Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut (37 page)

Carefully, Jesse leaned forward, lifted my chin. "What is it?

"Jordan and I broke up for good this time."

"Why do you say that?"

I dropped the envelope in his lap. "Because of these."

Jesse's eyes, brows and lips changed positions with each picture. "Holy shit! I better talk to him."

"I wouldn't suggest it. He's not listening to reason about the pictures. Honestly, I'm so tired of being in the middle of your insane competition with each other." I bounced off the sofa, pacing in step with my rant. "And Jordan's possessiveness...I mean, he thinks he has to constantly protect me, like I can't survive without him. He actually
demanded
we go to Vegas and get married so he can quit worrying about me. Can you believe that?"

Jesse put his hands up. "What? Jordan asked you to
marry
him? What did you tell him?"

"
No
, of course. There's no way I'm marrying him...right now. Not like this. Probably never. Gripes! You're
both
a pain in the ass! I'm out of here. I'll see you at the concert."

"NO REGRETS" kept the crowd on their feet clapping and dancing the entire hour. I noticed Jesse wince occasionally when reaching over his guitar. After their set closed, Milo and Brody took Alex and Brittany in the motorcoach, leading away the throng of groupies, mixed with Press posing as fans, from the exit. Moose and the "silent hulk" drove Jess and me to the airport in a separate car.

Holding the side with the stab wound, Jesse eased his arm on the back of the seat in an attempt to pull me closer, but I moved against the door.

"I can't."

Jesse raised the glass partition between the front and back seat to give us privacy. He angled toward me, keeping his distance, but his fingers played with my hair…and I let him.

"Jordan does love you, Mars. He's just not good with situations he can't control, which is, essentially, where he's been since he met you."

"I don't want him to control me."

"His fear of losing you blinds him to where the line is on control and protecting you. He's so worried if he lets down his guard, someone will take you from him, or worst, that you'll fall for someone else."

Jesse's phone buzzed and he checked the number. "Speaking of the devil, I just received his billionth death threat. Think I'll crash with Moose in Buffalo a few days and give Jordan time to cool off. I can't talk to him when he's like this."

"He didn't believe me when I tried to explain the pictures." Jesse's thumb traced down my arm. I clamped his hand. "Please, don't." He dragged his arm back to his side of the backseat.

"I'd like to know who took those. Wiz said nothing hit the news sites. It appears to be personal and you probably received the only hard prints."

My twitchy neck hair pulled. "Weird."

We discussed all the reasons for the pictures and the list was long, but not the suspects. I threw out Heather Sandberg's name and while Jesse scoffed at the idea, he didn't dismiss it entirely. I wondered about Doug, but said nothing. The idea he'd follow me thousands of miles and just take pictures didn't make sense, especially when we'd be leaving for Italy in a week. Jordan would be another likely suspect; however, his reaction and wanting his twin brother to suffer a painful death ruled out the possibility. The "spy theory" seemed the most logical. I'd be home in a few hours and although it would be around two in the morning, if The Program wanted retribution, I felt certain someone would be waiting.

"So now what? If Jordan's gone and I'm out of the picture, do you think you'll be reassigned to Doug Peterson?"

I'd pushed the frightening thought far back in my brain, but the possibility, unfortunately, was likely, and I hated Jordan all over again.

"I'm committed to going to Italy, but I don't want to think beyond that. All I know is I'm vulnerable right now, so I've got to be careful not to repeat the past."

"Personally I don't like the guy, but I may be biased." We chuckled but stopped, allowing an awkward quiet to fill the space. "What about Cornell? Aren't you already registered?"

The ping of regret hurt worse than I expected. "There's still time to change things. Maybe I'll spend a semester at Ohio State and stick closer to home."

"Won't Sam try to weasel his way back into your life?"

My laugh sounded too loud. "No. Last I heard, he'd already moved on—found someone new to mend his broken heart. Guess I didn't mean that much to him after all."

Jesse took my hand and kissed it. "You know that's not true. Sometimes it's easier to guard an aching heart by pretending to give it someone else."

I said nothing, listening to the sound of the road beneath the tires hum a sad whine and feeling the gentle stroke of Jesse's thumb on top of my hand. The car slowed and took the exit to the airport. Ten minutes and the final chapter of my life with the Mason brothers would close.

Jesse tugged my hand. "Do you love him?" I didn't answer. "Mars? Between you and me only, I swear. Do you love Jordan?"

The lump in my throat barely moved when I swallowed and a hot tear dripped off my cheek.

"With every piece of my broken heart."

21

TUSCANY ROMANCE

T
he in-flight movie thankfully captured Doug's attention. I, on the other hand, stared aimlessly around the first-class cabin, listening to the plot ramble through my earphones. I was on my way to Italy, one of the world's most romantic places on earth, with a handsome, sexy boy…and miserable.

Unable to stop them, my thoughts drifted to Jordan. We hadn't spoken since our fight the night of Jesse's stabbing. He didn't even try to talk to me about the pictures, just assumed the worst, which hurt. His insinuation that I couldn't survive without constant rescuing, followed by a chauvinistic demand for marriage to alleviate
his
worries, brought all communications, in fact our entire relationship, to a screaming finish.

Jesse called a few times, leaving messages, ironically asking me to give Jordan another chance, or return to him, but warned he wouldn't let me go this time. I'd already been offered a state of permanency with one Mason brother and in such a non-romantic way; "live organ donation" sounded more appealing.

The problem? I wanted something permanent with Jordan. Taking back my refusal to his off-handed proposal would have been easy, but I was stubborn, refusing to budge and yet holding onto the fairytale fantasy. He called and instant messaged me constantly over the week, but I ignored him, choosing to cry myself to sleep listening to his messages, instead. Two days ago, everything stopped.

I did break one rule. The day after I returned from Jesse's concert, a small package arrived, which I opened before realizing it, too, came from Jordan. Besides a custom designed computer with installed features not available to the general public, he'd sent me an additional birthday present—my own
pink
"secret decoder" receptor. I hid the tiny device inside a box of feminine hygiene products no boy would dare touch.

Peterson's villa, an old restored farmhouse perched on a grassy knoll in the town of Siena, had been in their family over a century. Doug's grandparents were the present residents. Exquisite, leaded-glass entry doors sparkled in the midday sun, dotting the portico in colorful glitter. Inside, the mouthwatering smell of something seasoned heavily with garlic drifted to where we stood on a floor of natural stones laid in an intricate circle beneath our feet. Across the foyer, double doors led to a kitchen where the sound of voices chattering excitedly in Italian and clanging pans competed for attention.

"Ciao!" Doug called out.

A little lady, wide as she was tall, burst through the doors, waving her arms in the air. She grabbed Doug, pulled him from his great height to her level and smothered him with kisses. Doug latched tightly to my hand when several people surrounded us, hugging, kissing, and pinching our cheeks.

"There's our beautiful Marli!"
English
and a voice I recognized.

"Mr. Peterson." I acknowledged guardedly.

"Tony, please," he grinned, his expression light, unlike in our last encounter. Here, he definitely appeared more casual, donning a pair of khaki shorts and a bright red shirt, with bare toes wiggling in sandals. "We're more relaxed here. No timetables. We just indulge in fun." He winked, patting Doug's cheek, "And lots of 'amore.'"

That
word I knew.

"Marli? You came!" Marah rushed from the kitchen and pulled me out of Doug's guarded embrace. She towed me up a narrow staircase. "I hope you don't mind sharing a room with me. We have our own bathroom and a view of the pool." She darted a teasing look to Doug who lagged behind, dragging our suitcases up the stairs. "Anyway, it's not fair if he gets you all to himself."

Marah continued jabbering to our room at the end of the hall. Doug caught my arm, holding me outside the door. "I'll come for you in twenty minutes. You'll need a break from 'chatter-box.' I'm thinking of taking a cool swim before lunch. Care to join me?"

"Make it thirty and I'll be the girl in the beach towel waiting in the hall." I stretched on my tired toes and kissed him lightly. "Where's your room?" I asked with a playful lilt.

"At the other end of the hall. Grammy will probably sleep on the floor between our rooms to keep things proper." He kissed my forehead. "See you in thirty."

Walls covered in pale blue and peach floral wallpaper surrounded the twin brass beds. Arched glass doors encased in heavy wooden moulding, opened to a balcony overlooking the pool. The sound of laughter drifted from the yard below. I stopped my unpacking and walked out on the private terrace. Below, a large rectangular swimming pool carved out the center of a manicured lawn. A rambunctious water fight ensued, drenching anyone nearby.

"It must be fun to be part of a large family."

Marah joined me. "Maybe someday you will find out. I see the way Doug looks at you. He's never brought anyone to Italy before." She gave me a formidable look, protective of her brother. "He adores you, Marli."

"I know. I like him, too."

I put the last of my things in the top drawer, pausing before placing the small blue box on top. I slipped the receptor from its hiding place and turned it on, halfway hoping for a missed call, but discovered nothing. Disgusted, I turned it off and tucked the box under a stack of panties.