Page 77 of Not Mine to Keep

“But I know you,Callie. Unlike the playboy you married.”

He probably thought that playboy was having his way with me every day, and yet, nope—zero way to be had. I still couldn’t believe I’d gone from upset about his sweet guitar gesture, insisting it was best to hate him, to nearly falling to my knees before him that very night, asking him to ravage me and screw the consequences.

He’d even had a messenger drop off the official legal marriage documents to sign to avoid any unnecessary contact with me on Tuesday.

So yeah, his willpower was much better than mine. I was all over the place when it came to that man. He was probably right to keep away.

“The silence you’re blessing me with is also a curse. It’s fucking with my head while I try to figure out what’s going on in yours,” Braden told me, and damn, he wasn’t holding back now that he had me on the phone.

At least Imani, and my best friend, Nala, had used kid gloves when they tried to talk sense into me about my “strange behavior” of allowing a man to whisk me away like I was in some Hallmark movie. I was pretty sure Hallmark wasn’t in the business of making movies about the mafia or murder. But I left those comments to myself while denying the rumors about Armani.

“I’ll be there. Tomorrow afternoon,” I finally said, hoping my husband would let that happen when I confronted him.

“Good. We need to rehearse beforehand. We’re on at nine p.m. I’m sure you’ve been too busy to do it up in your mansion.”

“Not in a mansion.”Well, not quite.“And I have had time, actually.” No plan to explain to him why.

“If you don’t come, there’s something you should know,” he said a beat later, his voice inching into you’re-about-to-hate-me territory. “Britt will be standing in for you if you’re a no-show. I need a backup in case you blow me off.”

I stood and pushed the chair back. “Of all the singers we know. Britt, really?”

“Britt’s the only one who knows our stuff and who can pull off a last-minute gig.”

“Of course she knows our stuff. She was part of the band before she slept with my boyfriend.” The year between then and now hadn’t seemed to dull the betrayal from one of my best friends. She’d hurt me far more than my boyfriend had, because she’d been my person. My go-to for everything. And she’d taken our friendship and stomped all over it, breaking my heart.

“I’m sorry.” His apology was flat and only further pissed me off, because was he going to be another friend who hurt me? “This is important, though. And it’s her or no one if you don’t show. Lesser of two evils.”

Oh, for the love of ...I fell back into my chair at his words, hating them so, so much. “You’re doing this just to make sure I come down there. You’re playing dirty, damn you.”

“This is our dream. We’ve talked about this for so long. Hell, the three of us used to, before she fucked up,” he said, instead of rejecting the notion. “I won’t let some billionaire asshole take this from you. From us.”

“I hate you.” Not the way I hated Alessandro, though. No, that man inspired a sonnet of emotions and a whole notebook of feelings. If only I could turn those feelings into words on paper to sing. “But I’ll be there, and so help Britt if she shows up, too.” I ended the call without a proper goodbye, unable to talk to him any longer after the fresh hellsomeone I thought I could trust was now putting me through. I could only handle so much before breaking.

“You okay?” At Leo’s voice, I swiveled in the desk chair to see him in the doorway.

I peered at the camera on the ceiling, then pointed to it. “Red light means it’s not active, right? You weren’t watching me, were you?” How’d he know I was the opposite of okay to come in and check?

He looked at the camera, then back at me. “It’s off, and only your husband’s security team here has access to the exterior camera feeds.”

“So no one’s been watching me?”

His lips twitched into a smile. “There’s only one person who can view the interior cameras, and he hasn’t been around so much, so you’ll have to ask him when you see him next.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, or the fact Ihadfelt like I’d been watched from time to time in the last week, which meant I was either losing it, or my husband had his eye on me more than I realized.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Costa?” he asked again, still hanging back in the doorway.

“Armani send you here to ask?” I didn’t yell or shout on the phone, did I?

Another quick smile came and went. “He’s not a fan of the game of dodgeball you’ve been playing when it comes to his calls. But no, I was walking by, and from the sounds of it, you were upset.”

“I’m . . . fine.”Hardly.

His brows scrunched, then he straightened his posture and caught me off guard by sharing, “You look like her; you know that, right?”

There was only one “her” he had to have been talking about, and the only motherly figure in my life I cared to think about right now was on a cruise ship and still blissfully ignorant of my situation.

“I worked your mother’s security detail for ten years. Whenever she was in Sicily, he had me keep an eye on her.”

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