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"And you go along with it?" His volume rises.
"I have no—"
"You already fucking said that."
His anger makes me shirk back. "Stop shouting at me. I haven't even seen you in six months. Why do you care if I marry some old crony of my dad's?"
He inhales a deep breath and clasps his hands between his legs. "Do you love him?"
"He's too old for me."
"Do you love him?"
"No."
He runs his hands through his hair and rests his elbows on his knees. For the first time, he looks out at the view.
"Why are you working for my dad?" My turn to ask questions.
He doesn't say anything, just shakes his head.
"So you get to ask me about Renzo, but I can't ask you why you're working for my dad?"
Looking back over his shoulder, his dazzling green eyes measure me as he contemplates his response. Did the person who decorated this place pick emerald and chartreuse because those are the colors in his eyes? If the interior designer was a woman, no doubt she did. Shoot. I'm sure many men would find Foster's eyes inspirational and decorate entire neighborhoods in those colors.
No answer from him.
"Why didn't you tell me you were the waiter Donnie pushed in the pool?"
"I'm not that kid anymore," he says quietly.
Okay. Now he's talking. "And what kind of man are you now, Foster? Because to me it looks like you used me to get to my dad."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "I didn't use you to get close to your family." His mouth quirks into the most adorable lopsided grin. "I used your family to get close to you."
He used my…
Gah! Why does he have to be so handsome and charming? It's confusing as heck.
He used my family to get to me?
"Explain. And tell me everything."
"I tried to tell you then, but you didn't let me talk."
"Tell me now."
He reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out something shiny. The overhead light reflects off tiny charms on a bracelet as he holds it over his index finger with his thumb like it's a rosary.
When he doesn't talk anymore and his attention bounces from the bracelet to my eyes, I take a closer look.
Slightly worn enameled puppies dangle between dented pink and white pearls on a rusty silver link chain. It's familiar. I've seen it before.
"I used to have a bracelet just like that."
He grins and looks down. "This is your bracelet," he says quietly, reverently. This means something to him.
"Why do you have it?"
