Page 95 of King Of Order

Still, I was hedging my bets.

Rio had never given me any indication that he was serious about me.

Lying on his chest, playing with the whirls of hair on his lower stomach, I wondered if all I was to him was a superb lay.

I also speculated whether my self-questioning meant I was warming up to wanting more with him.

But would he ever accept all of me? My dark, shadowed past? My sad mistakes? My loser brothers?

I doubted it.

Despite his casual ease and sensual energy, I sensed he was a savvy operator, a strategic thinker.

A man who probably, if he eventually married, would do it for only an incandescent love, with a sweet, kind, pure woman. One with an unblemished history.

Not someone like me, an ex-junkie masquerading as an elegant gallery owner with a messed up past and fucked up family.

The thought depressed me for a moment, and I blinked back tears, even as his arm tightened around me.

Live in the present,I told myself. It was the only way I’d survived these last few years.

By the time the sun began to set, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I pulled my head back together. I flashed a smile at him as he knifed up from the towel.

We packed up the remnants of our picnic and headed back to the car, hand in hand.

As Rio drove us back toward Naples, I stole glances at him from the passenger seat.

I loved how his solid and sinewed hands gripped the wheel and the quiet look on his face.

If he was meant to be mine, he would be.

If not, I’d endured enough pain to weather the agony of his departure. I’d survive.

Or would I?

I reached out, sliding my hand into his, and he glanced over at me with a smile that caused my stomach to flutter.

We didn’t need words in that moment. For once, I forced myself not to think about tomorrow.

Just him. Just us.

VALERIO

I woke up to the sound of Chiara moving around the kitchen, the faint clatter of dishes, and the muted hum of music filling the early morning quiet.

A jazz number, a classic, I thought to myself.

Billi Holliday or Ella Fitzgerald.

My woman had style.

Fuck, I was already calling her mine.

I sat with the thought for a moment. It felt right.

So I kept trucking.

I rolled from her bed and hit the shower with a smile.

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