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“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me, Princess. Everyone is fighting a battle you cannot see. I’m not the only one. I do have things I remember that made me happy. Gardening with Zia is one. Though, that became less frequent the older I got and the more time I had to spend with papi, learning the trade. Papi put me in the ring at twelve years old. I enjoyed that too.”
“You mean boxing?” I asked, interested in what his hobbies actually were.
“Not quite. More like illegal underground bare-knuckle fighting. Cage fighting too.”
My mouth dropped open as I stared across the table at him. “At twelve?”
He nodded. “I had a lot of inner rage at that age. Pent-up aggression that needed to be controlled and managed. I was fighting sixteen-year-olds and then when I was fifteen, I was fighting full-grown men.”
A flashback of the night I first met Alessio in my art studio entered my mind. His knuckles. All scabbed and cut.
I didn’t know what to say. Where was his mamma when all this was going on? I had heard that she had been Diego’s mistress. That Diego’s wife had run away after he brought Alessio into his home as his bastard heir. But other than that, I knew nothing about her.
“What about your mamma? Do you ever speak to her?”
“No,” he said curtly. “I haven’t seen her since the day Diego took me in.”
“Never? You haven’t even spoken to her? Do you know where she is? Did Diego not allow you to see her?”
He rubbed his face with his hand, starting to look a little stressed by all my questioning and I realised I was pushing him too hard. Clearly, he didn’t share this stuff lightly and it wasn’t easy for him to do.
“She didn’t want me, Elle. I was always a mistake and she was only too happy to let Diego raise me. Can we change the subject? I prefer not to dwell on the past.”
I nodded and licked my lips as I reached for his hands, tracing my thumb over his scarred knuckles.
“I remember your hands. That night,” I said, flicking my gaze up to his. “I remember everything about that night.”
“You do?” he smirked, leaning forward, that cheeky look back on his face that made my heart flip. “What do you remember?”
“I remember that you were smoking. A lot. I told you one day it would kill you,” I smiled and he chuckled.
“Yeah. I quit.”
I raised my eyebrows as I wondered if he had quit smoking because of what I had said.
“Well, I started because of you.”
“Smoking?” he frowned.
“Yeah. You made it look so cool and if I popped a mint in my mouth straight after, it reminded me of the taste of you,” I giggled, shaking my head at the embarrassing confession.
“Why does that weirdly turn me on?” he laughed. “You better not still be a smoker? That shit is bad for you, Princess.”
I rolled my eyes as he smirked smugly. “No. I have pretty much quit. I just have the odd one now and then in times of stress.”
“Well, I can think of much more pleasurable ways to relax you,” he wiggled his eyebrows and I scoffed loudly.
“Maybe that is why I haven’t craved one in days. You’ve been fucking the stress right out of me.”
“I am at your service. Night and day. I’ll eat that pussy anywhere,” he shouted mimicking an officer’s tone and saluted me. I bursted out laughing, slamming my hand over mouth at his silly antics and looked around the bar anxiously at the disapproving looks people were giving us.
“You really don’t care about making a fool of yourself, do you?” I chuckled as he leaned over the table towards me, pecking my lips.
“Why should I care what people think?”
“I like it. I like this…” I waved my hand in the air, indicating his face and body. “All of it.”
“Really?” he slammed his hand against his chest and put on a ridiculous camp voice as he fluttered his eyelashes, pretending to be me I presumed. “You aren’t just using me for sex?”
