk to?”
He shrugged. “Uh, because I don’t really want to talk to them right now.”
“But they are your guests,” I insisted.
He shook his head. “Those are your guests, mio amore. I’m just supplying the house, food, and booze for them to be here so you have your friend near.”
“I didn’t ask for all of them to come,” I insisted.
“I know. I believe you. You haven’t been around the club long enough to know that if you invite one or two of the women, that all of them are going to show up.”
“And you know that?”
He nodded and popped another mushroom into his mouth. “Is there crab in these?” he asked.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I have no idea. I think Meg made them.”
Marco grabbed a napkin and dabbed his mouth. “I might have to get more of them.”
I pointed to the door. “You should. I’ll make sure to lock the door after you.” The second he stepped out of this room, he was not going to be let back in. I didn’t know what the hell I was feeling when he was around, and the more he was around, the more confused I got.
I should hate him.
My brother was gone because of him and he was never going to come back no matter what Marco said or did.
But my damn stomach had butterflies in it and my heart kept doing flips with all of the sweet things he said to me.
“I’ll just call down to Bristol and ask her to bring some more up.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped in it. “Did you need anything?” he asked.
“To go to sleep,” I growled.
He finished typing and slid his phone back in his pocket. “I asked her to bring you up some chamomile tea. It will help you to fall asleep.”
I stomped my foot. “Stop being so considerate. I don’t know what to do with you!” The words were out of my mouth before I could tamp them down. “I need to hate you, and you are making that hard.”
“Why do you need to hate me?” he asked.
“Because…because…” I couldn’t even get the words out because they weren’t true anymore.
Grit wasn’t dead because of Marco.
Grit was dead because that was just how life went. Some of us didn’t make it until they were gray and old.