Page 95 of Masked Hearts

Then again, whenever Pierre speaks about guys, it’s as if he completely checks out from everything around him, so looking interested was one of the easiest things I’ve ever done.

I stroll into the apartment, and it’s as if a wave of relief washes over me. To finally be out of my family’s direct eye and get a moment to just breathe—

“What do you mean there’s nothing we can do right now?” I hear Antonio yell. He walks out into the living room at the exact time I round the corner of the kitchen, curious to see who he’s yelling at.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Sorry,” he mouths before switching to Italian, walking towards the balcony.

Great. The negativity that surrounded me while I was with Pierre returns.

In my best attempt to avoid an even worse mood, I head straight for my safe space—a space where I know I can disappear and not have to deal with the reality of everything going on right now.

I close the door to the library behind me, make an iced latte, grab my latest read, and head for the cream-coloured loveseat that looks out the window, currently with a perfect view of the sun setting over the marina.

Just as quickly as I’d hoped, I get sucked into a world without my father, without my brothers, and even without Antonio. Even though I’d probably love to get sucked into a romance book with Antonio and never have to worry about getting out.

I look up from my book just in time to get the last glimpse of the sunset, and nearly my entire library is tinted orange. It’s so beautiful, and despite how I felt today, it all just seems a little pointless right now. The utter simplicity of this view feels like it’s all that matters.

I hear the soft click of the door opening followed by soft footsteps.

Antonio’s large body slips onto the loveseat, and he lays his head onto my lap—much to my surprise.

“Hi,” I say softly as he settles in. He’s turned away from me, towards the view, but his hand wraps around my entire thigh as he makes himself comfortable.

“I’m sorry you had to see me yell like that,” he apologises softly, as if he’s so incredibly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, I’ve seen far worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you deserve to see it,” he grumbles under his breath before turning to look up at me. His piercing green eyes are a lot softer as they take in my features.

“Are you reading another cowboy romance?” His eyes move to the book in my hand.

“No, it’s an alien romance.” I chuckle at what I thought was a very clear title. I mean,Celestial Heartsdoesn’t give me cowboy vibes.

“I can’t compete with that, can I?” He raises a brow.

“Unless you have two…you know.”

“I mean, that can be arranged.”

We both burst out laughing. “I’m actually in the middle of the love confession now.”

“Read to me.”

My mouth parts, and suddenly, it feels as if I’ve forgotten how to read. My mouth is dry and I’m so scared I’m going to stutter. But when Antonio’s eyes shut and he grabs my hand to put it into his hair, I melt and give into his request.

“‘We became one flame, bonded by our hunger for love and ecstasy,’ he says. He peers so deeply into my soul I can’t help but feel vulnerable as I wonder what he must see looking back at him. Does he see me, the powerful goddess I’ve been raised to be? Or does he see me for the soft woman I dream of being? ‘It was a flame, but Celestara, it feels like a wildfire that consumed my life, and all I want to do is burn. I want you to singe every inch of my skin and make me yours until we both die on this fucked up planet,’ he rushes out. His words cause air to lodge in my throat, and I’m left stunned. No one has ever wanted me so honestly so openly. Yet I know this cannot go any further or I’ll hurt him. ‘We can’t do this. I’m a queen.’ ‘And I’m nothing more than a guard, willing to do whatever it takes to be enough for you. For just one shot, Celestara. I’m begging you to let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.’”

I pause to turn the page when he says, “Wow, those aliens are good with words.”

I chuckle softly and close the book, choosing to just enjoy this moment. The alien’s story is eerily similar to ours, and I can’t help but wonder if fate is trying to play some sick joke on us; forcing us to endure similar circumstances, but without the same happy ending.

“Do you ever think about what life would be like if you were someone else?” I ask.

“All the time.” He answers so quickly I wonder if he was thinking the same thing I am. “Sometimes I even pretend to be someone else, too, because it’s easier than being myself.”

“You and I both, I wish I could just run away from it all.”

He stays silent for a few beats. “What ifwecould?”

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