First Choice ✓

Chapter 19. S

Sara

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A week after Antonio's confession, and it's all I can think about.

It wasn't really a secret that he's attracted to me. But the fact that he actually confessed it so honestly and openly . . .

It's one of the reasons why I'm attracted and drawn to him. His honesty. He doesn't beat around the bush. He isn't afraid to say what's on his mind and what he's feeling. Exactly the opposite of me.

He's crude when he wants to. He's direct, but still tries not to be rude.

And he's literally the most beautiful human being on earth.

I'm still glad that someone walked in and greeted him so I wouldn't have to answer. Because I had no reply to that. What was I supposed to say?

I've always struggled with expressing my feelings and thoughts. Only with people who I've known for a long time and I'm comfortable with—like my best friend Izzy—can I say whatever I want without second guessing myself.

I know it's a problem, and it's annoying to me more than it's annoying to others. No matter how much I try to get better at it, my mind slips into overthinking-mode and I'm back to square one.

Maybe this problem stems from my childhood. My parents weren't the most . . . Available. Me being an only child didn't help, either. Both my parents are top class attorneys, and they're very busy. And they didn't intend to have children. I was an accident. That much I know.

So the fact that I don't express my feelings so openly and can't say "no" to people is on them, honestly.

When I went to college, I got better. I opened up more. Making friends was relatively easy. But then it all went downhill again after my breakup with Alex.

My overthinking capability grew ten times.

If my boyfriend of four years didn't fight for me and broke us up, why would Antonio want me? He doesn't know me. He has it all; a loving family, a very successful business. The body of a Greek god and a face like the ones you see on the cover of Vogue. He can have any woman he wants. So why me?

I'm nothing special. I work on weekends. My friends are my books. I see my parents maybe five times a year. My apartment is smaller than a sardine tin.

A knock at the door pulls me out of my depressing thoughts. I should be working and here I am; thinking about Antonio.

"Come in."

Assuming it's Stella, an intern, wanting to ask or drop something off, I keep my eyes on the screen and finish a sentence I'm writing.

"Working hard I see,"

The voice that just said that doesn't belong to Stella. It doesn't belong to a woman. It's the voice that can cause sweet shivers to run down my spine.

Facing away from my MacBook, my eyes lock onto Anton's. His piercing gaze prevents me from replying to him.

In the last week, I've only seen him in passing. When I went to workout, he was already done with his and was on his way to a meeting. I purposely went a bit later than usual, hoping he would have business to attend to. When he saw me that day, he apologized about how he wouldn't be able to workout with me. It prevented us from talking about his declaration.

"Hi," I squeak out in a high-pitched voice. "What—what are you doing here?"

He tucks his left hand into his pocket. His suit this time is dark green with a lighter green dress shirt. It looks dashing on him, like always. Nothing is out of place, there isn't a crease in sight. His hair, though, is messy in a way that makes people believe he just woke up like this.