TWO WEEKS LATER
Dante hands me my new passport and driver’s license. “Who are you?”
I answer without looking down. “Amelia Donovan from Phoenix, Arizona.”
He nods his approval. “The house is all paid for—”
“I wish you’d at least let me pay rent.”
“We’ve discussed this, Mia. We own plenty of property. The house is an investment for us, and it’s yours for as long as you need it.” I swallow the emotion welling in my throat and hug him goodbye. He wishes me luck and goes inside, leaving me alone in the driveway.
Kat and I said goodbye in the house; she said she couldn’t bear to see me drive away. We stayed up way too late last night, watching movies and reliving our teenage dramas. We cried and laughed, then cried some more. But she and the kids, and their army of bodyguards, are coming to visit me next month.
I can do this. Any life I build now can’t be any worse than what I left behind in Boston. Tossing my purse into the passenger seat, I grin at the blue Mustang that’s almost identical to the one I drove when I fled Boston. I appreciate the gesture, and I’m certain it was Lorenzo’s doing.
I’ve barely seen him since I announced I was leaving, and if I’m being honest, I’m glad. The time apart convinced me that I’m making the right decision. As much as it hurts to leave, and as much as I’ll miss Kat and the kids and everyone here—especially him—this is the best thing for me.
I loved Brad once and he destroyed it. He almost destroyed me too. But what I felt for him pales in comparison to what I feel for Lorenzo. To stay here and risk never being loved that way in return makes my heart ache. As much as I love him, I would rather live alone with hope than live a hopeless life with him.
I thought he’d be here to say goodbye, but I guess I never meant all that much to him.
Looks like there’s nothing left for me here. With a heavy heart, I pull open the car door, wishing I’d at least written him a note.
The front door of the house opens and he steps outside, dressed in one of his finely tailored suits. Without thought, I run toward him and throw my arms around his neck. Because despite it being over, what we had meant something, even if that something wasn’t enough for him.
“I’ll miss you, sunshine. Take good care of yourself, okay?” he says, his voice hoarse and shaky.
I close my eyes and breathe him in, savoring the familiar warmth of his embrace—all for the last time. It hurts to let him go, but he was never really mine to begin with. I press my lips to his ear. “Thank you so much for everything, Lorenzo Moretti, but most of all for making me remember how it feels to be alive.”
With every ounce of willpower and strength in my body, I untangle myself from his arms and walk to the car without a backward glance. Forward is the only direction I have any interest in now.
I hit play on the stereo, and the first bars of “Bright Side of the Road” fill the car. Singing along, I exit the gates of the Moretti mansion and drive toward my new life, leaving behind the man I foolishly hoped could be my forever.
