Chapter 39

Grayson’s POV

Italy had been an impulse decision. Honestly, I didn’t even know why I’d done it. She mentioned pizza, and immediately, I thought of one of the restaurants I owned, which happened to be in Italy.

Now that we were here, I recalled Carter’s words and decided to check on the situation myself. Two days should be enough.

I made the arrangements while she ate, stumbling across one tiny issue: The hotel with the penthouse suite I preferred had no other rooms available tonight. So, I had two choices—wait until tomorrow or share a room with Ava.

I chose the latter. From the look on her face, I guessed she’d react poorly when I told her.

“What do you mean we’re staying for another two days?” she whisper-yelled, her voice tight with irritation. “I have work. I have wedding plans. You can’t just whisk me off to Italy and then tell me I’m staying for two whole days!”

I’d already sorted it all out. According to what Eliza had sent to her workplace, Ava was still “traumatized” from the near-death situation and wouldn’t resume work until Monday.

That had been Eliza’s idea. For once, a personal assistant was actually thinking on her feet.

As for the wedding, I’d had Eliza contact Isabella to handle the planning for the next two days, knowing they were working on it together.

“Grayson, are you even listening to me?” she snapped, her eyes narrowed.

I looked up from my phone. “Yes. You just finished making a speech about how this is wrong, how I promised not to control your life, and how you expected me to take you back home. Right now. Did I miss anything?”

She glared at me, her jaw tight. “You think this is funny?”

“No, but I think you’re overreacting. I’ve taken care of everything. You’ll resume work on Monday, and your friend will handle the wedding plans in the meantime.” My phone chimed again. I glanced at it before turning back to her. “And Eliza, who I believe you know, wants to know if you’ll be attending her birthday party next Saturday.”

Ava blinked, taken aback. “What birthday party?”

“The one she politely asked me to invite you to,” I said matter-of-factly. “I got distracted when I was attacked.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she huffed, clearly irritated. “You are unbelievable. You’re so… insufferable. This isn’t fair, Grayson. What do you expect me to do in Italy for two days?”

I raised an eyebrow, but before I could respond, she groaned. “Don’t answer that. It’s Italy. For the record, I do not approve of this.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips, and I could see her narrow her eyes in response. Just then, the chef, Giovanni, approached, breaking the tension.

“Signorina, did you enjoy the meal?” he asked, his eyes lighting as he beamed down at her.

Ava switched gears quickly, placing a practiced smile on her face. “Oh, I absolutely loved it! The best I’ve had in a long time.”

He smiled even wider, and I swore I saw a slight blush creep up his cheeks. Old as he was, it didn’t stop the possessive surge that coursed through me. He’s old enough to be her grandfather, I reminded myself. Still, I didn’t like that he was looking at her. No matter how much trust I had in him—enough to hand the reins of one of my restaurants to him.

He turned to me next. “Signor Blackwood, would you like to try anything?”

Before I could respond, Ava jumped in, her tone too innocent to be genuine. “Grayson ha fame e morirebbe per quella pizza!” (Grayson is starving and would die for that pizza!)

I shot her a sharp look, my eyes narrowing. The reminder that she spoke seven languages suddenly clicked. She gave me an overly sweet smile in return, clearly enjoying this little game.

Giovanni’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Parli italiano?” (“Do you speak Italian?”)

She smiled even bigger. “Si. Fluidamente.” (“Yes. Fluently.”)

He turned to me. “Bella e intelligente. Molto bene, Signor Black Wood. Preparerò subito la migliore pizza per lei!” (Beautiful and intelligent. Very good, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll prepare the best pizza for you immediately!)

He bustled off before I could correct the situation. I turned to Ava, still glaring. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in her chair. “I thought we were making decisions for each other now.”

A growl rumbled low in my chest—instinctive, primal—and I clenched my fists, trying to keep my irritation in check. My wolf stirred within me, strangely approving of her boldness. It only fueled my irritation further.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, a teasing glint in them. “What? You can whisk me off to Italy without asking, but I can’t order you a pizza?”

I leaned forward, my voice low. “That’s different, and you know it.”

“Is it, though?” she shot back, not missing a beat. “Seems pretty similar to me. You make decisions without asking; I make decisions without asking. Fair’s fair.”

I stared at her, unblinking, wondering what exactly she thought she was getting out of this. Her defiance, her audacity—it should have pissed me off. Hell, it did piss me off. But at the same time, there was something about it… something that made the corner of my lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.

I quickly smothered the urge. “You really want to play this game?”

She tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Well, it’s not like I have anything else to do for the next two days. You made sure of that.”

The casual way she threw that jab at me made me pause. She was still angry, I could tell. But underneath that anger, there was something else. Frustration? Maybe. Or maybe it was the tension that had been simmering between us since we first met, a tension we both pretended didn’t exist.

I leaned back, crossing my arms, my eyes never leaving hers. “Fine. Play your game. But don’t be surprised when I win.”

She rolled her eyes. “Typical. Always have to win, don’t you?”

“Always,” I said simply, my voice flat.

Giovanni returned at that moment, carrying the pizza. He placed it in front of me with a flourish, smiling proudly. “Here you go! The best pizza in all of Italy! You should know, Signor Blackwood. That’s why I run a restaurant for you.”

I forced a polite smile. “Grazie, Giovanni.”

As the chef left, Ava watched me expectantly, waiting for me to eat. I stared at the pizza, then back at her. “Satisfied?”

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “I’m sure it’s great.”

I picked up a slice, not breaking eye contact with her as I took a bite. The flavors exploded on my tongue, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me enjoy it. I chewed slowly, deliberately, before swallowing.

“Well?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I wiped my mouth with a napkin. “It’s fine.”

Ava laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

I smirked. “So I’ve been told.”

For a moment, the tension between us seemed to ease. But then her smile faded, and she leaned forward, her expression serious. “Grayson, you can’t just keep making decisions for me like this. You can’t just control everything.”

I met her gaze, my expression unreadable. “I do what needs to be done.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said softly. “You can’t control everything. I’ve been controlled all my life, and you promised you wouldn’t do the same. Tu hai promesso.” (“You promised.”)

I didn’t reply. Because, deep down, I knew she was right. But admitting that? Never.

She sighed, pushing her chair back and standing up. “I need some air.”

I watched as she walked away, my chest tightening in a way I didn’t expect. This was new—this feeling, this uncertainty. And I wasn’t sure how to deal with it. A feeling that, for the first time, I might not have all the control I thought I did.

I sat for a moment, picking at the pizza. To my surprise, I found I was genuinely hungry, and by the time I finished every last bite, I felt a bit more satisfied. But Ava had been gone long enough. I still needed to face what would undoubtedly be another explosion when I broke the news about our sleeping arrangements. With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself up and stepped outside.

As I scanned the area, my irritation deepened; she was nowhere in sight. Just as I pulled out my phone to have someone track her down, a young boy approached me, his bright eyes wide with excitement. “Scusa, lei è il Signor Blackwood?” (Excuse me, are you Mr. Blackwood?)

He was a child. That was the only reason I didn’t glare and nodded instead. He beamed at me. “Una donna molto bella mi ha chiesto di consegnarle questo.” (A very beautiful woman asked me to give this to you.)

He extended a folded note, and without thinking, I slipped him some cash. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he took the money with a huge grin before darting off.

I ripped open the note from Ava, my annoyance flaring up again as I read the words scrawled within: “You want to play this game? Then let’s play. Catch me if you can, Signor Blackwood.”

Fri, Dec 13