A part of me I’m not proud of rejoices.
He’s hurting too? Good.
But it begs the question—why? He was the one who ended it. Ended us.
Rafaele’s stare burns across my flesh. He clenches his jaw. No one makes a sound. I blink and then whirl around and walk away from him.
“I don’t want to see him.”
Vale clasps her hands in front of her stomach. “He’s only asking for five minutes. He’s waiting for you in the library.”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I roughly comb my hair. Whatever peace I found in Amalfi is now no more than a wistful memory. I still can’t believe he showed up here. “I have nothing to say to him.”
Vale sighs. She opens her mouth and then closes it.
“What?” I snap, annoyed. “Just say whatever it is you want to say.”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
“You think I should talk to him?”
“Cleo, it’s your choice.”
When I don’t answer, she leaves.
I run my brush through my curls over and over until they’re gleaming in the light. I thought I was doing better, but one look at him, and I’m a mess. It’s not fair. He doesn’t just get to waltz back into my life uninvited and reel me back to the miserable place I’ve tried so hard to crawl out of.
Five minutes later, Vale’s back.
“What now?” I know it’s not Vale’s fault, that she’s only playing messenger, but I can’t help taking it out on her. I’m so fucking frustrated.
“He says he won’t leave until you speak to him.”
Anger surges through my veins like poison. That damn asshole. “Doesn’t he know better than to make demands? Who does he think he is? We’re not in New York anymore. He’s a nobody here. Can’t Damiano force him to leave?”
Vale runs her tongue over her teeth. “I could ask, if you really think that’s necessary.”
I take a steadying breath. No, I don’t need Damiano to solve my problems for me. I slap my brush on the vanity. “Fine. I’ll speak to him, but only so that he’ll leave all of us the hell alone.”
I stomp downstairs, march through the hall, and fling the library doors open. He’s standing by the window, his palms linked behind his back.
“What do you want?”
At the sound of my voice, he turns around. The flash of relief in his blue eyes only makes me angrier.
“You have five minutes,” I hiss, closing the doors behind me.
He scans me over, taking his time like he’s drinking me in. “How are you?”
“You know, I was doing okay until you showed up.”
He flinches, and it bolsters me. I’m so angry with him for being here, for bringing all of my raw, painful feelings back to the surface. “I hope you brought the papers, although I’m not sure why you chose to deliver them in person. For future reference, this area is covered by FedEx and DHL.”
“I wanted to see you.” There’s a hint of something desperate in his tone.
“Oh? The last person I want to see is you.” I fill the last word with as much venom as I can muster.
A tremor runs through his cheek. “Please, Cleo. Can we talk?”
“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
He moves his jaw back and forth. “I deserve your anger. I said things I shouldn’t have.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“It does matter.” He reaches for me, and my body buzzes with anticipation. It still craves his touch. Misses it. But my mind knows better. I jerk back, putting more space between us.
“Rafaele, why are you here?”
His arm is still extended in the air. His fingers twitch around nothing before he lowers his hand back down. “I want to fix this. I’ve realized a lot of things since you left.”
My heart crawls into my throat. For a long, tense beat, I think he might say the words I wanted to hear so badly from him before everything went to shit. But then I catch myself. Of course, he won’t. That’s not who he is.
“Just send me the fucking papers,” I whisper. “Or do you really hate me so much that you want to keep me guessing when they’ll finally arrive? I want to move on.” I show him my hand. “I want this fucking ring off my finger.”
We both look at my wedding band at the same time.
I left the emerald engagement ring in New York. It wasn’t intentional—I just wasn’t wearing it to work the day I got kidnapped. I rarely wore it to work because I had to lift a lot of boxes, and I didn’t want to risk damaging it. But I never took my wedding band off. For the last few months, whenever I glanced at it, something akin to pride fluttered through me. But not anymore. Now when I look at it, it just hurts.