Page 153 of Trapped with the Billionaire

“Bullshit. I fucking love her,” I shot back at my bratty sister.

Duke shrugged. “All I see in front of me is a puddle of mush too sorry for himself to fight for his woman and make her understand how he feels. But, fuck, what do I know? I’m not the poster child for shit.”

I stood. “Big help you are.”

Serena leaned back. “He’s right, you know. Every minute you stay here says you don’t care enough. Stop overthinking it and go talk to her. Explain how you feel. That doesn’t take a plan. Tell her again how much you love her.”

Now I was the one overthinking a problem?

Duke chimed in. “Yeah, chicks dig that shit. Make her listen.”

Serena elbowed him. “She’s not a chick, and it’s not shit.”

Duke nodded. “I stand corrected. Women appreciate it when you connect with them at a deep emotional level by baring your soul and expressing your innermost feelings in meaningful and heartfelt dialog of sufficient sincerity and duration.” He glanced at Serena. “Is that better?”

Serena coughed. “Wiseass.”

I headed for the door. I’d gotten the message: get my ass in gear and over to Nicole’s house before it was too late.

New plan: talk to my woman whether she wants to listen or not.

I heard Nicole’s words in my head. “And you’re not welcome. I don’t want you to come over.”

Screw that. Going over was the only way to solve this.

* * *

Nicole

I openedthe door to Casa di Rossi. It looked familiar and different at the same time. This was the place I’d always called home, and yet it felt a little off, a little foreign.

Echo bounded in toward the kitchen when I let him off his leash. He started by checking his food bowl. That part was as it always had been.

Closing the solid front door behind me, I surveyed the front room. The rug was missing—the one that had been defaced when we came back from Barbados. It still sat rolled up behind the couch.

Then it hit me. I’d just usedweinstead ofIwhen thinking back to that night. That was the real difference here—there was no morewe. Casa di Rossi had become Casa Vuota, the empty house.

Echo padded back to me.

“I know, boy. Let’s fix you dinner.”

My dog would never leave me. Lara was gone, Josh was gone, but the house wasn’t truly empty, not as empty as my heart.

I walked to the kitchen, and my furry friend followed. “I think you deserve wet food tonight. None of that dry crap. Whaddaya think?”

His tail wagged even more vigorously than normal—a yes for sure.

A glass of wine later, Echo had been out, and I sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket. I scrolled through the TV listings for something to take my mind off my fucked-up life, off Josh and how I’d fallen for it once again. Color me gullible. I chose aFriendsepisode because I couldn’t take anything with substance to it.

The laughter coming from the screen felt fake because it conflicted so dramatically with how I felt. I’d done what was right, what I had to do to protect myself from the bad news headed my way. Hadn’t I?

If I’d stayed for the day I knew was coming—the day he left—it would only be worse. Ten times worse.

Mo hadn’t been one-tenth the man Josh was, and his leaving had almost broken me. If I was being honest, he had broken me for a time. This way the heartbreak was on my terms, with my timing. That was better, wasn’t it?

I put my feet up on the coffee table, and there it was—another of those damned nickels Josh left lying around.

The tears started, and I couldn’t hold back the flood. Even the comedy on the screen couldn’t break through.

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