Uncomfortable

[twenty-five]

I blink.

And blink.

I think it's been minutes of me blinking and repeating his words in my head.

This is his—will be his. His land. His grapes. His wine. His vineyard. His horses. His pool. His hotel. His goddamn sunset.

But it has all melted away. We're sitting here surrounded by a blank canvas. Everything within my eyesight has gone white, except for Alden's sincere face.

I jerk my hand back and laugh.

And laugh harder.

Alden cocks his head to the side like my laugh slapped him across the face.

"No," I say, shaking my head.

It's his turn to blink.

"No, it's not," I say firmly. "This is a dream. It is supposed to be a dream."

Right? We were dreaming. I was asleep, but I'm wide awake now, like someone threw a bucket of ice water on me.

"It is a dream, my dream that's going to become a reality," he insists.

All this time I was acting like a fucking oblivious idiot. I am an oblivious idiot.

Anger is rising in waves. Smaller ones start in my chest before they start to reach tsunami level.

"So, you're saying when we were dreaming about your garden and your restaurant and expanding your hotel and your bungholes—and my fucking art gallery—we were talking about real things?"

"Yes," he states.

"No."

"This is the reason I came to Italy, Whit. That very first day I walked into the apartment. It was why I came to stay with Carter—so I could buy this place. I have plans to renovate the entire thing, make it mine in new ways, how I envision it, and share it with the world."

"And when you were going off to work, you were coming here?" I ask with wide eyes.

I never asked. I just assumed he was working for his father. I should stop assuming things and start demanding things from people from now on.

"No, I was meeting with my realtor and lawyers and contractors. I've already seen this place a million times. I know I want it."

"Do Martina and Aldo know you're buying it?"

"I'm purchasing it under a company. They might suspect, especially now that I'm here. I don't know. They are contractually obligated not to discuss it."

Of course—hide behind a goddamn company and the luxury of anonymity.

"Why doesn't Leo want it?" I'm close to yelling.

"He's graduating from medical school," Alden says calmly. "Wine isn't his passion. He wants to be a heart surgeon. He's never wanted to take over their family business. It's almost like fate; that I can be the one to take it over, because I don't want to take over my family business. And Aldo and Martina want to retire and travel the world. They've been running this place their entire lives."

My whole body is buzzing. I bury my face in my hands, trying to calm down. I don't need to be so pissed. Composure would go a long way.

"How do I fit into this dream?" I mutter into my palms, but I'm having trouble keeping my emotions in check. Composure is hard to muster. "We've been on an extended vacation like we're on one of those reality dating shows. The ones where they all get engaged at the end, but they never actually get married because they have to go back to the real world. And guess what?! The real world fucking sucks. They aren't going on extravagant helicopter rides anymore or having dinners over the ocean where dolphins serve them food. We'll be like that. This hasn't been the real world! This has been country hopping extravagance. Was I just a couple of weeks of fun?"