Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(103)

“Don’t mind her,” he says. “She says that to every couple she sees, often without asking if they want children.”

“Do not!”

He turns to us. “Watch. She’s going to ask you fifty different questions about your relationship next.”

“Lenny! Don’t be dramatic.”

“Twenty?”

“I’ll start with one.” Joanne huffs. “What did you think when you first met Lily?”

“Here we go,” Lenny grumbles.

I expect Lorenzo to come up with a generic answer, but he surprises me when he says straight to my face, “At first I didn’t want to like her, so I looked for reasons not to. She was bubbly and funny, and honestly, I never even told her this”—Joanne squeals—“but I found her to be intimidating. She knew what she wanted and she was completely and utterly unapologetic about it, and I feared that quality as much as I admired it.”

Joanne’s eyes go wide, and she’s not the only one because consider me speechless.

Lorenzo doesn’t take his eyes off me. “I had a set number of goals for my life, and most of them up until I met Lily were self-serving, but once I met her, she had this way of making me think about a future that was bigger than myself or this town. And slowly, little by little, the future she painted for herself… Well, I couldn’t imagine anyone else standing beside her in that picture but me.”

I wish his words were true, but each one of his actions lately tells me they’re nothing but a lie.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


Lorenzo


Lily and I spend the rest of our Saturday taking Angel around the assisted-living facility. There is one nurse working who is particularly interested in her, so we stay a little longer so Angel can spend time with her after her shift.

By the time we leave, I’m exhausted, and Lily appears to be feeling the same given the way her eyes droop.

“I’ll take you home.” I shuffle her toward my car.

She scans the lot. “Wait. Where’s my car?”

“Manny took it to my house.”

“What? Why?”

“I thought I should keep your prized possession safe since there appears to be someone in your neighborhood who’s tampering with spark plugs.”

Her entire face turns red.

“How did you learn to remove those anyway?” I ask after sitting on the question all afternoon, ever since Manny passed by earlier to grab Lily’s car keys so he could drop it off at my house.

She can have it back in two months—and not a single day before then.

If Manny thought my request was unusual, he didn’t show it, most likely because I played it all off like some prank.

Lily kicks up some dirt with the toe of her shoe. “YouTube.”

“I’m impressed.”

She glances up at me. “The look on your face was worth it.”

“Now I feel less bad about this…” I open the Messages app on my phone and show her my text thread with Manny.

MANNY

Tell me again why you want me to remove Lily’s engine?

ME

It’s part of the prank.

MANNY

And the boot on the wheel?

ME

Added safety precaution.

MANNY

Would you like me to remove the steering wheel while I’m here?

ME

Now you’re thinking outside the box.

MANNY

I was kidding.

ME

I’m not. Also, is it possible to take out the driver’s seat? Just in case?

Lily shoves me hard. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“From what? The right to make my own choices?”

I laugh, which spurs her on.

“None of this is funny.” Her voice shakes as her hands curl into fists by her side.

“I’m sorry.” I sober up. “If you want the car, I’ll give it back.”

“In the same condition you stole it in?”

I stop grinding my teeth together long enough to answer her. “No.”

“You’re…”

“Yes?”

“The most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

“We both know that’s not true.” Not while Richard is alive, at least.

She walks over to my car with a groan and waits by the passenger side. I don’t unlock it until I can grab the handle and open the door for her.

She doesn’t climb in.

“You’re not making this process any easier for me,” she says softly.

“I can’t stop caring about you, Lily.”

Her brows furrow. “If the last forty-eight hours are a sample of what that looks like, I’m better off without it.”

“These last two days have been hell for me too.”

“Good.”

Who knew it was possible to pack so much sass into one single word?

Wanting to prolong our longest conversation since the night of the debate, I play with one of her face-framing braids and say, “I scheduled a session with Doctor Martin.”

The spark of anger in her eyes dies, along with whatever she was about to say when her lips part.

“I have no idea if it’ll work out, but I’ll try anything at this point,” I add when she doesn’t speak.