I can’t tell if I’ve shocked him with my accuracy or if he’s about to lunge at me and wrap his hands around my throat. His expression is unnerving.
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
“That’s the kind of man you think I am,” he presses. “A lying, scheming, manipulative prick so desperate for his mother’s approval he’d fake his attraction to you before he even knew who you were.” When I look confused, he clarifies. “At the airport, I didn’t know who you were. At the hotel, I still didn’t know who you were. I only found out you were Luca’s daughter when I walked into the living room of this house and you were sitting on the sofa.”
That sound I’m hearing is a tiny hiss of air being released from the pin he just stuck into my balloon of paranoia. “Maybe you decided after you discovered who I was that the
