Page 6 of Claimed by my Stepbrother

“I’m thirty-seven,” I tell her and try to gauge her reaction. Her eyes grow wide so I add, “Do you think I’m old?”

“No, that’s not old. I was just thinking about how good you look for your age. I thought you were between twenty-seven and thirty.”

“Huh. That’s sweet. And you? What are you? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen as of last month.”

“Belated happy birthday, Princess.”

“Thank you,” she blushes.

“Does it bother you when I call you Princess?” I ask.

“No, I like it. I’m just not used to being called anything like that.”

“What? Your boyfriends in America don’t call you any pet names?”

She takes a deep breath and sighs, “I don’t have any boyfriends in America or anywhere else for that matter. Actually, I’ve never had one.”

“A beautiful, smart girl like you? Why not?”

“Partly because I haven’t really had time. My focus has been on my education. Also because I’ve never felt like I wanted to get that close to anyone. My friends are all about finding a guy, keeping a guy, moving in with a guy, but I haven’t met anyone that I could see myself doing those things with, you know?”

“Sure,” I say, but inside, I’m a mix of disbelief, awe, and relief. She’s too beautiful to be real, and I can only imagine all those boys who panted after her. It’s a good thing, though, because she’s about to learn what a real man is like.

“What about you? Have you been in many relationships? Is there an ex-Mrs. Gallucci?”

“No, I’ve never been married. I already told you how busy I am. Like you, I didn’t have time for women.” I smirk and add, “The operative word is didn’t.”

“That’s nice. The boys back home love to brag about their conquests.”

“A real man doesn’t sully a woman’s reputation with gossip. That’s something a boy does.”

We complete our first course, and as we’re waiting for the entree, Gabby excuses herself. I keep an eye on her as she heads for the ladies’ room. She doesn’t walk, she glides as if she’s weightlessly riding the air. I survey the room and two men at the bar catch my attention. They’re wearing leather jackets and jeans with motorcycle boots. No local would come into this establishment dressed like this, and I begin to wonder what business they have here.

I remove my cell phone from my pocket and text Arturo, “Be ready just in case.”

He replies, “Copy, boss.”

I tell myself that I’m overreacting. They’re probably just on a bike tour of the countryside, but if not and they screw up my night with Gabby, they’re going to wish they were never born. One of the men gets up and goes to the men’s room while the other leans against the bar and sips his beer. I turn my attention back to the ladies’ room and watch for Gabrielle to come out. It takes a moment but she finally steps through the door, so I stand to wait for her to return to the table.

As she passes the men’s room, the man in the leather jacket barrels out the door and nearly knocks her off her feet. She stumbles and he puts his arms around her waist to steady her. I clench my fists and bolt toward them with throbbing temples and flames in my eyes. I see him smiling at her and want to rip the skin from his face.

“Don’t touch her,” I shout when I get close enough for him to hear.

He looks at me as if sizing up the competition. He has no clue who he’s dealing with. Still clutching Gabby by the waist, he says, “Relax. I was just apologizing for running into her.”

I stand over him, bow out my chest, and glare, “I said, get your hands off her.”

“Please, I’m fine. Let me go,” Gabby whispers.

The man looks at her and removes his hands from her body.

“Hey, don’t look at her. I’m over here and I’m talking to you. You don’t touch that girl. You understand?”

“You need to calm down, man. I don’t know who you think you are but…”

Without hesitation, I wrap my hand around his neck and squeeze, “You don’t know who I am? Would you like me to tell you who I am? No, I’ve got a better idea. I’ll show you.”

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