There was a silence and she didn’t want to move in case he stopped talking, and she didn’t want him to stop talking because the note in his voice . . . She knew it. She recognized it. It was the sound of her own feelings whenever she thought about a home of her own.
“It’s mine,” he went on. “Finally I’ve got something that’s mine. And I’m not going to be careless with that, not in a million fucking years.” For a change he wasn’t looking at her, his gaze straight ahead, as if he was looking at that ranch already. As if he was already there. She had no idea what Wyoming was like, but from that expression on his face, it looked like it was beautiful.
Abruptly, he gave a short, hard laugh. “Shit, I didn’t mean to talk about that. I’m not comparing our experiences or anything. I just want you to know that I understand what it’s like to want something of your own, too.”
It was strange that a man like him would know that and even though the wary part of her was still telling her not to trust him, the rest of her did and more than that, she was beginning to be curious about him as well.
It was hard being the relentless focus of someone for so long, especially when she wasn’t used to it. Maybe it was time to turn that focus on him.
“Tell me about your family,” she said.
His smile turned wry. “Christ, you know. Like any other fucking family.” Then he stopped. “No, you probably don’t know, do you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I only had my grandma and she . . .” Her voice trailed off. No, she didn’t want to tell him about that.
His gaze sharpened. “And she what?”
If she was cagey, he’d probably press. “I asked first.”
“Okay, but don’t think you’re getting out of it.” He let out a breath. “So my fucked-up family . . . Well, I mean, how much do you know about us?”
She blinked. “Nothing. Should I?”
“Kind of. My grandparents came out from the old country—Italy, obviously—and settled in Wyoming for some reason lost in the mists of time.” He gave her a very blue glance. “Yeah, you’re getting the long story.”
“Is there any other story with you?” The statement just slipped out of her and she hadn’t meant to say it, which almost never happened to her.
Xavier’s eyes widened and he turned more fully to her. “Did you just sass me?”
She could feel it, the beginnings of a smile curving her mouth, a strange tightness in her chest. Quickly, she looked down at her hands. “Maybe.”
He laughed, low and deep and the delighted warmth in the sound was better than a thousand goose down comforters. “Sweet thing, I don’t think I’m ever letting you go. Okay, so grandparents coming from the old country, settling in Wyoming, all that shit. Anyway, they brought their business with them, which was making guns. When Dad took over the business, he diversified into shit like protection and security. Got some major contracts, bought some more businesses, made shitloads—and I mean shitloads—of money. So that’s us, the de Santis gun empire.”
Her curiosity deepened. “What about your brothers?”
“Yeah, Lorenzo the douchebag. He’s Dad’s CFO. Then there’s Raff—Rafael. He’s the middle one, and is as much of an asshole as Lorenzo. He manages the PR side of the business. Oh yeah, and then there’s Nero, though we don’t count him.”
“Why not?”
Xavier’s handsome features hardened. “Dad had an affair and he’s the bastard son. Plus we never see him anyway since he never leaves his house.”
She blinked. “Never?”
“Not that I remember. Can we not talk about my brothers?”
Mia studied him. Clearly they were a painful subject. “What about your mom?”
The response was so instant it was like a light had been switched off, or shutters coming down over windows. “She died a long time ago.” His voice had turned flat.
Clearly that was an even more painful subject.
She wanted to push, wanted to know more, but something told her that now was not the moment. So she looked down at her hands again, because she couldn’t do this and look at him at the same time. And she did want to do this. She wanted to give him something, though she wasn’t really sure why or what to give, not when she didn’t have anything, not that meant anything. All she had was her own story.
She’d never given it to anyone before.
“My mom left when I was five,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why. My grandma said it was because she couldn’t cope with me, and since Grandma couldn’t cope with me either, maybe that’s true. Anyway, I lived with her until I was about thirteen, I think. But . . . she wasn’t a very nice woman. She liked for me to help her around the house and stuff, so I didn’t get to go to school much.” Her fingers were white knuckled in her lap, which was weird because she thought she’d put all that in the past years ago. “She . . . wasn’t nice to me. She’d yell a lot and sometimes . . . Sometimes she’d hit me. It wasn’t anything major, nothing like what some other kids got, and I guess I was grateful that she took me in, because she didn’t have to. But one day—” She broke off as Xavier reached out and put one large, warm hand over hers. She blinked staring down at it, the tanned skin peppered with little white scars. Something shifted inside her, steadying. “Grandma used to smoke,” she went on, somehow needing to say this, needing to get it out. “She used to put her cigarettes out on my arms occasionally. One day, I’d spilled something in the kitchen and she was mad, and she beat me pretty hard. I was thirteen.” Xavier’s fingers tightened on hers. “I knew I couldn’t stay there after that because it was only going to get worse. So . . . I left. I didn’t have anywhere to go, but there was a lady who lived in an alley near the apartment and sometimes she was nice to me, so I went to her. She looked after me for a while, helped me out. I was afraid the cops would find me so I moved around and tried to stay hidden. It was scary, but after a while . . . I kind of got used to it. I never got picked up. Once I went to the police station to ask if anyone had reported a missing kid—I told them it was my sister—but no one had. I think Grandma was glad I’d gone.”