Page 75 of Caruso

“But you do judge me, Tommaso. I see it in your eyes. You believe I’m the latest whore to capture your brother’s attention and can’t wait for the thrill to cease.”

I turn away because she’s not exactly wrong, but my perception of her is changing.

As our food arrives, so does our reason for being here, and as Taylor glances toward the group hanging by the door, she clutches my arm and whispers, “Oh my God, it’s Jason!”

We watch them head inside the restaurant, and as they take a larger table in the center, Taylor can’t drag her eyes away from one man in particular.

Jason, if it’s the guy I think it is, is a few years older than Taylor, built and covered in tattoos. He looks to be a fighter for sure. His broken nose and a scar running down his left cheek tell me that, and yet, for all his fierceness, his companions appear to be fresh out of Wall Street.

“What shall I do?”

Taylor can’t tear her eyes away from him, and myvoice sounds lower, huskier than usual as I say gruffly, “Go to him.”

“Are you sure?”

She hesitates, and I grasp her hand and say firmly, “Have no fear, princess. You are a match for any man or woman who breathes and have every right to be here. Go and own your past and force him to remember you. I will be watching; you’re not on your own.”

She turns to me, and as I stare into her huge gray eyes, I lose my mind. They are swimming with fear mixed with gratitude and determination. So many emotions are scrambling around her right now, and yet she stares at me with an inner peace I sure could use right now.

She nods, taking a deep breath before smiling, blinding me with a surprising urge to hold on and never let her go.

“Wish me luck.”

Her voice is light but dripping with doubts, and after one last smile, I stand and allow her to vacate the booth before sitting back down, the space strangely empty now she has gone.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Taylor

Iam really doing this. I am walking toward Jason, and it’s not the field behind the barn. In public, free from our past and I wonder what he will make of this—make of me.

I have changed a lot in the past four years. My hair color, for one. Almost as a reflex action, my fingers tug on the strands, and I take a deep breath.

I walk with a confidence I don’t possess inside as Tommaso’s eyes burn into my back, and yet they give me a confidence I am latching onto as I approach the raucous table.

As I draw near, one of the guys whistles, “Fuck me. There’s a space next to me, honey. I’ll order us room service if you prefer.”

I ignore him completely and stare directly into Jason’s eyes. He glances in the direction of his friend’s voice and after a couple of takes, realization dawns.

“Taylor?”

His expression changes in a heartbeat. He appears astonished and confused.

“Jason.”

I smile, hesitating if I should go any closer, and he stands abruptly, heading my way, his hand landing on my arm.

“What are you doing here?”

It strikes me as a little odd that he guides me away from the table toward the corner of the restaurant that is away from listening ears.

“I live here.”

“In the hotel?” He shakes his head. “Do you work here?”

“No, I live at The Artemis.”

“Doing what?”