Isabella was not interested in falling in love. Marco was not looking for a relationship.
The perfect combination for a foolproof agreement.
Right?
*
Isabella Hammond, the first female billionaire in her city, is a smart, straightforward and stunni...
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EIGHT YEARS AGO
"Heads up!"
I watch as the football I had just thrown sail over the heads of Elliot and Jesse as they watch it, without making any attempt to run behind it.
Jesse even clamps his hands over his eyes to shield them from the glare and watches as the ball glides in the air and falls smack dab in the middle of a group of classmates of ours.
Shrieks erupt from the group and Jesse, very helpfully, gives a low whistle. "Good arm, Marco."
I huff and cup my hands over my mouth and shout, "My bad," as I jog in that direction.
"You guys aren't even going to try and get that back, are you?" I ask as I jog past Elliot and Jesse.
"We're not about to face the wrath of our classmates for something we didn't do," Jesse says and I shake my head.
I look towards the group, squinting in the glare. Someone from the group gets up, holding the football I had just thrown and starts walking my way.
I look at that someone.
That someone is a her.
That someone is gorgeous.
Absolutely gorgeous.
Her dark blonde hair gets highlighted by the sun that's shining behind her and her eyes are a clear blue, like the sky above our heads.
I can feel myself smile as I look her. I want to look at her for a long time.
A very long time.
She's not smiling back, though. Her pink lips are downturned and her eyebrows are drawn into a frown.
I jog up to her faster, somewhat because she looks a little mad, but mostly because I want to get closer to her; I want to talk to her.
She holds out the football to me.
"Your ball," she says.
I know she's chastising me, but her voice makes me smile.
Her voice is powerful.
Not like it's booming or loud, but because it's lyrical and I can feel her voice reverberate through me, touching my bones.
I love it.
I love how I can not only hear her voice, but I can feel it, too.
I stop one step away from her and smile, sheepishly.
"I'm sorry," I tell her.
My first words to her are an apology. I don't want to have to apologize to her again because I don't want to do anything to her that would warrant an apology. I don't want to make her unhappy.
