Page 427 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Gio

"Thank you, Gio, I couldn’t have done this without you." Violet, the owner of The Sp!cy Booktok, a small Indie bookshop specializing in spicy books—you heard that right—in L.A., throws her arms around my shoulder and hugs me.

"I didn’t do anything," I protest.

She snorts. "Since you started doing the PR, the number of people coming to the shop has more than doubled. And this is the first time we’ve had all of our new arrivals fly off the shelves. It has everything to do with you."

Heat flushes my cheeks. It’s not the first time I’ve been complimented on my work. But coming from Violet, and knowing I helped a small business owner like her become successful, is much more satisfying than doing publicity for world-famous personalities.

Not that my stint with the London Ice Kings wasn’t exciting. I loved building up the profile for the team in the media. Almost as much as I loved doing the PR for #Declene, a.k.a. Declan and Solene, before that. Although, this is why I ran into Rick’s sister.

Deep down, I know it wasn’t my fault that set off the chain of events that complicated my relationship with Rick.

I also know he wants to get over holding me responsible for it.

Logically, he knows what happened to her wasn’t my fault.

We're each responsible for our own actions. It’s been the motto of my life.

And while I admit, my resolve faltered in the face of how angry he was with me, the fact that he also tried to make up for it showed me he was reconsidering his initial assumptions.

So, when he told me to leave, I was shocked. Speechless.

The days following Grams’ death, he turned cold, almost unfeeling, more Stone than he’d been when I first met him, rather than the tender man I knew existed behind that wall he liked to throw up against the world.

I cut him some slack due to Gram’s passing away.

He took it badly, not shedding one tear since we rushed to her place and found her sitting up in her chair.

She seemed to be sleeping, her features serene.

He knelt next to her, took her hand in his, and kissed it with such tenderness, tears slid down my cheeks. I wiped them away.

When we'd found Grams Tiny had padded over and laid down at her feet. He didn’t move until I sniffed.

Then, he rose up and padded over to me. I placed my hand on him, and he rubbed his head against my side.

Then, the mutt stiffened. He lifted his head, sniffed me, and made that same purring sound at the back of his throat. Guess he was trying to console me.

The dog didn’t leave my side over the next few days.

He insisted on coming with us when we moved into Rick’s flat.

He slept on the floor next to me at bedtime.

And he continued to sniff me at intervals, making that purring noise at the back of his throat.

After Grams’ funeral, as the crowd in the house thinned out and we were almost alone, he kept running between Rick and me, over and over again.

I have a feeling Tiny sensed Rick was going to tell me to leave before he did.

Strange, how much I miss Tiny. Almost as much as I miss Rick.

There were occasions in the days leading up to the funeral when I looked up from the phone to find Rick staring at me with a strange look on his face—a mixture of confusion and frustration, and an emotion I can only label as love.

The alphahole loves me, I'm sure of it. But he never came out and said it. Not even when he was apologizing for what he did. Of course, if he hadn’t asked me to become his pretend wife, I’d have never met Grams. Never known what it means to feel the warmth and love of parents.

In a weird way, I almost understand why Rick was so upset with me and why he held me responsible for his sister’s suicide.

He was grief-stricken, no doubt about it.

He loved his sister in a way that makes me jealous.

I never had a sibling’s love, never felt that sense of family, all of which Rick once had.

If I were in his shoes, maybe I’d have done the same thing.

It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him for what he did.

For how he coerced me to marry him and fall in love with him with the intention of breaking my heart.

And yet… I can't forget that he fell into his own trap and fell in love with me too—even if he doesn't want to admit it—and broke his own heart.

I truly believe that. He made me feel more intensely than I ever have before.

And for that, I'm grateful. Also, for introducing me to the circle of friends in London, who I’ll always cherish.

Friends who were concerned when I left so abruptly and have been calling me every day.

I’ve spoken to Mira and Summer and Karma and assured them I was fine.

Not that they believe it. I didn’t told them what had transpired between me and Rick, but they guessed.

Mira was all set to tell him off, until I begged her not to.

I told her this is between Rick and me, and we have to work it out in our time…

Or not. My throat closes, my heart flutters, a flip-flopping sensation twists my insides, and I sway.

"Hey, you okay?" Violet grips my arms and guides me to a chair. "Here." She hands me a bottle of water, and I chug down some of it.

"Better?" She scans my features.

"Better." I manage a smile. "Sorry, I don’t know what happened."

"When was the last time you ate?"

I glance away. I’ve lost my appetite since moving to L.A. The very thought of food makes my insides churn. The few times I've managed to eat I’ve thrown up—and it’s not because I made myself.

Overall, I haven't been feeling like myself, haven’t even been able to consume coffee, which is strange. Guess all the events of the past few months are catching up with me.

All of the changes—moving to London, moving back, changing jobs for the third time in as many months…

Not to mention, falling headfirst into love and getting married.

I touch my thumb to my empty ring-finger.

I took off both the engagement ring and wedding ring and put them aside.

This way, there won't be so many questions asked. It hasn’t stopped me from looking at them every day or missing the weight of them on my finger.

And I miss him. So much. More than I’ll admit aloud.

I miss his weight on me, in me, miss his touch on my skin, the scent of him, and especially how he spooned me at night.

The feel of his body curved around mine was as erotic as the thickness of his cock stretching me, and the heaviness of his body pressing me into the bed.

I miss it all. I miss the life I created in London for a very short time.

I even missed the weather…and that…is saying something.

L.A.’s sunlight mocks the gloom in my heart.

"You’re thinner than when I first met you," Violet frowns.

"I’ll be fine." I rise to my feet, but my head spins and I sit down again. "Whoa." I shake my head, manage a laugh. "That was strange."

"Okay that’s it, you’re going to a doctor."

I shake my head. "No, I’ll be okay, really."

Violet’s frown deepens. "But Gio, you—"

"Gio, I’ve been looking all over for you." I look past her, and my gaze widens. "You?

Rick

"The fuck you guys doing here?" I step back as Finn shoulders his way into the apartment. On his heels are Jagger and Caspian. They wander in and survey the remnants of what was once a pristine space.

"I see you’ve been busy?" Finn gestures toward the various pizza boxes that grace the coffee table. He moves toward it, and his foot hits an empty whiskey bottle. It rolls toward the kitchen island on which are more take-out boxes, most of them half full. And more empty bottles.

Jagger sniffs the air and makes a face. "Smells like old socks and ass."

"That’d be his favorite scent." Caspian stabs his thumb in my direction.

"Speak for yourself," I drawl.

They take up position in different corners of the room, and I realize I’m surrounded. I flick my gaze to the door when Finn growls, "Don’t even think about it."

I scratch my chin. "What do you all want?"

"We haven’t seen you at practice," Jagger rumbles in a voice that could emerge from between the jaws of a meat-grinder.

"The season’s over, didn’t you get the memo?" I raise a shoulder.

"We’re still practicing—together," Caspian reminds me.

"I’m not." I yawn.

"The team sticks together through thick and thin," Jagger reminds me.

"I’m not part of the team anymore."

"The fuck you mean?" Finn turns on me. "We won because of you."

"I agreed to lead the team into the finals and win the League. I did it. Now, it’s time for me to move on."

"You talking about the team or about her?" Caspian drawls.

"Don’t fucking talk about her."

His lips curve. "So there’s some fight left in you yet, old man."

I open my mouth to protest I’m not old, then firm my lips. I am old. I feel like a thousand years old right now. Since I asked her to leave the light has gone out of my life. The music out of my every day. The taste from my food. The scent from— No, not true.

I started sleeping in my guest room because I could smell her on the sheets.

I was finally forced to wash them, but if I close my eyes, I can still smell her scent.

I imagine I can almost feel her in my arms. Yep, that’s the sad state I'm in.

Plus, her room is the only one that's in any semblance of order.

My own room has become a closet. I grab fresh clothes—when I remember to shower—and throw my used ones on the bed in my room.

I'm living like a frat boy on a bender, and it's not what I want, but I don’t have the energy to get up from sleep every day, let alone clean the space.

The trip from her bed to the couch this afternoon—that's right, I'm spending most of my time in bed—wore me out. If I didn’t have my phone on speed dial to get food delivered, I might have starved by now.

When your pizza delivery guy—who's the only living person I’ve seen in the months since she left—mentions he's worried about you, perhaps, that's an indication your life has gone off the rails.

I brush past Finn, head to the oven and pull open the door, before straightening with a bottle of whiskey. I uncap it, and am about to take a sip, then hold it up. "You guys fancy a drop?"

Finn frowns. "You don’t need that."

I scoff, "You have no idea what I need."

"You need her," Jagger says in his gravelly voice.

I chuckle. "Thanks, but you’re the last people I’m going to take advice about my love life from."

"'Love life?" Caspian makes air-quotes with his fingers.

"I mean, personal life." I narrow my gaze on him.

"You said 'love life,'" Jagger admonishes me.

"Admit it, you love your wife," Finn snaps.

I stiffen. It’s no secret Gio and I are married.

The team knows. The Seven and the Sovranos know.

All of my friends know, but not a word had appeared in the press about it.

That’s how loyal these guys were. Luckily, the end of the season meant things quieted down on the media front.

Not to mention, we don’t have a PR manager to keep the press fed with information.

Knight told me he's not going to hire a PR manager until the season starts up in September.

Not that I care, either way. I'm done with the game. It's too painful to play on the ice when my memories of the game are so intertwined with her. Apparently, she replaced the one passion I had in my life.

When I played for the NHL the first time, hockey was all that occupied my mind.

During my time in the military, and then in my stint in private security, even though I swore I wouldn’t play the game again, I wasn't able to get the thought of it out of my mind. Later, I agreed to become the captain of the team only so I could take revenge for Diana’s death.

Little did I realize it would not only win me my first championship but also result in my love for the game being overtaken by the love I feel for her. It’s why I told her to leave, after all. So I wouldn’t have to face my feelings for her.

“I’m not admitting anything.” I look between the men. "This is a personal matter."

"Too-fucking-bad," a new voice drawls. I turn to find Edward in the open doorway.

He prowls in, followed by JJ, Michael, and Sinclair.

The men take up positions, cutting off any hope I might have harbored of making a quick getaway.

I look from my team on one side to my friends on the other.

"Since when did the lot of you join forces? "

"Since you buried your head up your arse and decided you were going to hide away from the world," Sinclair answers.

"I’m not hiding." I fold my arms across my chest.

"Oh?" JJ glances about the space, then back at me. A flush creeps up my neck. I’m ex-military, for fuck’s sake.

And I broke the cardinal rule any serviceman lives by.

Tidiness reflects the attention to detail needed to run military operations.

I’ve strayed as far as I could from the only other stabilizing force in my life—the military.

A sense of clarity overcomes me with such speed, it's almost a physical blow. I turned my back on everything that created the man I am, because I’m a coward.

I’ve been unable to admit I was wrong in holding her responsible for Diana’s suicide.

I shouldn't even be holding myself responsible, as Grams told me so many times. Instead, I let that guilt bleed into every aspect of my life. I've held it close to me like a shield. I can’t let myself accept the gut-wrenching impact she had on my life. Can’t bring myself to acknowledge the feelings I have for her.

"You’re the first of my friends I’ve been tempted to shoot at." Michael brushes his fingers against his side.

Is he carrying? Naw, he’s a family man now. True, he’s an ex-Mafia Don, but he gave up his career in crime. Right? I take in his bared teeth and I’m not so sure now.

"This is your last chance to make amends," JJ warns.

I crack my neck. "Whatever you guys are here to tell me, I don’t care."

The men exchange looks, then seem to direct their gazes on Edward.

"What?"

He pulls out his phone, walks over and shows me the screen. It’s a video of her with a man I don’t recognize. They’re engaged in conversation, then he places his hand on her shoulder.

"Motherfucker!"