Page 147 of Remy

“Why are you still here, fragolina?” Dad’s smile is tight. “You’re spending too much time at work.”

“I had a few loose ends I wanted to tie up. Where are you going?”

My dad focuses on his feet, taking each step with deliberate care.

“Dad?” I stop at the bottom of the stairs. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

He takes another step and another. “Remy’s taking me for a drive. It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.”

Dread swallows me whole. “A drive? Where?”

He doesn’t answer.

“A drive where, Remy?” I demand.

The sinful man continues to glower at me. “We’ve got a meeting.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Is this because of me? Because I got caught at his penthouse?

“It’s nothing to be concerned about.” My dad grunts and groans his way down the final steps, then leans toward me, planting a smacking kiss to my forehead. “We’ll be back soon.”

Remy leads the way to his car.

Dad follows, slower, each step accompanied with a wince.

“Are you taking him to Lorenzo?” I ask.

Nobody answers.

“Please,” I plead. “Remy, can’t you see he’s struggling? He doesn’t have the energy.”

Remy reaches the passenger side and opens the door. “The meeting isn’t with Lorenzo.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Liv, it’s okay.” My father pauses at Remy’s side and glances over his shoulder at me. “We won’t be long.”

I don’t believe him either—not when our relationship has become a breeding ground for lies.

“I’ll come with you.”

“Maybe next time.” Dad descends into the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Remy closes the door as I approach, then starts for the back of the vehicle. I’m about to pass him when he swings an arm out, grabbing me around the waist to haul me behind the car.

“Get your hands off me,” I snarl. “You’re not taking him anywhere.”

“Control yourself,” he sneers against my ear, tightening his hold.

“Or what?” I shove at his chest, hating how my body instinctively molds to his. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Pyro. You know what I’m capable of.”

I should listen to the warning. But my body treats it like a thrill, awakening my limbs in a wash of tingling goose bumps.

“He’s watching,” he mutters. “Don’t make this harder for him.”

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