Page 160 of Remy

“Why are you doing this?” I keep my voice low and precede him outside.

“I feel like getting out of town.” He closes the door behind him and maneuvers around me to descend the stairs.

“With us?” I follow, his sleek Aston Martin missing from the parking lot. Instead, a large black Cadillac Escalade sits in the shade of the towering hedge, its windows covered in dark tint. “Don’t tell me you bought another car.” I scamper down the remaining stairs, scurrying to catch up, his uneven gait still faster than my shorter stride.

“It’s a rental.” He continues his cool pace across the parking lot.

He rented a car… reserved a house… planned a night away…

I lunge the foot of space between us to grab his wrist. “Whose secrets are you hiding this time?”

He pauses, his gaze dipping to my hand circling the taut muscles of his forearm.

My body floods with warmth, the contact seeming far too forward after his warning to maintain distance.

“Sorry.” I let go.

“There aren’t any secrets. I want to get out of the city. All four of us wouldn’t fit in the Aston, so I arranged the Escalade.” He continues to the car.

I’m a step behind, climbing into the passenger seat, pulling on my belt. I stare at the man who warned me away less than a week ago while he reverses out of the parking space. “I thought we were keeping our distance.”

He pulls onto the street and stares straight ahead as he drives toward my house.

“Isn’t this risky?” I ask.

“I’ve taken precautions. We’ll lay low.”

“But it’s still a risk…”

“Sometimes the risk is worth the reward.”

Why is he being so painful?

I sigh. “And what’s the reward?”

He shoots me a sidelong glance, then returns his attention to the road without answer. If he wasn’t currently driving at speed, I’d shake him.

“What’s the reward, Remy?”

His hands tighten on the wheel. “To give you more memories.”

The answer blindsides me.

“To give me more memories?” I repeat his words, trying to get them to make sense.

This is for me?

Because I said I would’ve traveled with my father if I’d had prior knowledge of his prognosis? “Remy, that isn’t necessa?—”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s only one night.”

It’s a big deal to me. Huge. It’s not like I have men waiting in line to spoil me with thoughtfulness. “What about Lorenzo?”

“What about him?”

“Did he suddenly decide it would be okay for the owners of a funeral home to start taking mini vacays with underworld figures?”

The muscles in his forearms flex. “It’s twenty-four hours in a tiny-ass town. Don’t make it an issue.” He sounds confident.

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