Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26122 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
But instead, they grew even stronger.
It was just so damn hard being around her. I couldn’t touch her, because whenever I saw her, I was working… working for her family. It was inappropriate for me to tell her how I felt while on the clock, with her mother and father who paid our bills just on the other side of the door. Right? That’s what I told myself anyway.
But that other side of me, the stronger one, the one that loved her so deeply my chest hurt just to look at her face because she was so beautiful, said fuck it all to hell; go after what you want. What was the point of life if you couldn’t be with the one you wanted?
But did she even want me?
The looks she gave me could mean absolutely nothing at all. I wanted to say I saw desire in her eyes when I caught her watching me, but again, my mind and heart were at war. It could be nothing at all. Or it could mean everything.
“You’re not hungry?” my mother asked and picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth. “You love my pot roast.” She was looking at me with confusion. I still felt my father’s stare.
I did look at him then. I couldn’t read his expression, because it was stoic, but his gray eyes spoke volumes. He knew. He might not know how deep my feelings went for Pyper, how far things had gone—which wasn’t far at all—but he knew there was something there.
“Just say it, Pops.” I wanted to get this done and over with, because eventually it would come to a head. And I’d rather just spill my heart out, maybe not truly telling how deep my feelings went, but they needed to know something was up.
My father said nothing for a moment, still chewing the food he had in is mouth before picking up his beer and washing it down, his eyes locked on mine.
“What’s going on?” my mother asked, speaking to my father in Italian, although I understood her just the same. “Alfonso? What’s going on?”
She kept looking between the both of us, and I didn’t like the worry on her face. I exhaled slowly and lifted my hand to run it over my jaw, feeling scruff start to scrape along my palm. “I have feelings for Pyper.” I just said it, damn the consequences.
No one said anything for long seconds, but I felt the tension in the room. It was so thick I could’ve cut it with a knife. My mother looked like she hadn’t heard me correctly, like she didn’t understand me.
“Pyper? As in our Pyper?”
I knew how close my mother was with the St. James family. She saw Pyper as a daughter. But still, I was tired of lying and hiding how I felt. What was the point?
I gave a brisk nod and looked away. Still, my father stared at me, his focus intense, unnerving. Him not saying anything at all in response was worse than him telling me I shouldn’t be having any thoughts toward Pyper.
“Just say it, Pops. There’s no point in biting your tongue.”
My father exhaled then and leaned back against his chair, his beer bottle now empty but his hand still wrapped around it. I wish it was easy to read him, as easy as it was to read my mother. She didn’t hide behind a wall. Her emotions were as clear as day. I glanced at her then, but all I saw was her worrying her bottom lip.
“Gio,” she said softly. “You know we don’t mix business with pleasure. We work for the St. James family.”
I hated the way she said that. It had nothing to do with pleasure or business. It had everything to do with my love for Pyper. But I hadn’t told them that yet. Maybe they thought I was just having sex with her. That thought didn’t sit well with me. What I felt for Pyper went well beyond physical intimacy.
I stared at my dad when I said, “I’m in love with Pyper, even though she doesn’t know it, even though I haven’t said more than a handful of things to her over the years.” I inhaled slowly, this dam opening up inside me, spilling out. No one was safe from the flood now. “But I’ve never crossed that line. I’ve never told her, because I didn’t want to ruin… anything.” I ran a hand over my short black hair. “But I’m tired of staying back. I’m tired of pretending she means nothing to me.” My parents were quiet, their gazes heavy on me. I refused to look at them as I told my truth.
“Gio,” my mother said softly, and only then did I look up. She reached her hand out and placed it on my forearm, her skin warm, comforting. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” She was speaking in Italian now.