Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(80)

His eyes narrow. “How much time? A week? A year? Enough to talk yourself out of even trying? Or maybe enough for me to give up altogether and walk away, like you seem so convinced I’m going to do any minute now?”

I wince at his biting honesty.

“Delilah… I’d give you all the time in the world if I thought for one minute that’s what you were really asking for, here. If that’s what this was really about. But it’s bullshit. You don’t need time to adjust to this, or space to figure things out. You want time to convince yourself it’s not worth giving us a shot.”

“Why are you pushing this?” I whisper, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Why now?”

“Have you already forgotten about last night? There are bad people after you. Police are on the lookout for them, so is Knox Investigations, but until they’re behind bars and we’ve dealt with the root of the problem, I’m not leaving your side. That means finding your brother before Scarpetta and Grafton do, plus making sure their boss doesn’t send in backups, when we take them off the board. Could take hours, could take days, could take weeks.”

“And after?” I ask.

A muscle leaps in his jaw. “After what?”

“After they’re behind bars. Then what happens with you and me?” I stare at him. “We just… go our separate ways? I move out, no harm no foul? Back to our old routine of avoidance?” My voice cracks. “That’s just going to make this harder, when it ends.”

“Ah. And there it is.” His eyes flash. “The real reason behind all this. You’re fucking terrified to get close. To get hurt. We’ve barely started and you’ve already planned our ending.”

“I have to get ready for Phoebe’s wedding,” I say, voice clogged with tears. I push past him and start walking toward the bedroom. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Well, I don’t have time for you to spend the next lifetime deciding if we’re worth taking a chance on. Christ, you say I’m pushing you? Delilah, without a push, we’d be eighty fucking years old by the time you realized we’re supposed to be together!” His voice is half-roar, half-plea. “Don’t know why it’s so hard for you to see that. I saw it the first time I looked in your eyes.”

I freeze in the doorway.

His voice gets soft — not gentle, though. Soft like a blade sliding between two ribs, a whisper of steel that pierces your heart.

“I know your sister died. I know you’ve never really gotten over it. But you can’t keep using your grief over her life being cut short as an excuse to stop living yours.”

I flinch as though he’s struck me. My shoulders shake a bit as an unstoppable sob moves through me.

I know he sees it, because I hear him curse lowly under his breath, voice stripped of all anger and full of remorse instead.

“Fuck. Delilah, I didn’t mean…” He blows out a breath. “I was pissed, it came out wrong.” His voice is grave as he forces out two infrequently used words. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t respond.

I don’t show any indication that I’ve heard his apology.

I simply step over the threshold, walk to the bathroom, and lock the door behind me, not sure who I’m more upset with: Luca or myself.





Chapter Fourteen





If you don’t have anything nice to say… say something witty but emotionally devastating.



Delilah Sinclair, plotting her enemies’ destruction.





“How do I look?”

Gemma, Chrissy, Shelby, and I sigh in unison. For once, we’re all on exactly the same page.

“Beautiful,” Gemma whispers on behalf of the group. “You look absolutely beautiful.”

And it’s true. She does.

Phoebe West — very soon to be Phoebe Knox — is standing in front of a full-length mirror in her perfect Vera Wang wedding dress and lace-trimmed veil, her dark hair swept into an elegant up-do of coils and curls, counting down the minutes until her wedding. According to the clock on the wall, less than ten of them remain.

The smile that spreads across Phoebe’s lips is brighter than the sun as she turns to examine us, clad in floor-length dark blue bridesmaid gowns.

“You guys are beautiful, too.” She pauses. “I really picked some winning dresses. Flattering on all of you. And I think the navy was a good choice. Classic. Much better than the mauve I was leaning toward at first. Though, with the right bouquets it could’ve been pretty…”

I roll my eyes. “Little late to change it now, Phee.”

“True.” Phoebe turns back to the mirror for one final scan of her dress. “Though I, for one, am just happy you’re alive and able to wear any dress at all, considering what happened last night.”

“Phoebe, how many times do you want me to apologize for keeping the Duncan stuff from you? This is the third time this hour alone.”

“At least one more.” She winks at me.

“Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you loan sharks were after me in an attempt to spare you from non-wedding-related drama. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to keep you in the dark. I just didn’t want to put a damper on the festivities.”