Page 57 of Replay
Her lower lip juts out. “That’s sad.”
I shrug. “I resented my mother for a long time for not telling me who my father was. It felt deceitful and wrong and like she was hiding something from me. A part of who I was. I think it caused me to struggle to ever trust women.”
“What caused you to open up your heart then?”
“Who says I’ve opened my heart?”
“Well, the laundry list of women you’ve been dating seems like change.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve fully given myself to anyone. I can connect with a woman but not fully trust in that connection enough to fall in love with them.”
Her eyes bend with sympathy. “So why bother even trying?”
“Because I want it all,” I reply firmly, tossing my arms out wide. “I used to just want to be successful in my career, but now I want more. I want what I didn’t have as a child, and I want to get to the point I can be my true self with someone.”
She smiles and sips her coffee thoughtfully. “This is fascinating.”
“Not that fascinating.” I laugh.
“It is.” She hits me with wide, excited eyes. “I have a feeling, Santino Rossi, that when you fall in love, it’s going to be fireworks.”
She stares at me, and I stare back at her, trying to decide if she’ll be the one who pushes me over the edge. It’s too soon to tell. Is my immediate interest in Tilly just because of our shared history? Or is it because of the situation that happened to her before she left? If either of those two instances wouldn’t have happened, would she have been the person I’d given my heart to? I just don’t know.
I shake that nerve-wracking thought away and squeeze her leg. “What about you?”
“What about me?” She takes a small bite of the dolce.
“Have you ever been in love?”
Her brows lift as she chews. “Only a few times.”
“Of course, you have.” I grin and shake my head.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She pins me with a menacing look.
“You had heartbreaker written all over you when we first met. And you were very free with your feelings back then. Whatever you felt, you said.”
She tsks knowingly. “I suppose that’s true. Although, looking back, I’m not really sure I knew what love truly was. My experiences since then have changed me a bit.”
“I can see that.” I watch her thoughtfully for a long moment, amazed that she’s here with me right now after all this time. Could we have been this open with each other five years ago? It’s doubtful.
We end up talking for another hour over a second espresso, and as we finish cleaning up, she says, “You know what? I’ve been here three times now and still have never seen your bedroom.”
My cock stirs in my trousers over the thought of her in my bedroom. “What happened to taking it slow?” I ask, brows lifted curiously.
She props her hands on her hips. “Getting a tour of the rest of your flat doesn’t mean we’re shagging, okay? Come on now, give me a tour of your splendors, Mr. Rossi.”
“Very well, Ms. Logan.” I hold my hands out dramatically. “This right here is the kitchen.” She narrows her eyes at me, but I won’t be deterred. “This is a stove.” I touch it mockingly as her lips thin. “This here is called ataaable. Over there is a lamp.”
“You are such an eejit.” She darts for me, but I take off out of the kitchen, making a mad dash through the living room and around the corner to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms.
I call over my shoulder, “This is the guest room,” and am shocked to see she’s right behind me. She wraps her arms around my waist like she’s trying to tackle me. “Fuck, you’re faster than your brother, I expect. Not very strong, though.”
“You are such an arsehole,” she cries, trying and failing to sweep my legs and laughing the entire time. God, it’s sexy.
I grab her by the wrist and toss her over my shoulder. Using my most pompous voice that I know she’ll love, I smack her bottom and carry her into my room. “This is the master suite. It features sweeping views of Bethnal Green city lights, a real up-and-coming neighbourhood based on all the latest trends. Here we have a luxurious king bed with high thread count sheets, and a large en suite bathroom featuring a soaker tub and a walk-in tile shower, naturally.”
I turn us sideways so I can see our reflection in the mirror. Her red hair is hanging and covering her face as she braces herself on my arse. She moves her hair out of the way to glower at me in the mirror. “Stick to the brooding Italian vibe, Santino. You’re not even close to funny.”
