What a confusing man.

He’d told me he didn’t bluff, and unfortunately, I would soon learn he really didn’t.

Five minutes later, my cheeks felt hot from my fifth drink of the night, and I was beginning to think I’d imagined Nicolas’s temper as well. Christian was easy to talk to, though I wondered how much of what he said was the truth. I listened as he told me about a cabin he owned in the Rockies, where the stars were incredibly bright.

“Sounds beautiful,” I commented. “I would love to see it.”

“See what?”

My shoulders tensed at Nicolas’s deep voice behind my back.

“My cabin in Colorado,” Christian responded, while I said, “None of your business,” at the same time.

“You sound angry, Elena.” Nicolas’s voice was tainted with something dangerous. “Maybe you should cool off.”

My brows knitted. “What? No—”

I never got to finish what I had to say.

Because, with one hand on my side, Nicolas pushed me into the pool.

“What is drama but life with the dull bits cut out.”

—Alfred Hitchcock

WHILE I CLIMBED OUT OF the pool, soaking wet, they stood a foot apart staring at one another.

Christian’s lips tipped up as he brought his drink to his mouth, but his gaze never left Nico’s.

“Elena!” Mamma gasped, running onto the patio. “What happened?”

Everyone’s eyes touched my skin through the glass, and it felt like I was on display at the zoo.

My teeth clenched. “I fell.”

“Madonna! How much have you drunk?”

“Apparently more than I thought,” I muttered.

Her hesitant gaze ran to Nicolas and Christian, who were the two most ungentlemanly men I’d ever met—the former for pushing me into the pool, and the latter for not helping me out.

Gianna came rushing outside with a towel, and Christian flicked a slow gaze to her over his glass, like the glance was equal parts involuntary and unwanted.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, accepting it.

“I think I have something for you to wear.” She grabbed the heels I’d pulled off so I could get out of the pool. I should have thrown them at Nicolas’s head, but by that time I had the entire party’s attention.

As I followed Gianna inside, everyone stared at me with wide eyes—well, all the women. I expected the worst from my papà, but he wasn’t even looking at me. His attention was on the two men on the patio, his expression darkening.

My stomach dipped.

How many had seen that it was Nicolas who pushed me in? And why would he do something like that? I guessed Russos did what they wanted when they wanted. Papà should have known from the beginning not to get involved with Nicolas.

I followed Gianna into a room that looked like a spare, while drying my hair with a towel. She dug through a bag on the bed, and something twisted in my chest. Was she planning on spending the night? Ugh, why did I even care? Nicolas had pushed me into a damn pool. I didn’t like him at all.

Gianna found a pair of red shorts that had white trim on the edges and up the sides, and a plain white t-shirt. The outfit was from the seventies, right off Farrah Fawcett. I was beginning to wonder where Gianna shopped.

I accepted the clothes and a sports bra—thankfully, Gianna was close to the same size as me in the breast department—and turned around to change.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I guess I’m just . . . clumsy.”

Ugh.

Gianna laughed. “You don’t have to lie. I saw Ace push you in.”

I paused with my dress around my waist while I pulled the t-shirt on. “How many saw?”

“Oh, mostly everyone.”

Of course they did. I blew out a breath, shimmied the dress down my hips, and then pulled the shorts on.

Turning around, I saw Gianna lying on the bed, her feet on the floor and her arms stretched above her head. It was an unladylike pose the Sweet Abelli would have never imitated. And I envied her for it.

“Thank you for the clothes again,” I said. “I’ll wash them and return them to you.”

“Keep them.”

Silence morphed between us, and I had an urge to fill it.

“Does he usually push girls into pools?”

She laughed, sitting up. “No, definitely not. He would have to care to do that.”

I paused, not knowing what to say considering she’d insinuated he cared about me. What have I gotten myself into? All I knew was that I needed to undo it.

“It’s not like that.” I wanted to sound firm, but I came off more uncertain than anything.

She smiled, but her eyes conveyed years of hidden torment, before saying quietly, “It never is.”

A few minutes later, I learned that everyone had in fact witnessed my sister’s fiancé pushing me into the pool. Apparently, this was hard for even the Russos to understand, because the women—Valentina, especially—regarded me with scrutiny, like they’d finally noticed I was at the party. Jemma, however, looked at me with sympathy, as though I’d gotten into something that would eventually kill me. I didn’t know what to think about that one.

On the way out of the apartment, I ignored Adriana’s drunk and curious questions, Benito’s angry gaze on the back of my head, and my papà’s and brother’s stone-cold silence. Before I stepped out the door, I glanced back.

Nico’s hands were braced on the island, and he watched me, his gaze a warm caress on my skin. I’d met his stare enough to grow used to it by now, but tonight something was different. It wasn’t rude. It was pensive, calculating, slightly devious. Like he was contemplating doing something he shouldn’t.

I swallowed, tore my gaze away, and didn’t look back.

I assumed I would be grilled on the way home, but nobody said a word to me. My mamma talked about the wedding that was next weekend, and my papà responded accordingly from the driver’s seat.

Adriana fell asleep, her head resting against the window.

Tony wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze. I listened to the tire noise, watched the yellow light fly by and cascade through the glass and into the car.

Through it all, I still saw the calculating expression on Nico’s face, still felt the caress on my skin.

And I knew it like the sky was blue, he’d been thinking about me.

It was Thursday afternoon. Hot sun burned on concrete, while the smells of fresh bread and garlic filled the air outside Francesco’s green double doors.

My gaze focused on the ground as I walked from the car to the restaurant, because the strap on one of my heels had come undone. I tried to fix it, hopped on one foot, and when I began to tip sideways a strong hand gripped my waist from behind and steadied me.

“You’re a walking hazard, you know that?”

I tensed. His deep voice rushed over me and filled my insides with a warmth it shouldn’t.

As I stepped away from his grasp, his palm skimmed from my waist to my hip. A burning caress. It felt obscene when he touched me, like he had his hands in much different places than only on my side. The feeling was frustrating because I couldn’t stop it, nor could I turn off the thrill that buzzed beneath my skin when he was near.