I turn around in his arms. There’s longing etched across his face. “Let’s go outside,” I say.
Rafaele nods and takes my hand into his. He easily carves a path through the crowd and brings us outside to the smoking area. It’s empty since the headliner is still playing.
I breathe in the cool evening air and look up at the night sky. It’s a full moon.
Rafaele stops behind me. “Cleo?”
The way he says my name brushes over my skin like a caress. “What do you think?” I ask.
“About what?”
“The show.”
There’s a beat. “It’s fun. Just like most things are when I have you close to me.”
My vision blurs. Is he even aware of the bittersweet pain that he inflicts with those words?
“Most? Not all?”
“It’s not fun when you’re right here but you won’t talk to me.”
I turn to face him. “Then you know how I felt in the months we were married.”
A shadow passes over his expression. A moment passes before he responds, like he’s letting my words sink in. “It wouldn’t be like that anymore.”
“No?”
“No.” He takes a step forward, then another, until I’m backed against the fence and his body is pressed up against mine. I tip my head back. He lowers his face toward me, his nostrils flaring on a breath as if he’s trying to capture my scent. My nerves buzz, and it’s a struggle to breathe.
I miss him. I want him. But I’m still not convinced jumping back into our marriage is the right thing. I steel my spine and push at his chest until he reluctantly takes a step back.
“Look, I’m glad you’ve realized the damage your father caused and that you seem ready to start working through it. But maybe you’d be better off trying again with someone else. Someone you don’t have all this baggage with.”
His gaze narrows. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
I clench my fists. “How can we repair our relationship when I’m the reason your best friend is dead?”
Reluctance flickers in his eyes. “Cleo—”
“No, really.” My guilt comes back in full force, pressing down on my lungs. “Nero’s death will always be a dark mark on our relationship. Always. It’s not something we will ever be able to forget.”
And it’s not just my guilt. It’s the knowledge that Rafaele was able to go through with it. He killed his best friend. Or at the very least, he gave the order for someone else to do that. How in touch with his emotions can he really be if he went through with it?
They grew up together. They were close.
He’s barely mentioned Nero since coming here. Why won’t he talk about him? Does he even care? Was it easy for him to go through with it? No, it couldn’t have been easy. Before I left New York, I saw how torn up he was. Maybe he hasn’t brought it up because it’s simply too painful to remember.
I shake my head. “You’re rushing into this because you’re grieving your friend. People act irrationally when they’re grieving.”
Rafaele blows out a breath and drags his hand through his hair. “I’m not grieving. Not in the way you think.”
I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Rafaele stares at me, a strange look in his eyes. He swipes his palm over his lips. “Nero isn’t dead.”
What?
Blood comes rushing through my ears, drowning out the muffled music around us. “What…did you say?”
“Nero isn’t dead. You’re not supposed to know this. You can’t say a word about this to anyone. Not even your sisters.”
The world around me blanks. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “Rafe, what the hell?”
“He’s not dead.”
I stare at him in shock. “Where is he?”
“Gone. He’ll be in hiding for the rest of his life. But he’s alive.”
“How did this happen?”
“I suppose because of you. You asked De Rossi to call me, didn’t you?”
“Damiano knows about this?”
Rafaele nods. “Damiano, Ras, and Giorgio know. They’re the only ones. And now you.”
An astonished huff spills past my lips. I feel like I was just abducted by aliens and plopped into an alternate reality. I press my palms against my face and take a few deep breaths, trying to settle the emotions warring inside me. Relief at Nero being alive. Exhilaration at being freed from guilt. Anger at having been deceived.