Page 63 of Pietro
The word hangs between us, too big for what we are. What we can't be. Not with my truth buried between us like a knife waiting to twist.
Over Pietro’s shoulder, a man walks in.
Jimmy Brennan. My father's man.
Pietro senses the change immediately. "What is it?" he asks, his voice low.
"Nothing," I lie, forcing a smile that feels like cracking glass. "Someone just stepped on my foot."
My mind races.He's watching. Cataloging exits, security, who Pietro talks to. My father sent him.
The music is a dull roar in my ears.
I spot another familiar face near the bar. Sean. Another of my father's men. Panic claws at my throat. "I need some air."
His grip tightens. "I told you not to leave my side."
"I'm going to the ladies room, not fleeing the country." I snap, the panic making me sharp. "Two minutes."
He releases me reluctantly, his eyes narrowed. I weave through the crowd, my legs unsteady.
In the lavish, empty ladies' lounge, I brace my hands on the counter. I fight for breath.
They're here. They're in his world. What should I do? Tell him? Tell him and watch the kindness in his eyes turn to hate?
When I return to the ballroom, Pietro materializes instantly.
“Something happened."
"Everything's fine."
"Don't." He cups my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Don't shut me out. Not tonight."
The concern in his eyes nearly breaks me. I want to tell him everything. I want to warn him about the spies, about my father's reach into his world. Want to confess every lie before they destroy us.
Instead,I kiss him.
It's soft, barely a brush of lips, but he inhales sharply. His hands tighten on my face.
"Nora—"
"Take me home."
"The gala?—"
"Please." I press closer, feeling his control fracture. "I need to be alone with you."
He studies my face for a long moment. Then he takes my hand, leading me through the crowd. People call his name, trying to stop us, but he ignores them all. Nothing exists but his hand in mine and the promise of privacy ahead.
In the car, he pulls me against his side. "Tell me what happened."
"Tomorrow." I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing him in. "Tonight, can we just... not be who we are? Can we just be Pietro and Nora?"
His lips press against my hair. "We can be whoever you want."
Tomorrow, I'll tell him everything. Tomorrow, I'll risk his rage for the chance at forgiveness.
Tonight, I'll pretend the morning will never come.
