Love Arranged (Lakefront Billionaires, #3)(58)

“But you totally should fix it,” Dahlia tells me while linking her arm with her sister’s. “Lesson number one of dating a billionaire: When they offer their black card, you only ask, what’s the limit?”

“There isn’t one,” Julian and I say at the same time before shooting each other a look.

“Well, thanks for the tip,” Lily says with a sassy eye roll.

I grin before turning to face Julian. “Send me the bill?”

“Yeah, sure,” he grumbles under his breath.

I was so distracted by the fountain that I didn’t notice everyone’s luggage packed inside Julian’s truck until now.

“I thought I was driving,” I say, keeping my tone light despite the tightness in my jaw.

Dahlia smiles. “Julian thought it would be better for him to drive since we’ll need to stop by the client’s house on Saturday morning.”

“You can borrow mine.” I tuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans—a move Lily follows with obvious interest.

I ignore the concerned crease between her brows. “I don’t mind.”

I’m an image of nonchalance while internally panicking at the idea of giving someone else full control behind the wheel. My hands start to sweat over the thought of sitting in the back seat while Julian drives, and if I’m not careful, everyone will notice.

“You know what?” Lily jumps in and ropes her arm around mine. “What if we take two cars?” she asks.

Julian shoots her a look. “And pay double the parking?”

Lily hits him with a glare. “Are you complaining about spending money when you dropped a thousand dollars on a prank last month?”

Dahlia laughs under her breath while Julian grumbles, “That was different.”

Lily ignores him. “We’ll see you at the hotel?”

“Sure,” her sister replies, still looking confused but thankfully not pressing for answers.

Lily reaches for her bag in the trunk, but before she wraps her hand around the handle, I carefully move her out of the way and grab it instead. She follows me to my G-Wagon, giving her sister one last wave while I open her door. She has to use the step to climb into the passenger seat, and I get a glorious view of her ass in the process.

“Eyes up here, Vittori.”

I slowly drag them toward her face. “Don’t act like you don’t do the same thing when I’m not looking.”

Her mouth falls open.

I tap it shut with the tip of my finger. “It’s okay. I like when you can’t help yourself around me.”

I shut her door with a grin and head to the trunk, where I place her suitcase beside mine before checking all the tires once again.

I already did my usual routine back at my house because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but my anxiety climbs when I see Lily in the passenger seat, depending on my driving to keep her safe.

Julian rolls down his window. “You all good?”

“Yup. Checking if I ran over a nail,” I lie.

He reverses out of the driveway and leaves while I confirm that all the tires are in mint condition. Once I’m done with that, I pop open the hood and look over the engine.

The compulsion to assess every nook and cranny is proof enough that I’m slipping, but instead of being concerned over my safety, I’m preoccupied with Lily’s. That much I can confirm as I assess the dipstick—despite having my oil changed last week—and the serpentine belt—looks brand new, because it is.

At some point, Lily climbs out of the SUV and leans against the side of it. “Want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

I slam the hood shut and walk over to her side of the car. “In you go.”

She steps onto the platform and climbs into the SUV. I reach behind her chair for the seat belt and clip it in place before tugging on the strap.

Before I move away, she reaches for my hand. “Lorenzo.”

“Don’t.”

“We’re not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“Fine by me. It’s not like I wanted to spend the weekend with you and your overbearing family anyway.”

Her eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

I want to rip my own hair out by the roots because why does she always push me to talk at the worst times.

Don’t blame her for your lack of control.

Cazzo.

I can’t look at her when I apologize. “I’m sorry. Driving long distances… It’s a…” Fuck. I pause before losing the battle against my pride. “It’s a trigger.” I spit it out like poison.

“For what exactly?”

I stay quiet, hoping she gives up while knowing her well enough to predict she won’t.

“I’m asking because I want to better understand you. That’s all,” she says in that calming cadence of hers.

With the deepest breath that makes my diaphragm burn, I answer.

“My OCD.” There. I said it. It’s not like I have done the best job hiding it from her. Not like I do with others.

“I don’t know what it’s like to have that diagnosis, and I won’t act like I do, but regardless, being triggered doesn’t give you the right to lash out at me like that.”

“No, it doesn’t.” I hang my head in shame. It’s been twenty years since I was diagnosed, so I should’ve learned to manage it by now, but lately I feel completely out of control.