Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143870 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
3
CHANTEL
Blinking through the fog, my eyes dart around the unfamiliar surroundings. The first things I notice are chrome, glass, and soft strips of blue light.
A low, steady hum fills my ears as a warm, masculine scent surrounds me. It’s familiar, in a distant way, but the details are just outside the reach of my memory.
At first, it calms me, until I actually register the position of my body, and the uncertainty of how I got here.
I’m sprawled across a lounge, covered with a blanket I don’t recognize. And when my eyes drift further, they settle on the silhouette of a man sitting across from me in the darkness.
My breath stalls as a singular thought loops through my brain.
He found me.
A tremor moves through me as I abandon all reason and scramble forward, searching for an exit. But before I can even force myself upright, the lights come on, and my fear turns to mortification when my gaze collides with Cristian’s.
“You’re on the boat,” he informs me, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re heading to the island.”
A ragged breath spills out of me as heat crawls down my neck. Of course I’m on the boat. But naturally, my mind had to go to the worst-case scenario while Cristian’s here to witness it.
My humiliation has come full circle tonight.
After taking a minute to collect myself, I scoot back and curl my knees into my chest.
“How did I get here?”
His gaze dips to the pulse in my neck. “I carried you.”
A fresh sense of alarm unravels inside me as I consider that. “I didn’t wake up?”
“No,” he says quietly. “You didn’t.”
We share an uncomfortably long moment of eye contact, and I can only imagine what he’s thinking. If he suspected I was hiding something before, I’ve all but confirmed it now. The last thing I need is a man as astute as Cristian curious about my past.
In moments like these, the weight of what I’ve been carrying feels like a never-ending burden. It only serves as a reminder that there is no version of this life where I won’t fear being discovered. And I’m just so…tired.
Thankfully, Cristian doesn’t push for answers. Instead, he taps out a text on his phone, and a few minutes later, the stewardess appears with a tray.
“Good evening, Miss St. James.” Veronica offers me a warm smile. “Would you like to eat here or at the bar?”
“She’ll eat there,” Cristian answers without looking up from his phone.
Veronica follows his directive and sets the tray over my lap. I’m still trying to figure out why I’m being served a meal at all when she removes the warming dome, revealing a hot plate of Cacio e pepe.
I swallow the weird feeling in my throat as Veronica points out the rest—a burrata appetizer with olive oil and heirloom tomatoes, and a side of fresh bread. I’m not Italian, but if I had to assemble a perfect meal from all the delicious food I’ve eaten with the Vitale family, this would be it.
“Would you care for any drinks or dessert?” Veronica asks. “Perhaps an espresso martini or an affogato?”
“I’m fine with water, but thank you.”
She nods, and I sneak a glance at Cristian as she leaves, but his attention remains on his phone.
It seems impossible that Veronica just happened to serve my favorite dishes. But I guess it really shouldn’t come as a surprise that Cristian knows these things. He could probably list at least twenty obscure facts about every person he’s come into contact with. Men in his position need to be observant. Information, no matter how small, can be an asset or a weapon.
The problem is, I never intended for anyone to know too much about me.
After several minutes go by, I realize Veronica isn’t coming back.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” I ask Cristian.
“I already had dinner.” He continues typing on his phone.
“Oh.”
I’m hungry, so I eat, but it doesn’t lessen the discomfort I feel. Accepting gestures of any kind is difficult for me, because I’ve spent most of my life making sure I never need anything from anyone. When someone offers something that isn’t an even exchange, I feel like I owe them. But in this case, I can’t imagine anything Cristian Vitale could want or need from me. The man has everything.
Silence hangs heavy in the air, but I suppress the urge to fill it and focus on my food. After a while, Cristian rises from his seat and takes a call as he faces the window.
He speaks quietly with whoever’s on the other line, the deep cadence of his voice lulling me into a false sense of calm. That’s the thing about Cristian. For someone like me, his quiet nature and measured words feel safe to my nervous system, though I know he’s the farthest thing from it.
He doesn’t have to raise his voice to be dangerous. For all I know, he could be issuing hits right now. Though, realistically, it sounds like he’s discussing the legal side of his business. Something to do with investments and acquisitions, whatever that entails.