"Aren’t you his girlfriend?"
"No," I snap. "Who told you that?"
"No one." She furrows her eyebrows. "It’s just that you are the only other person living in this house so, I assumed."
"Well, don’t," I snap, then blow out a breath. "I am sorry; I didn’t mean to be a bitch."
"It’s okay," she says in a soft voice, "you must be under a lot of stress because of his injury."
"Yes. No." I shake my head. "Doesn’t matter. I’m glad he’s on his way to getting better." I grab my handbag from the bedstead, then head for the doorway and brush past her. I walk into the living room and she follows me.
"I’m sorry if I upset you. I just thought you’d want to know about his condition."
"Thanks," I mutter. Good thing I’ve already showered and dressed. I have already messaged Adrian, my designated driver for this morning, and he told me he’d pick me up at 9 am.
I walk down the steps and toward the front door.
"Aren’t you going to see him before you leave?" she calls out after me.
I hesitate, then shake my head. "No, I am already running late."
"It won’t take but a moment. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you."
But how will I feel when I see him? I can’t risk allowing him to use his magnetism on me again. Can’t risk agreeing to something else that he asks me to do. No, I am going to hold off on seeing him until I feel like I am able to resist him…somewhat.
"I really have to go." I secure my bag over my shoulder, reach the front door of the house, and wrench it open. The man at the doorway nods at me as I race past him, down the steps, and toward the car waiting for me. Adrian pushes away from the back door and holds it open. I slip into the back seat. He slides into the driver’s seat, then eases the car down the driveway.
We drive in relative silence. He halts at a signal, then eyes me in the rearview mirror. "You okay?" he asks.
I turn to face him, "Yeah," I blow out a breath, "still getting used to the idea of being chauffeured around," I admit, "not to mention, it’s unsettling to realize I am under the protection of the Sovranos."
"It’s safe for you," he reminds me in a gentle voice, "and it’s only until they figure out who shot at you."
"I wasn’t the target though, was I?" I murmur, "I just happened to be in the path of the bullet."
"Probably," he agrees. "Still, you could have been shot."
"But I wasn’t," I point out.
"But he did take the bullet for you," he retorts.
"What a mess." I turn to face out the window. "I wish I could get my life back, before all this happened."
"Were you happy then?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "Maybe I would have been happier if Xander had reciprocated my affections, but I was confident that I could get to him, eventually. I had…still have, my business. I love what I do. I had a social life, friends—"
"Who you can still keep in touch with."
"Try to explain to them what you are doing under house arrest and living under the same roof as a man you barely know."
"A man who saved your life."
"That too." I scowl at the shops we pass by. "Imagine telling a normal person that you were almost shot, then see how they try to comprehend your life and fail."
"Your life was never normal," he remarks.
"Maybe not right now," I bite the inside of my cheek, "but it used to be."