After two days of relaxing on our girls’ weekend, we’re about to get on the road back to Casale di Principe. I climb inside the car with a full belly and an Aperol-spritz-fueled buzz from the lazy late lunch at a restaurant that served the best pasta I’ve ever had.
“This trip was a great idea,” I say with a smile.
Gemma grins at me. “Yeah?”
“I feel a lot better.”
She squeezes my hand. “You look better. You’ve even got a bit of a tan.”
I glance down. My legs are golden from the two afternoons we spent on the pebble beach below our house. I’ve never had girls’ trip like this, and it was everything I didn’t know I needed. I’m already thinking about when we can do the next one. It got my mind off Rafaele—briefly—and I feel closer to my sisters than ever.
I let out a sigh. Maybe everything will be okay after all. “Let’s come back again this summer.”
“We will.” Gemma hands me her phone. “Here. Queue up the next song.”
The four of us take turns with the playlist, blasting music through the open windows of the car, and the two-hour drive back passes in no time. We drop Mari and Gemma off at their homes first and then the driver takes Vale and me back to her and Damiano’s house.
When we walk through the front doors, Damiano is pacing the foyer. He’s on the phone, but when he sees us, he quickly wraps up his call. He strides across the floor and takes Vale into his arms. A grin unfurls across her face before he kisses it off her lips.
Jeez. You’d think we’d been gone for weeks instead of two days.
I look away, giving them some privacy and trying to ignore the pang inside my chest.
“How was the trip?” Damiano asks some moments later, having finished with the passionate make-out session.
“Amazing. We had a lot of fun,” my sister responds. “How were things back here?”
“Ah. They were…interesting.” There’s a strange note to his tone that makes me glance at him. Damiano’s gaze moves from Vale to me, and his expression turns wary. “Something arrived here for you, Cleo.”
Trepidation snakes up the inside of my belly. “The divorce papers?” I crouch down to remove my sandals, conveniently hiding my crumbling expression. “Good. I’m ready to sign them and move on with my life.”
Damiano clears his throat. “Not quite.”
The sound of steady footsteps reaches my ears, coming from somewhere up ahead. I’m getting the second sandal off when a pair of patent leather dress shoes appears in my field of vision. I recognize those shoes. Trepidation morphs into disbelief. I swallow. There’s no way.
“Hello, Cleo.”
Pressed black suit pants, gleaming leather belt, crisp white dress shirt, a triangle of tanned, tatted chest peeking from within. I stop before my gaze reaches his face.
For a few seconds, all I can do is breathe.
What is he doing here? He said it was over. Did he come just to break my heart again? To make sure it was sufficiently crushed under his heel?
No, he’s too pragmatic for that. If he wanted me to hurt some more, he could find a way to do it from New York. So why did he come? Did something else happen? Did something change? A pathetic flicker of hope appears in my chest. I crush it immediately.
No. Don’t go there.
Rising from my crouching position, I finally allow myself to look at his face. What I see expels the air right out of my lungs.
The entire time I’ve known Rafaele, even with his grueling work schedule, I’ve never seen him look more than a little tired. The man is built like a machine, his body and mind honed for performance. But for the first time, I spot cracks in his meticulous facade.
He looks like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Slightly ruffled hair, dark shadows under his eyes, and a drawn expression on his face. When our eyes connect, his flash with unmistakable pain.
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.
There’s nothing stopping me from taking it off. I don’t know why I’ve waited. It’s not like I needed his permission to do it.
I wrap my fingers around the metal and pull.
Rafaele makes a pained grunt, deep from within his chest. His face flashes with torment, and then he’s right in front of me, wrapping his hands around mine, stopping me from removing the ring. “Don’t. Just don’t. I’m begging you.”
I struggle for a bit, trying to twist myself out of his hold. His one hand is big enough to engulf both of mine, and he wraps his other hand around my waist. My body is pressed against him, and I squirm and pant, shock crackling through me at how fiercely he’s fighting me.
“Let go of me. I don’t want to be near you.”
His hold on me loosens, but he doesn’t release me. “Please, Cleo. Hear me out. I made a mistake pushing you away. I don’t want a fucking divorce.”
He’s too close. I can count each one of his eyelashes.
“Let go of me, or I’ll scream.”
Reluctantly, he drops his hands away. I back away. One step. Two steps. Three. The backs of my knees bump against the sofa.
Why should I let him stop me from doing this? I try again. The ring gets stuck around my knuckle, and for a moment, I worry I won’t be able to get it off after all, but another hard pull, and it slips off. I throw the ring at Rafaele.
“No, Cleo—”
It bounces off the center of his chest. Falls to the floor. Rolls back toward my feet.
Panic and agony skate across Rafaele’s features. He moves quickly, dropping to his knees before me and folding his hands around the ring, like he’s afraid I’ll pick it up and aim for the window this time.
He looks up, his expression so devastated it sends a wave of shock through me.
I watch, stunned, as he leans forward and presses his forehead to my belly. “Please, Cleo,” he whispers hoarsely. “Put it back on. Don’t do this.”
My throat constricts. The anger inside me wavers like a candle flame in a gentle breeze. I can’t believe he’d go this far.
He wraps one arm around my hips, pulling me closer. His lips are against my shirt, pressing a kiss right above my belly button. “It belongs on your finger, tesoro.”
The endearment feels like a stab right through the heart. It reminds me of everything we had and lost. “How dare you?” I hiss. “Do not call me that.”
His hand flexes against my hip. “Okay. I won’t.” He exhales a heavy breath and glances up at me again.
I don’t recognize him. Who is this person? What has he done to the proud man I married? A man who wouldn’t even beg God if it meant getting on his knees?
He takes my hand and puts the ring inside it. “Please.”
Pity blooms inside me, pity and something else that’s not as easy to describe or understand. I’ve tried to harden my heart to him, but I haven’t succeeded yet. There are parts that are still soft, still tender, and they’re weeping.
I’m trembling as I slide the ring back on. “I’m only doing this so that you’ll leave.”
The torment in his face eases. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
His hands slide over my jeans, down the backs of my thighs. “For treating you like a liability. I shouldn’t have shut down and pulled away when you needed me the most. It wasn’t right to blame you for what happened with Nero. It was my fault. I was the one who lost it. I was the one who made mistakes.”
His words exhaust me. I sit down on the edge of the sofa and hang my head. I don’t want to talk about what happened anymore. I’ve spent two weeks trying to come to terms with everything, and I was nearly there before he showed up here uninvited.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say weakly.
He places his palms on my knees. “I should have accepted the fact that I was developing feelings for you instead of running away from it. I kept you at a distance, and I know that must have hurt.”
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
“I was in denial for the months we were together. If I hadn’t been, maybe I could have learned how to process my emotions better. Instead, I did everything I could to pretend that I was in control of the situation. I was a coward.”
I shove his hands away from me. “Stop it. You don’t have feelings for me. You said it yourself, and I heard you loud and clear. I don’t want to listen to this anymore.”
When I stand up and step around him, he reaches for me again. His hand brushes against my calf. “Cleo, please. Don’t do this.”
I move toward the door. “Do what?”
He gets up. “Give up on us.”
“Why would I give another chance to a man who is incapable of love? I deserve better than that, Rafe.”
He opens his mouth to say something, but I’m done. I can’t do this right now, not when my heart is about to splinter. Without giving him a chance to respond, I walk out of the room.
