Page 161 of Remy

I’m not convinced. “But you got Lorenzo’s permission, right?”

“I don’t need his permission.”

Jesus Christ. “Remy...”

He falls silent.

“Remy.” Again he ignores me. Infuriates me.

Damn him.

I reach out, slamming my palm against the horn.

Remy’s glaring eyes flash to mine at the resulting burst of sound.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snaps.

“You.” I turn to him, sitting at my full height, chin high, shoulders straight. “And I’m not afraid to say it. Unlike someone else, who spends half the time being cryptic just so he can pretend he’s being honest. For once, just spit it out. Tell me why you’re going against your uncle’s wishes.”

He glares at me, the anger in his gaze making me nervous before he returns his focus to the road. “Because I fucking left you on your own to grieve.”

I blink in disbelief.

“If I would’ve told you about Carlo’s prognosis earlier you could’ve taken him away yourself.” His voice is bitter. Hoarsely guttural. “My omission hurt you, and although I’m a prick, your pain has stuck with me, making me feel like a top-tier piece of shit. So forgive me for making this small, selfish gesture to try to make things right.”

And just like that, a little bit more of my heart gets lost to a man who kills for a living. The warmth, the butterflies, the pangs, they all meld together, creating a rampant storm in my stomach.

“You deserve this weekend.” He lowers his voice. “I’ll handle Lorenzo.”

I settle back into my seat, lost to his generosity.

“I don’t want you to worry.” His tone is a subdued mutter as he turns onto my street. “I’m taking precautions.”

“I trust you.” The words are out before I can stop them.

I’m not surprised that he flinches.

He pulls into my drive, our arrival witnessed by Lesley, who’s gardening in her front yard.

“What should I pack?” I open my door, preparing to make quick work of an overnight bag.

“Pajamas. Something to swim in if you think it’s warm enough. And clothes for tomorrow.”

I nod and jog for my house, waving a friendly hello to Lesley before racing inside.

I’m back within ten minutes, my belongings crammed into a suitcase small enough to rest on my lap.

I spend the return trip in an aggressively chaotic headspace, my thoughts caught between concern for my father and disturbing attraction for the surly man seated next to me.

By the time we arrive, Lucy and Dad are waiting on the stairs at the back of the building. Bags are shoved into the Escalade. Lucy climbs into the rear seat behind Remy. When I make to pull open the opposite door to join her, Dad waves me away.

“Not this time.” He nudges in front of me. “You sit up front with Rem. Last night Lucy and I got started on a heated debate about pineapple on pizza that I’m eager to finish.”

Lucy chuckles. “There’s no debate. Pineapple does not go on pizza.”

“Really?” I gape at her. “Dad, I don’t think you need that negative influence in your life.”

He laughs, and damn, the sound is heartwarming.

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