Page 38 of Alessio

He left the kitchen in a rush, sliding past Corrado who met his stare, before he tried to put distance between him and them. That was the problem with him deciding to stay here.

There was no space.

Only an illusion.

“I didn’t mean to upset him,” Ginevra said, her tone quaking but faint. “What did I do?”

“Nothing,” Corrado replied. “I doubt it was you, Ginny.”

“But—”

“Everything is all right, keep cooking.”

Alessio didn’t want to see them—didn’t want to smell, or hear, or feel them. He went to the only place which might give him some sense of privacy, if only for a short time, to clear his fucking head. Maybe that was his biggest mistake; he thought he could stay here, and not change anything.

He found the solace he needed in the attached bathroom of the bedroom he’d been using. Three bedrooms, and three bathrooms, the penthouse gave them all their own personal spaces, if needed.

Not that it helped.

Clearly.

Alessio wanted to do and be nothing. He wanted to be able to ignore the fact his cock was hard as he stripped out of his clothes, all because he’d enjoyed the sight of Ginevra dancing in far more ways than one.

Another goddamn problem.

Stepping under the too-hot water after he’d spun the taps on, Alessio let steam and heat drag him from the hell of his thoughts. Except, it didn’t last. Once the sting of the hot water dulled beating down against his head and back, his mind filled with nonsense again.

Of everything.

Them.

This mess.

His feelings.

Fuck, he hated that the most.

“Les.”

Corrado’s voice had him tensing under the water, but he didn’t answer the man back. Instead, he kept his hands pressing against the cool tiles of the shower, happy with pretending like he had gone deaf.

It was easier than explaining his behavior.

Making sense of this.

“Les,” Corrado snapped again.

Still, he said nothing.

And shocker, that wasn’t good enough for Corrado, because when the man didn’t get what he wanted verbally, he yanked open the frosted glass doors of the shower, and stepped inside, fully clothed. At his side, Corrado stared hard at him, barely fazed at all by the large shower heads raining down on them from several directions. Soaked to the bone, and waiting, Corrado said nothing. Alessio didn’t move or speak, either.

Finally, he uttered, “Get out.”

“No.”

Alessio let out a dark sound. “Get the fuck—”

“Not until you tell me what that was about.”