Page 234 of Daddy, Take Me Away
“Gran-Gran,” I scold in a hushed tone, shooting nervous glances at the pastor, who is now helping his wife with her luggage. She giggles like a teen girl and I bite my lip. I adore this woman.
“Was he good?” Her wrinkled hands rise up in surrender before I can protest. “Nevermind. I don’t want to hear it here in the lobby. I want proper details. Just you and me.”
I smile at that and then nod, suddenly wanting to tell her everything shamelessly.
“Always thought you could do better,” she whispers conspiratorially, her eyes darting to Mark. Mark’s watching me, and it makes me wonder if he overheard.
I suddenly need to apologize to Amadeo, or maybe it’s an excuse to be closer to him. I don’t know. But I stride over to him with way more confidence than I feel.
“Amadeo?”
He glances up from the tablet in his hands. His eyes are like blue fire on mine for a second before they move past me to the group in the middle of his otherwise quiet lobby.
The corner of his mouth tightens but I’m unsure if it’s in disapproval or amusement. Remembering what he’d said about my luggage in his office, it’s probably the latter, considering there’s a large pile of stuff scattered around my sister’s freshly arrived group.
“Zoë,” he replies in his smooth tone. The tone he specifically used only hours ago to demand I strip down and bare myself for him. Thankfully his attention drops back to his task at hand so he doesn’t see my expression as my pussy clenches for him.
With a shiver, I straighten and speak up. “Can we talk?”
His eyes flick back up to mine. They’re stern, but tropical in temperature. “Not now.” He slides his lip through his teeth and glances behind me.
“I really need to talk to you, apologize again.” My brow furrows as his stare drops dramatically in temperature. It’s plummeting to Antarctic climates, actually. I turn and see Mark striding this way, his face set in firm determination.
I cock my head. Was there just a testosterone tsunami?
“No, you don’t.” His eyes are back on mine, my belly aflutter.
“I don’t?”
“You feeling guilty?”
“Yes.”
His eyes tighten slightly. “About this afternoon?”
“God, no.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder at the group and he chuckles so quietly I’m not sure if he actually did it at all. “I…I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know how this happened.”
Now his brow-furrow deepens to a concerned level, so I lower my face, but he tips it back up with a finger.
“What’s done is done. An apology won’t change anything…” He stops speaking, his face paling at something to our right.
It’s a couple holding hands. The woman is heavily pregnant, but absolutely stunning in a red form-fitting dress, her blonde hair cascading in beautiful waves down her back.
When I look back at him, his face is a mask of indifference, but I know better.
“Who’s that?”
“No one. And I’m extremely busy.” His tone is laced with impatience.
Disappointment twists inside me, but I smile anyway. “Of course. I understand. I’ll see you around.” When I turn to walk away, he grabs my arm.
“Zoë, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be short with you. I’ll find you later, okay?”
His eyes, so stunning, hold apology so I give him a small smile and nod.
Mark reaches us, and glances between us, his expression darkening. “Zo, we’re all going to meet for drinks at the pool bar in twenty minutes and Gran-Gran asked if you’d help her get settled into her room.”
I nod, hating that he calls my great-grandmother by our familiar nickname almost as much as I hate that he interrupted the final second of my conversation with Amadeo. Waving at Amadeo, I follow Mark, but not before I catch his tight expression. I’m just not sure who he’s aiming it at, me or my ex.
