Page 23 of Twisted Promise

“Mine were fine,” he groused.

“The cheapest you had were two-hundred-dollar socks.”

“They were nice,” he argued and bundled the red shirt into his hand. “Soft.”

“You can get five pairs of soft socks for twenty dollars with cartoons on them.”

He looked down at her yellow baby chick socks, then back up in her triumphant eyes and firmly said no.

“You’re only going to class anyways,” she chirped and rubbed his back to soothe his knotted brow as he scrutinized the lump of red shirt with animosity.

“I’m not taking you on dates incotton,” Alessio grumbled. “You get rashes.”

She didn’t, but he was just being salty because his favorite cotton, red shirt shrunk.

“Silk isn’t going to make me less attracted to you thancotton,” she uttered that horrible word with tiny laughs between choked breaths.

“I don’t wear silk.”

“Okay, okay,” she said as she nudged her forehead on his arm.

It was better to stop before some wires disconnected his brain and capsized his flow of thoughts.

Then, there was his culinary skills.

He cooked the toughest skinless chicken once, and she didn’t have the heart to tell him she booked a dental appointment for the next day.

That man was thriving at the expense of her being a genuine pig.

It was fine since he was making progress—until he watered her small cacti daily and left her with a flabby lump.

“I’ll get you a new one,” was all he said before putting the plant under direct sunlight to hope the water evaporated quicker.

One thing he did that always made her knees weak was dealing with the financial part of their relationship.

He handled the billing for the house, paid their tuition in a single transaction, and even took the time to sit her down and explain where and how he was investing his money.

Their financial expenses were open book; he hid nothing from her, and she could trace each transaction to one of his bank accounts.

Yes, he had more than one. Five, to be exact.

He explained they were for different purposes, and she believed him. Alessio, however, didn’t believeher.She supported a suspicious glint in her eyes, so he plopped her on the kitchen chair and detailed which account did what.

“Everything is legal,” he said. “What could I possibly scam from you?”

That was rude, and she told him so, albeit playfully.

“My organs are valuable,” she quipped before planting a big smooch on his lips.

“You don’t exercise,” he pointed out as he chased after the kiss. “Their value would go up if you did.”

Anya hummed in response.

She skimmed her fingers up his forearm, feeling the muscles coiling as they tensed. She squeezed his biceps in revenge. She just wanted to feel his muscles, that was all.

Shame had no place in her desire for him.

Elusive wariness did.

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