Chapter 10
10
Lorenzo
I’m not trying to listen. I’m just walking the back corridor with my head down and toolbox in hand, mentally cataloging every broken thing at this estate. The sink drips. The busted dumbwaiter (that I still don’t understand the point of). The east hallway that creaks like it needs an oil change.
I’m halfway through the study when I hear someone say the name Victoria. I don’t slow at first. But my body reacts before my brain can catch up.
Her father’s voice cuts through the crack in the door. He speaks in a low and controlled tone. In the way the rich speak, to make every sentence feel like it’s the law.
“You are not to associate with the help. Do you understand me p>
My feet stop. I don’t mean for them to. They just do.
Silence.
He’s talking to her.
To Victoria.
“He is beneath you, Victoria. This summer fantasy you’re entertaining is over. I won’t allow it to ruin everything we’ve built p>
My grip on the toolbox tightens. The metal digs into my palm.
Another beat. Then I faintly hear the sound of her voice.
“That’s not what this is.” Her words come out like a whisper, and it feels like something punches me in the ribs.
“Oh, please. Don’t be naive.” Her father’s tone shifts into that special brand of refined disgust only dynasties can perfect. “You think he wants your mind? He wants what every man wants. And once he gets it, you’ll be the one left embarrassed p>
My jaw locks so hard I think it might snap.
“You don’t know him,” she fires back, the sentence taut and trembling like a violin string pulled too tight.
“I don’t need to.” His voice drips with boredom. “I’ve seen boys like him my entire life. They want what they can’t have. They crawl their way into pretty girls’ lives with sad stories and bad intentions, hoping to rise one social rung at a time. They take and leave. But mark my words, Victoria, they always leave p>
I stop breathing.
“You’re being cruel,” she breathes.
“I’m being realistic. He’s not your equal, not in breeding, not in ambition, and certainly not in the future. He is nothing, Victoria. He comes from nothing. Look at his mother…She’s nothing too. And I will not have you lowering yourself for someone who isn’t worth the dirt on your shoes p>
Nothing. It echoes. Repeats. I can’t stop hearing it.
Silence hangs between them. Then, finally, her voice, barely a whisper. “You don’t get to decide who I care about p>
“I get to protect what’s mine p>
That’s it. That’s my breaking point.
I turn and walk the other way before I go in there and ruin something I can’t un-ruin.
The word follows me down the hall.
I avoid her that night. Don’t go to her. I can’t.
The next day, I’m still mentally cold.
I scrub the back patio until the sponge tears in half. I fix the wine cellar door and slam it just to hear it crack. My fists ache from gripping the screwdriver like a weapon instead of a tool.
I don’t talk to anyone. Not that anyone tries. Well, except Elise.
She watches me scrub the same countertop twice, eyebrows arching slowly in amusement. “What’s with you today?” She blows a bubble with her gum and pops it loudly.
“Nothing,” I clip out, wiping the counter harder.
“You look like you murdered someone in your head,” she teases, leaning her hip against the sink and studying me.
I don’t answer. Because answering means talking about it.
And I won’t do that. Especially not her.
Then she walks in.
Victoria.
She’s wearing something soft and white again. The dress floats around her thighs with each step she takes. It’s a temptation.
I love it and hate it in equal measure.
She stops walking and stands in the doorway of the kitchen. Waiting. Watching me like she’s trying to read my thoughts.
Good luck, Little Bird, even I can’t decipher what I’m feeling.
I keep scrubbing. Ignoring her, I shove the rag against the counter so hard the muscles in my forearm strain.
My body feels like it’s been through a war zone. Everything burning.
She says my name quietly but sharply, like she’s poking the bruise. I put the rag down and then walk past her. Like I’m immune. Like the other night didn’t almost end with me kissing her senseless in the moonlight.
Because if I stop, if I look, I’ll forget what I heard.
And I can’t afford that.
I head to where I think best.
The boathouse is the only place on this estate that doesn’t try to pretend it’s something it’s not. It’s openly a piece of shit. It smells like dirt and is falling apart. But despite how gross it is, it reminds me of Victoria.
Once inside, I sit on the bench, fists tight, breathing through my teeth as the word pounds through me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
No matter how much time has passed, no matter how many hours, it doesn’t lessen the pain.
The door creaks. I don’t turn. I don’t have to.
She walks in.
The sound of her footsteps echoes around me until she’s standing in front of me.
Now, I look up.
Her jaw is set. She doesn’t look the same today.
She looks pissed.
“Why are you avoiding me?” she snaps, storming closer, chin lifted in challenge.
“I’m working.” Except I’m not. I’m sitting empty-handed on a damn bench.
“You walked right past me.” Her voice hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Congratulations. You’re observant p>
Her eyes flash. “What the hell is your problem?” she demands, stepping closer into my space, like she wants to start a war.
“You, Little Bird,” I growl, heat rising. “You’re my problem p>
She freezes. Chest rising, falling. Eyes wide, bright, furious.
I don’t stop. Can’t.
“You walk around tossing scraps of attention like it’s a favor,” I bite out, stepping into her space. “Like I should be grateful you looked at me. Like I’m a toy you’ll outgrow the second your daddy pulls up in his private jet and whisks you back to your designer future p>
Her breath hitches. But I’m not done.
“News flash—” I move closer. Close enough to feel her inhale. “I’m not one of your manicured boys in polos. I don’t fetch. I don’t kneel. And I sure as hell don’t need a rich girl slumming it for a little summer entertainment p>
The slap comes fast. Sharp. Loud. Honest.
My head snaps to the side. The sting blooms across my cheek.
And I deserve it. All of it.
But then, before I can breathe…
She grabs my shirt. Fists it. Yanks me toward her with a sound that’s half sob, half fury.
And kisses me.
Hard and furious.
Desperate in the way only suppressed things can be.
It steals my breath.
My thoughts. My restraint.
And I kiss her back. I kiss her like she’s oxygen. Like I’ve been denied air for years. Like I mean to set her on fire. Because I do. Because she already lit the match.
And I’m nothing. Not to her. Not anymore.