All Chapters of The Wrong Bernardi: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Aiden ran toward me, grabbed the dish towel from my shoulder, then tried to hand it over. “This is the flag.”I looked at the white dish towel, then at his small, far-too-hopeful face. “Aiden.”“Please, Mami.”Nuclear weapon.Again.I took the dish towel with two fingers. “One race.”Aiden cheered.Rhysand leaned back on one hand on the floor, looking far too comfortable. “It suits you.”I turned sharply. “One more comment and I’m throwing both cars into the ocean.”Aiden sucked in such a deep breath that his entire chest rose. He grabbed both cheeks. “No!”Then he threw himself onto the rug.Actually threw himself.His back hit the floor, one arm reaching toward the red car, the other pressed to his forehead like a telenovela actor who had just discovered her husband was actually his own twin brother.“My cars,” he whispered weakly. “They’re still young.”I stared at him. “Aiden de Cruz, get up.”“I can’t.”“You were perfectly fine two seconds ago.”“My heart is broken.”Rhysand turn

Rhysand looked toward Aiden again.The living room suddenly felt smaller. Morning light touched the hardwood floor. The bakery box was still open on the dining table. One strawberry had fallen near the leg of a chair, and syrup clung to the edge of a napkin. My life in its natural state, slightly messy, too warm, and never asking to be examined by him.“It’s going to be difficult,” he said, “to pretend I don’t want a place in it.”I tightened my grip on the handle of the first-aid kit, not because I was angry, because anger would’ve been so much easier. Anger had shape. It had words. It could be thrown like a plate as long as the person was rich enough to replace it. This had nothing except Rhysand sitting on the floor, adjusting the steering on a toy car, letting Aiden put a T-Rex bandage on his arm, then standing in my living room like he had just discovered a life he’d never known he was supposed to miss.I set the first-aid kit on the console. “Learn to pretend.”His jaw tightened

Just one name.Five letters that changed the temperature of the room faster than my home’s air-conditioning.Rhysand looked at the screen.I looked at the T-Rex bandage on his arm.Aiden was still crouched beside the graphite car, spinning one of its wheels with his finger.The phone rang again.Rhysand picked it up. “I have to take this.”Of course.He walked to the glass terrace door, opened it, then stepped outside. The door closed softly behind him, separating the conversation from the living room.Not completely.Enough.I picked up one of the cushions from the floor and returned it to the couch. Important work. Extremely urgent. The world might collapse if the cream cushion wasn’t sitting at a forty-five-degree angle.Behind the glass, Rhysand stood facing the ocean.One hand held the phone to his ear. The other slipped into his pocket. The wind moved his hair slightly.His face changed.Not dramatically.That was Rhysand’s particular skill.The man who had been sitting on the f

Rhysand walked down the stone path. I stood in the doorway, not because I wanted to watch him leave. I was only making sure the intruder actually cleared the perimeter. It was a security measure. Very professional.The sound of little feet running came from behind me.“Aiden, don’t run.”He darted past me before I finished the last word, then stopped in front of the side glass door overlooking the walkway. Both palms pressed against the glass.“Uncle Car!”Rhysand turned. Aiden waved both hands over his head, his entire body moving with them.Rhysand raised one hand. The red T-Rex bandage was clearly visible on his arm.Aiden smiled so wide his cheeks pushed his eyes almost closed.Rhysand started walking again.No security followed him. No car waited for him. Just a man in a black T-shirt and a dinosaur bandage walking home past a row of expensive coastal houses.I stood a few steps behind Aiden. Elma stopped in the dining room doorway, carrying a plate of pastries. She looked at me,

The fitting room door opened.I turned to look and... Rhysand Bernadi walked in wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans.No suit. No tie. No business armor except his face, which was already enough to make a small bank hand over its vault codes. His hair was neat but not too neat, the front falling slightly over his forehead, just enough to make it look like he had run his fingers through it along with three old sins.The black T-shirt clung to his shoulders and chest in a way that should not have been approved by local law. His jeans were casual, expensive, and far too well-fitted for a man who was supposedly here for his fiancée’s final fitting, not to wreck the wedding planner’s respiratory system.Behind him, a salon staff member looked pale from failing to stop a man who had clearly never been stopped by an unmarked door.“Rhys,” Gracie said, her face immediately lighting up. “You came.”“Of course.” His voice was low and easy, as though his weekend hadn’t just left behind evidenc