Page 32 of Playing the Sicilian's Game of Revenge

So she needed to be herself. To keep poking at him. Especially since a little flutter of panic wriggled in her stomach at the thought he might end this—when she should relish the thought. No more backing off. No more being afraid. It was time for her to...listen to her own mind, and her own heart. No matter the consequences.

She carefully twisted pasta onto her fork, lifted it. Steeled her spine and mustered some courage that had sorely been lacking on her end in this relationship. “Why are you so afraid to discuss it?” she asked him before popping the pasta in her mouth.

His affront was truly a thing of beauty. The way he straightened. The way his expression grew very cold and he seemed to somehow grow taller. No wonder he’d been so successful at Parisi. He knew how to wield his expression like sharp, deadly weapon.

But since she’d been attempting to get a reaction from him, the weapon caused no damage.

She smiled instead of wilting.

“I cannot fathom why you would consider my rational disinterest in philosophy, of all pointless, irrelevant topics, fear, but I assure you, it is not fear that causes me to have no patience for such banal conversations.”

“Then what is it?” Saverina asked, imbuing her voice with as much innocence as she could muster.

“Pointlessness. Waste of time. I abhor both.”

She pretended to think this over. “That’s funny. All these lunches and evening events feel like a waste of time to me. People are whispering about us. My family knows. Dante no doubt knows after the gala that you are cavorting with his sworn enemy’s sister. Yet here we are, still dancing about. If I didn’t know you so well, I might think you actually liked spending time with me.”

She wasn’t fishing. A few days ago, that’s what a question like that would have been, but now... Something had changed the other night. She’d been so vulnerable in front of him. Her panic attack. Explaining why she didn’t want to work in the IT department. He was the only man she’d ever shared her body with. He knew more about her than just about anyone. She had opened herself to him.

She would let him go when this was all over. She was determined to let him go if that’s what he demanded. She would not beg. She would not twist herself into her mother.

But what she would do in this time between now and then was demand more of him. Without fear. As they worked toward that end, she would work toward...answers. Simplifying the complicated things that lay between them.

The truth was, everything between them was complicated. By his lies, his issues, and her own insecurities. She knew he’d put up with her for his revenge even if he didn’t like her at all, but she wasn’t sure he was quite as good an actor as he thought he was. Because if she looked back on their relationship now, she could tell how different things were in the beginning.

She’d chalked it up to her own nerves, the awkwardness of the beginning of a relationship, but he’d been playing her. Using fake charm and smooth lines. He’d been gauging her every response, then adjusting for it. He’d swept her up and away, yes, but she couldn’t help but think he’d been a little swept away too.

Something had happened that first time they’d kissed, then again when he’d taken her to bed for the first time. Everything had gotten messier. Less calculated. Sometimes he’d said the wrong thing, or they’d bickered. Sometimes his temper had flared—and he’d tried to hide it, but couldn’t fully.

She couldn’t say he’d gotten careless, but he’d gotten less aware that every moment they spent together was his own fiction.

She knew in his head he simply saw these things as attraction. Probably luck of the draw he’d chosen someone for his revenge who suited him well enough. He did not see it as real or love or anything she couldn’t seem to let go, but that did not mean some reality and some love weren’t there.

Saverina would not let herself hope for him realizing that. She would not sacrifice herself at the altar of maybe he will love me someday. But what she would do was acknowledge the chance that Teo cared for her more than he was willing to admit to himself.

“I did like spending time with you. Once,” Teo said pointedly.

She realized how that might have hit her like a blow just a few days ago. Certainly a few weeks ago, when she’d believed in his unspoken love, that comment would have hurt.

Today she stayed relaxed, even smiled at him as she clucked her tongue. “Come, Teo. Doesn’t it get a bit exhausting lying to yourself? Pretending you do all this to honor your mother’s memory when it’s only your own ego you’re trying to salvage?”

It was a low blow. She knew it, but she was beginning to think that was the only way she ever got through his impeccable control. The only way to find out what truly lay in his heart. Low blows had gotten her through life, through to her brother when he’d been particularly stupid about Brianna.

Teo shoved back from the table, his chair scraping against the ground loud enough to have a few people looking their way. Which she supposed was the only reason he didn’t stand.

She leaned across the table and spoke very quietly. “I’m not sure getting up and storming out in a childish temper tantrum are the optics you’re hoping to achieve,” she said, keeping her voice low, her expression calm. Fiery temper leaped in his eyes, but he did not get to his feet.

Triumph washed through her.

“I am not certain what you are trying to do with this new little attitude, Saverina, but it changes nothing.”

Saverina nodded. “Yes, I agree. I suppose that’s why I’m doing it. If nothing changes, I might as well be myself. I might as well enjoy myself, and watching you dance around your inevitable existential crisis is entertaining enough to try to push you over the edge.”

Anger was like hot, fiery lava in his veins. Anger. Fury. Rage. Certainly not hurt. Teo would not account for hurt when the opinion of a billionaire’s pampered little sister mattered to him not at all.

She was fooling herself into believing he might have feelings for her. Using obnoxious tactics fit for a child to get a rise out of him.

He would not allow it. But as he tried to even out his breathing, unclench his hand from the arm of the chair, he found the usually simple task of calming himself down difficult.

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