Page 53 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

“Dinner.” His dreamy voice stops me cold, sending shivers down my spine.

I close my eyes briefly, irritation flaring all over again before I turn back just enough to look at him.

“What?”

“I'm asking you out on a date.” He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like we’re discussing something normal. Reasonable.

“I’m busy, in case you haven’t noticed, I have a wedding I’m planning.”

“After the wedding.”

For a second, I just stare at him. Because there’s no way… No way he just said that.

After everything.

A bristled laugh escapes me, cutting through the tension instead of easing it.

“How is it that I’m seeing Daniel and you on the same day?” I ask, but it comes out thin. Strained. Like I’m trying to hold onto logic that’s already slipping through my fingers.

My mind starts racing, going back to that night. This isn't a coincidence. It can’t be.

Daniel doesn’t just happen into my life again. Robert doesn’t just appear in the same space.

Something about this feels wrong and carefully planned out.

Like I’ve walked into something I didn’t know was waiting for me.

My pulse picks up, my heart slamming hard against my chest, eyes flicking around the room, like I’m suddenly looking for something I can’t see but can feel.

“Is this another one of your sick deals?” I bite out, panic threading through it despite how much I try to keep it down.

“No.” He answers simply. Then, he lifts a brow, watching me too closely now. “Although, I find it strange that you’re planning your ex’s wedding.”

“Are you…” I scoff, the sound breaking out of me before I can stop it, anger flaring over the panic, covering it, shielding it. “Fuck you.”

“So you didn’t know it was his wedding.”

“What do you think?” I bite back.

“Good,” he purrs, like that settles something for him. “I know a place with a clam sauce to die for.”

For a second I just stare at him. Because that… that’s not random. That’s not something you say unless you remember.

And he does.

My stomach drops, everything inside me folds.

That night in the suite, somewhere between everything, when the air had gone still for a second and I could actually think, I had said it. Offhandedly, like it didn’t matter. Like he wouldn’t hold onto something that small.

I had told him it was my comfort food, if done right.

Why would he remember that?

Why would he keep that?

“You’re insane.”

“I’m asking you on a date, Bonbon.” His expression doesn’t change.