“Mark isn’t invited,” I reply.
“Mark says he did not sign up for this shit.”
Still smiling, I type back, “Tell Mark to get his own girl.”
“I think it’s your company he’s longing for, not mine.”
“Nah, it’s Emmanuelle Chriqui.”
“Understandable. She’s pretty hot,” Francesca sends back.
“She’s got nothing on you.”
“Lol, I knew you were going to say that.”
“I must be getting boring and predictable,” I type back.
“Never.”
—
All day I’ve been looking forward to Francesca coming over tonight. Her brother has a poker game so he won’t be home. For the first time since New York, we get to spend the night together.
I’m hoping things go a little smoother this time. Despite apparently being in this relationship for an entire month, I still have not slept with Francesca. In fact, after she traumatized me with her story of her own trauma at the hands of whoever the fuck her ex is, I haven’t even wanted to. I mean, I want to, but I realized we needed to take a step back and act like teenagers again. It’s a little redundant to me, easing into a relationship, taking baby steps instead of behaving like a sexually active adult, but it’s made her more comfortable, so I’m happy to do it. Besides, I like cuddling on the couch with her while we watch TV and eat snacks. I like messing around with her, but keeping things light. I love making her come—if it’s this much fun with just my hand, I surely have a lot to look forward to once my mouth and dick are invited to the party.
I’m not in any hurry.
Not like we have an actual destination right now.
At the same time, I’ve never felt more done with literally every other woman in existence before. My relationship with Francesca is exactly the opposite of every other relationship I’ve ever had. I don’t know if that means she’s the one I’m supposed to be with, but I don’t know what else it could mean. Maybe I was going out with the wrong kind of girl my whole life. Maybe I didn’t know my own type. Maybe I just didn’t want to, because I didn’t want anything serious.
Right place, right time.
Much as I hate to give the bastard credit for anything, Ethan’s advice bounces around my brain from time to time. I’ve only been in this relationship for a month, and I’ve already thought of the ultimate relationship end game on multiple occasions. Marriage. It might only sound so appealing because it’s literally impossible, and I do like to chase things I’m not allowed to have. Obviously I would never bring it up to her at this stage. She’d think I’m crazy. I kinda think I’m crazy, but knowing it’s impossible makes it more of a casual thought. Not like I’m planning to jet off to Vegas with her anytime soon—or at all. It’d just be nice if it was on the table down the road.
She asks me if I’ve heard anything from Adrian every couple of days. She’s so eager, wanting him to uncover Dante’s treachery. I know she thinks if Mateo would okay it, that would be the biggest hurdle, but that’s because he calls all the shots in her life. She doesn’t even know what it’s like to have an actual father, so I can’t blame her for not understanding my relationship with mine.
If it does turn out Dante and Delmonico are working against Mateo, I’ll have to double and triple my efforts to broker peace with my dad. I just don’t see it happening. He could be reasoned with if his reasons for hating Mateo were rational, but they’re emotional. As I’ve seen since meeting Francesca, emotions are a whole different thing. There’s no reasoning with those sons of bitches.
My doorbell rings, and I grin in reaction. It makes me feel so damn happy just knowing she’s here, that in a moment’s time, Francesca’s body will be pressed against mine, the scent of her shampoo wafting to my nose, her face pressed to my neck.
Abandoning the ingredients I was messing with in the kitchen, I head for the door, yanking it open to greet her.
Only the wrong woman is standing on the other side.
The smile falls right off my face when I see Vivian, still blonde, offering me a close-lipped smile. “Hey, handsome.”
It’s not at all like her to show up unannounced. I haven’t even talked to her since that night I couldn’t stop thinking about Francesca, so I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here.
“Uh, what are you doing here?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
Her eyebrows rise, and instead of answering, she grabs her phone, flicking the screen a few times and holding up a picture of her on social media for some reason. I hate agreeing with my dad about anything, but sure enough, half of her cleavage is on display. She even cut off part of her forehead to get more cleavage in the shot. Never thought about it before, but then I don’t have any kind of social media to fuck around on.