Page 60 of King of Obsession

Alessio continued to play, the melody shifting into something slower, more intimate. I relaxed, the tension draining away as I surrendered to the evocative sound.

This is dangerous,a voice in the back of my mind warned.You can’t let yourself get attached. You know how this ends.

But as Alessio’s shoulder brushed against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin, I couldn’t care less.

I sighed, giving in to the present without the weight of my shitty past dragging me down.

And as the night deepened around us, the music weaving a spell of its own, my fantasies roamed wild.

Perhaps one day, I’d find happiness after all.

The savory aroma of the chicken and vegetable pie filled the cabin as I removed it from the oven.

Steam billowed from the golden-brown crust, and the fragrant blend of spices made my mouth water. I carried the dish to the table, where Alessio was already seated.

I cut into the pastry, serving a generous slice onto Alessio’s plate.

A groan of appreciation escaped his lips as he took his first mouthful.

‘Delizioso, cara,’ he growled.

I shrugged, ignoring how my heart fluttered at his praise.

‘It’s a pie,’ I said, taking a bite of my slice.

The flavors burst on my tongue, and the tender chicken and the complex blend of spices created a symphony of flavor.

He leaned forward, his eyes locked on mine. ‘It’s not any pie,’ he said, his voice timbered and intimate. ‘It’s a work of art like you.’

My cheeks heated, and I glanced away, focusing on my plate. ‘You don’t know anything about me,’ I said, my tone harsherthan intended.

‘What if I want to?’ Alessio rasped.

Silence fell as I stared at him and he at me.

‘What if I want to know about your hopes, dreams, fears, and joy? Whatever it takes to chase away the shadows in your eyes?’

You can’t,I wanted to say.You can’t fix me, can’t erase the scars that mar my soul.

I found myself wanting to believe him.

‘Then you’re a fool, for I’ve nothing to offer you.’

An emotion I couldn’t decipher flared in his eyes, and he pursed his lips. ‘Bene, do you, Cleo.’

I forced a smile, but it was brittle and false on my face. ‘I will,’ I lied.

Alessio fixed his eyes on the horizon, and for that, I was grateful. I wasn’t prepared to share my past with him and not primed to let him see the broken, damaged parts of my soul that I’d hidden away.

I wasn’t ready to be teased and rejected, used and misused.

I loved me, and that was sufficient, recalling how Nonna had often told me, ‘Baby, love yourself like you’re not waiting for someone else to do it.’

So why did I ache with need?

Why the fuck had Alessio Calibrese torn through me and given me a deep yearning for that which was not mine?

I was not ready, not for him, not for love.

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