Page 32 of Claimed At First Sight

Then a thought hits me so suddenly I stop walking.

The problem is that Maximo was my first kiss. Obviously, that’s why it feels so huge.

So if I kiss someone else, preferably someone normal, then Maximo won’t be the only experience I can obsess over. The memory of him will fade. It has to. It’s basic math.

I’ll find someone else. Someone kind, who doesn’t look at me like I’m an acquisition. And then Maximo Marco will finally stop taking up so much space in my head.

That’s a brilliant plan. Foolproof!

I feel better already.

Pleased with myself, I walk a little faster and find Isa sitting in the library near the French doors, her nose buried in a book.

“I’m going home,” I declare. “I can’t stay here another minute.”

My voice comes out higher than usual. So much for calm and collected.

“What happened?” my sister asks, her expression shifting from relaxed to alarm in a heartbeat as she takes me in.

Ah, that’s right. I look pretty disheveled.

“Nothing,” I’m quick to assure her, letting myself fall onto the sofa beside her.

I know perfectly well that collapsing like this doesn’t exactly scream nothing happened, but I’m too exhausted to maintain the facade.

Isa sets her book aside, her eyes narrowing.

“Did you have another run-in with Maximo?”

I nod, staring at a spot on the rug.

“What did he want this time?” she asks, a tinge of wariness creeping into her voice.

I frown, trying to summon the details of our conversation. Usually, I can recite every detail of what someone said, but right now, that kiss keeps pushing everything else aside.

“Umm…” I stall, forcing myself to think about anything other than his mouth.

She raises an eyebrow at me.

“He… he asked me what my favorite flower was, so he could plant it for me in Chicago.”

Isa laughs. “He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”

“Well, yeah… I don’t want to stick around for more.”

The door opens and Mariella steps through, her brow furrowed the second she sees me slumped against the cushions.

“Can you arrange a driver for me, Mari? I need to go home,” I tell her before she can even greet us.

“Of course,” she says, taking a seat in the armchair opposite Isa and me.

“Does this have anything to do with Maximo?” she asks.

“Yep, his wooing of Mia continues,” Isa quips, leaning back.

“What part of my interaction with him could possibly be described as wooing?” I demand, my outrage finally sparking some life back into me. “Isn’t that meant to involve things a woman actually enjoys? Flowers, chocolates, sweet attention?”

Isa chuckles. “Well, he certainly is giving you attention. And he did offer to plant your favorite flowers.”