Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
It showed just how far we’d come in such a short period of time. Because the woman I’d been a week or so ago wouldn’t have asked a single question, wouldn’t have even needed to pack a bag, would have just ran out the door and back to my family.
But I didn’t want to do that.
I didn’t want to leave Primo alone in his grief. Also, though, I just didn’t want to leave. I’d gotten used to the idea of us giving it a real go. And now he wanted to take it away?
No.
It was too late for that.
“You’re going. Walking on your own two feet, or thrown over my shoulder, but you’re going.”
“Primo,” I tried again, voice soft, reaching for the hand he had resting on the counter, but he yanked it away and turned his back on me, going back to texting on his phone.
“You’re going to have to drag me,” I told him, moving up behind him. “I’m not going to willingly leave you right now,” I informed him, pressing my face into his back, and letting my arms slip around him.
He let me do it.
For a couple long seconds before he yanked out of my hold.
“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging.
“Don’t do this,” I said, voice taking on a defeated edge.
“It’s all but done.”
“Primo,” I sighed, grabbing his arm, forcing him around to face me. “Stop.”
“Go get your shit,” he said, barely sparing me a glance. “You’re out of here.”
I was a nice person, damnit.
I had compassion.
I would never yell at someone who just had a loved one murdered.
Well, I always used to be that way anyway.
There was no denying, though, that when my mouth opened again, I absolutely yelled.
“I’ve put up with a lot of shit from you. But being a complete fucking asshole to me when I’m trying to be nice to you because your loved one died is not going to be another of those things. Look at me, damnit,” I snapped, shoving a hand into his chest to force his attention. “Your brother died,” I said, lowering my voice.
“I’m very fucking aware of that, Isabella.”
“You need to give yourself a chance to grieve.”
“I don’t need to be told what I need to do.”
“Clearly, you do. This,” I said, waving a hand at him and his perfectly put together appearance, “this isn’t normal, Primo.”
“It’s not your problem.”
“See this?” I said, waving my left hand at him. “This says it is my fucking problem, okay? You don’t like it, too fucking bad. Build a time machine, go back, and don’t kidnap and marry me. I don’t know what to tell you. But I’m here now. You’re not going to push me away.”
“You’re going.”
“I’m not,” I said, actually crossing my arms at him. “You’re not pushing me away.”
“I’m keeping you fucking safe,” he yelled, whatever control he had over his emotions finally snapping. And as scary as Primo in anger-mode was, I preferred it over cold and locked-down Primo any damn day of the week. “I couldn’t keep Terzo safe. I’m not fucking losing you too.”
There it was.
I knew it was under there.
But I needed him to get open about it.
“Primo, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to your brother,” I told him, moving forward, pressing both hands against his chest.
“Of course I can,” he said, voice low, a raw, ragged sound as his gaze slipped down to me. “Who the fuck else is to blame?” he added, his fingers sliding up my hip for a second before his hand fell again. “It’s my job to keep everyone safe. I have to keep you safe, lamb,” he said, eyes tortured.
“Okay, first of all—no, you are not to blame. The only person to blame is whoever was shooting at you. Secondly, you are one man, Primo. You can’t protect everyone at one time. That’s just not possible.”
“He was my brother,” Primo said, squeezing his eyes shut.
“I know. But you’re not honoring him by pushing everyone else away.”
“I’m not trying to push you away. I’m trying to protect you,” he said, an arm slinging around my waist.
“You can keep me in here,” I reminded him. “I’ll even go into the stupid freezer room when you leave if you want. But don’t make me go. I want to be here for you. I mean, I don’t know what to do, or how to help. But I will figure it out and then do it.”
A deep exhale escaped Primo as his arm tightened around me.
“You’re doing it,” he said, voice tight.
“Come on. Let’s go back to bed,” I said. Sure, I didn’t personally know too much about grief, but I did know that most people took to bed during it.
“I can’t. There’s too much to do.”
“Let someone else do it.”
“They can’t. I have to. I’m the boss. And I’m the next of kin,” he added, making my heart crack for him.