Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“That’s slightly more informative than ‘it’s complicated,’ but not by much.”
He sighs. “What do you want me to say? That we were in love? That we destroyed each other? That the island’s too small for both of us but neither of us will leave?”
“Yes, actually. That’s exactly what I want you to say. The truth.”
“Fine.” His words harden. “We met when we were nineteen. Both island kids from the wrong side of the tracks. He was delivering fish to the big houses; I was gardening. Started talking. Started fucking. Kept at it for two years.”
The bluntness surprises me. “What happened?”
“What always happens. Life. Mistakes. Betrayal.” His eyes stay fixed on the road. “I left for Italy for a few months after… after some stressful times. Needed space to sort some things out. When I came back, he was with someone else.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He takes another curve, the headlights briefly illuminating a deer watching from the treeline. “When I confronted him about it, he said it didn’t mean anything. That he thought I wasn’t coming back. That he was just passing time.”
“And you didn’t believe him?”
“I believed him. That’s the problem. It was so easy for him to replace me that it really didn’t mean anything to him.”
“Is that why you hate each other now?”
“We don’t hate each other. Not really.” His mouth quirks up at one corner. “We just can’t figure out how to be around each other without falling back into old patterns.”
“Like sleeping together even though you’re broken up?”
He glances at me, surprise evident in his expression. “How did you—”
“I have eyes, Damiano. The way you look at each other. The tension. Plus Flint pretty much confirmed it.”
“Did he.” His voice is flat.
“Does it bother you? That I know?”
“No.” A pause. “Does it bother you?”
The question catches me off guard. “Why would it bother me?”
“Because of last night.”
Right. Last night. When I was in his bed, while less than twenty-four hours later I’d be letting Flint push me against a desk, his fingers inside me, my body responding just as eagerly.
“No,” I say, too quickly. “It doesn’t bother me at all.”
I’m such a liar.
The Jeep falls silent again as we approach the estate. The main house stands dark against the night sky, only a few lights burning in the downstairs windows. Mrs. Fletcher must still be up, waiting for me.
We stop. I should get out immediately, but something keeps me in my seat.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “For coming to find me. Even though it pissed me off.”
“You’re welcome.” He stares straight ahead for a moment, then turns to face me. “You were with him, weren’t you? With Flint.”
It’s not an accusation, merely a simple statement of fact. My breath catches, but I don’t deny it.
“I know Flint.” His voice is quiet, almost resigned. “And I know that look. The one you’re wearing now.”
Heat rushes to my face. “I didn’t plan for anything to happen.”
“It rarely is planned with him.” His expression softens slightly. “I’m not judging you, Briar. It’s complicated between all of us now.”
“Because of Liam.”
“Not just because of Liam.”
His tone makes me look at him more closely. There’s no jealousy in his eyes—or at least, not just jealousy. There’s understanding, too.
“What is this?” I ask, barely audible even to myself. “Between all of us?”
Damiano stares at me for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes.
“I know how it is with him,” he says quietly. “I’ve been there.”
Heat crawls up my neck as his words hit too close to home. He sees it in my face, and his laugh is low and bitter.
“Flint and I have been destroying each other for years.” His fingers find my jaw, tilting my face up to his. The touch is deliberate, claiming. “Now you’re caught in the middle.”
“I’m not caught anywhere,” I say, but even I don’t believe it.
“No?” He brushes his thumb along my bottom lip, and I think of Flint. “Whatever this is between us. It’s not going to end well. For any of us.”
I should pull away, but I don’t.
“You don’t know what I want,” I whisper.
“Maybe not,” he says, dropping his hand, “but I know what I see.”
He shifts back to his side of the Jeep. I’m starting to hate the way he stares at me when I can tell he’s reading me. It’s like he can see every page of my sordid diary meant for my eyes only.
“But one thing is for sure. Viktor’s not going to stop looking for his brother. Both Flint and I know this. The more attention you draw to yourself, the harder this gets for all of us.”
He’s right, but admitting it feels like giving up some essential part of myself—the last bit of control I have in this spiraling situation.
“I’ll be more careful,” I say, reaching for the door handle.