Page 7 of A Treasure To Keep (Leone Legacy #2)

Andrea

M y day is almost done, and I’m cleaning out the dressing rooms as I hear El’s heels rapidly making their way toward me. My smile is ripped away when she appears in the doorway. Her eyes are filled with tears, and her makeup is splotchy, making it known she’s been crying for a while.

“What happened, mon trésor? Did someone say something to you? If Marco did something, I’ll make sure his clothes are always bleached when he gets them.” I expect her to laugh, but I know something significantly worse has happened. “El, what happened?”

She steps away from me when I try to reach for her, collapsing as she covers her face. “You’ll hate me, Andrea, and I don’t blame you. I betrayed you.”

“I could never hate you. Je t'aime mon trésor. Tell me what happened. It can’t be that bad.” She lets me finally grab her hands, dragging her petite frame up to me as I gaze into her eyes and kiss her knuckles.

“He kissed me.” Her words are quiet and defeated, but I sense there’s more. “Marco called me out about enjoying New Year’s Eve, and kissed me. And I wanted him to. A-and I kissed him back. I’m sorry, Andrea. I messed up. I’m sorry. Please. Please talk to me. Forgive me, please.”

I step back, dropping her hands, unsure of what to say. Yes, she’s done more with Marco, but it’s when I was there and we were together. We were following most of our rules. Rules that went out the window the second Marco cornered her.

El’s last boyfriend cheated on her. When you’ve been cheated on in the past, it becomes your largest insecurity. You don’t want it to happen again, and you don’t want to hurt someone in that way.

I can’t imagine the thought of giving in to that temptation without her present. Marco constantly flirting with El is vastly different from her acting upon it.

“Andrea. Please. Please talk to me.” El reaches toward me, trying to get me to say the words she wants. I wish I could.

“Eleanora, no.” I shake off her hands, noticing how wrecked her eyes are by my actions. I’ve never called her by her full name. And I’ve never denied her.

I can’t stand here anymore and listen to El’s cries echo through the room.

Instead, I storm out, knowing where he lives, hoping that I can find him there.

El’s cries get quieter the farther away I get from her and walk out of the store.

I'll ride the bus as close as it’ll get to the Leone property, which is still a mile walk from where I’ll get off.

I need to speak to him. Maybe fight him.

Who am I kidding? I couldn’t win in a fight against Marco.

I’m lean and of average height, a vast difference from Marco’s tall and broad frame. Statistics aren’t on my side.

The bus ride is a blur when I replay my encounter with El.

Her broken words and sobs ring loudly in my head.

When I get off the bus, my heart pounds with every step I take to the Leone property.

When I reach the gate, I’m approached by a man older than me by, I’d estimate, ten to fifteen years and aging like fine wine.

“Can I help you?” His voice is flat and deep, and I’m convinced his neutral face is his main expression by the lack of smile lines around his mouth and eyes. His eyes show this almost numbness that tells me he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s thinking behind them.

“Yes. My name is Andrea Beaumont, Alessandro and Marco’s stylist. I need to speak with Marco.

” What excuse am I going to use to get past the gate?

I’m thinking ‘Marco cornered my girlfriend and kissed her and I’m going to kick his ass’ won’t be a valid reason.

“I need to take some measurements for a suit Marco ordered, and he doesn’t have the time to come down to the store.

My girlfriend, El, was here earlier today, making a house call herself.

Afterward, we thought it would be a great idea for me to do the same for Marco. ”

He scans my body, squinting his eyes. I’m pretty convinced he can see straight through my bullshit lie. Instead, he pulls out his phone, dialing a phone number without breaking eye contact with me. His eyes still hold the same blank stare, which sends shivers down my spine.

“Let me call him.” The phone call between him and Marco is vague, and I can’t hear anything Marco is saying until they hang up. “He will meet you at the door.”

I’m buzzed in and make my way up the long driveway to see Marco standing on the front porch. I haven’t thought this far and don’t know what I’ll say or do once we’re face to face.

He meets me halfway, knowing the last thing I’m here to do is measure him for that stupid suit he still refuses to pick up.

He breaks the silence with a single word. “Andrea.”

That’s when I snap, swinging toward him, surprising him when my fist collides with his jaw.

“Comment as-tu pu? Vous avez trahi ma confiance. Espèce d'homme stupide!”

He rubs his jaw, unsure of what I said but knowing exactly what I meant. “I know. I deserved that.”

“Oui.” The silence between us says there’s nothing else that can be done for now. “Would someone drive me home?”

“I’ll have Domenico drive you home. For what it’s worth, I made the mistake. El deserves you; you deserved her, but I never will. She didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who pushed her.”

The man at the gate, whom I now know as Domenico, comes around with a car, ready to drive me back to my apartment.

Part of me wants to call El. Several questions that hover in my head prevent me from doing that.

What would I say? Do we simply move on? I know she loves me, but do I love her enough to forgive her?

Can I mentally afford to see her day after day, knowing she wants Marco?

If I decided to share her with him, regardless of my presence, could I live with that?

I toss and turn all night, the vision of Marco and El filling my dreams whenever I close my eyes.

Every dream I have leads me to the hotel room.

Instead of El sandwiched between Marco and me, I’m sitting in the chair every hotel room has, watching them.

Both of them are describing their pleasure to me as I sit there.

Watching. Listening. Finding pleasure in it.

My knuckles turn white while I grip the arms of the chair, while my legs shake.

The second she screams Marco’s name, I bolt up in bed, hard as a rock and sweaty.

I need to talk to them. Both of them. Regardless of the outcome.