Page 16 of Of Grief And Gratitude

“I never filmed in public, so that won’t be an issue.”

A group of people up ahead set warning bells off in my head, and I’d just grabbed Riona’s elbow to turn her around when they rushed at us, cameras flashing. Shit.

“Romeo Neretti! Romeo!” a reporter yelled as she flew toward me.

“What?” Riona froze, shock widening her eyes as the lights blinded her. Was that a video camera?

“Is this another escort?” another reporter asked, shoving his camera in Riona’s face. I angled my body in front of her, the urge to protect her taking over.

“Everybody step back,” I growled, resisting the urge to reach for the gun concealed on my body. A Neretti could never be too careful in public, and I didn’t have security following me around like Dante and Niccolò.

Another reporter held a microphone out to Riona. “What is your name? What agency do you work for?”

“She’s not an escort!” My voice echoed against the surrounding buildings, and the paparazzi fell silent, waiting for me to expound on my statement. The words just came out of my mouth. “She’s my girlfriend. She has a college degree and everything.”

I wrapped an arm around Riona’s shoulders and pulled her stiff body close to mine, smiling like my brother Niccolò smiled at his wife. The media went crazy, and a flurry of new flashes blinded us as they all shouted questions.

Riona held up a shaky hand, and the crowd quieted. “Please, let us enjoy our evening together. No questions at this time.”

I took her hand and paved a path straight through the reporters, giving them a little wave as we passed. My smile was genuine, brought on by visualizing splattering their brain matter across the cement. Cosimo would be proud of me. We escaped down the sidewalk to shouts of them begging us to kiss for the cameras, and I couldn’t keep the grin off my face.

“Where’s your car?” I asked Riona when we’d rounded the corner. My car was just down the block.

“I–I didn’t bring it. I can call Sloane.” She looked around, dazed.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” As we approached, I pressed the button on my key fob to unlock my car. “I’ll take you home.”

When Riona nodded and visibly shook, I held the door and helped her into the car, reaching across her body to buckle her seatbelt. She didn’t object to my brushing against her chest. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said distractedly. “I’ve never had to face the media. Usually, I work behind the scenes or at press conferences where there’s space between reporters and me.”

It was sheer instinct to drive through the city to my building and park in my spot. I worried about Riona when she didn’t react to my heading in a different direction or pulling into the underground parking. Instead, she stared unseeing out the passenger window. I didn’t want to startle her more, so I quietly climbed out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door and squatting next to her.

“Riona,” I murmured, placing a hand on her thigh and squeezing until she looked at me.

“This isn’t Sloane’s place,” she said in a monotone.

Shaking my head, I unbuckled her seatbelt. “No, this is where I live. I thought you could use a drink before heading back to face your banshee friend. I’ve got whiskey.”

“Yeah, whiskey sounds good.” She swiveled her hips in the seat, and I stood, stepping back to give her room to climb out before closing the door behind her.

“Over here.” I pointed to the elevator bank, guided her with a palm on her lower back, and pulled a vape pen out of my pocket. “Maybe take a hit of this, too.”

“What is it?” she asked numbly.

“Just weed. Nothing bad.” I took a hit to show her, blowing the smoke out the side of my mouth.

“Sure.”

She inhaled once, twice, and I took the pen from her on the third puff. “Give it a minute. There’s plenty more if you need it.”

We rode in silence up to my place, and Riona seemed to liven up slightly when I let her in.

“It’s so… normal,” she observed, looking at my plush black leather couches and the matching ottoman that served as a makeshift coffee table in the center of the living area.

My curiosity got the best of me. “What did you think it would look like?”

“I don’t know.” Riona turned as I made my way to the bar area and poured us generous amounts of the only Irish whiskey I had. “I thought maybe there would be a stripper pole in the center of the room or something.”

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