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“So, what you’re saying is that I make you thrive?”
He laughed, the gruff sound filling the plane. “You are a challenge I could have lived without.”
Her brow arched. “Why’s that?”
“Your grandfather is still holding out on me.” Rocco leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. They were sitting in opposing armchairs, a small table between them, but by moving one foot to the side of the coffee table, his longer legs were able to get close enough that his knee almost brushed hers. Suddenly, he was desperate to touch her. Anticipation coiled tighter. “At first, I thought he was just being ornery. He stonewalled me, right off the bat. So, I met with him. Talked. Spent time getting to know him. I like a challenge, remember.”
“You’d be just about the only person in his life to call him that. He’s generally regarded as a stand-up guy.”
“I got that sense. And the sense he was blocking me for another reason. For someone else.” He sipped his drink once more, eyes closely linked to hers. “You, as it turns out.”
Her own gaze dropped to the champagne flute. “Did he—ever tell you why?”
“No. I asked, eventually. He just said it was a private matter, and that he had to leave it up to you.”
Her lips twisted. “He’s a good guy.”
Rocco sat back in his seat. “Why is he so protective of you, Maddie?”
She glanced at him, an emotion in her eyes he couldn’t interpret and didn’t much like. It made him feel uncomfortably protective of her.
“You strike me as someone who can look after herself,” he continued, when she didn’t answer, affecting an expression of nonchalance. As though he wasn’t sweating on her response, awaiting it with far too much interest.
“I can.” She wrinkled up her nose. “Most of the time.”
“Which means what?”
She sighed. “Grandpa’s right. It’s personal, and you really don’t need to know.” She fixed him with a straight stare. “Or maybe I don’t want you to know. Maybe I like the version of me you’ve met.”
“Prickly and obstinate?”
She grinned a smile that was so genuine it pulled at something in the very middle of his being. “That’s me.”
“But not always?”
Her smile slipped. “No, I guess not.” She plucked at a fibre on her pants. “The house, and my grandparents, have been my safe haven for almost as long as I can remember. I came to live with them when I was only nine years old.”
“Your parents,” he prompted, unusually uncertain when it came to broaching something so personal. “Are they dead?”
Her throat shifted visibly as she swallowed, and her fingers trembled a little when she reached for her champagne flute. “I never knew my father,” she said after a beat. “I don’t know if my mother even knew who he was.” There was defiance in her tone, though, challenging him to pity her. Challenging him to say anything that might imply she was weakened by that. So, he didn’t. He was quiet, careful to keep his face blanked of whatever emotions he might be feeling, on her behalf.
“And your mother?”
Her eyes flexed to his, tension in the lines surrounding them. This was hard for her. She was in pain.
Let’s have fun. That was what they’d agreed to, what he’d promised, but at the same time, there was a mystery bound up in Maddie, and Rocco wanted to understand it. He wanted to understand her. Then he’d find it easier to let her go, to put this obsession in his rear vision mirror.
“She’s not in my life.”
He hated not knowing anything; he hated mysteries. Rocco was a problem solver from way back, and clearly, something had happened to Maddie as a child that had resulted in her coming to live with her grandparents. He remembered, then, her reaction, when he’d pointed out how similar she was to her mother. Their hair, their complexions, their eyes…
“What about your grandfather,” he asked gently. “Does he still see her?”
“My mother has a new life now,” Maddie said, the words tight with finality. “Neither of us sees her.”
But by their choice, or hers?
“How long until we arrive?” She changed the subject with a resolute smile, which sculpted her lips but didn’t go near her eyes. He understood what she meant: conversation closed.
