I wake up alone, but not abandoned. As I sit up and survey my surroundings with a sinking heart, I find a tray of food on the nightstand—coffee, muffins, and fruit. How did he manage to bring this in without waking me? I must have needed more rest than I realized.
On the tray, there’s something else that catches my eye: a neatly folded gray T-shirt on Gianni’s pillow. As I search the floor for my old shirt, I realize it’s gone. He’s made sure all traces of Luciano are erased.
I can’t help but grin, stifling a smile as if it’s wrong to feel this happy. Pulling the soft shirt over my head, I inhale deeply. It smells like him—spicy, woodsy, with a hint of musk. I press the fabric to my nose and breathe in his scent.
I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy. I was so busy convincing myself my life was fine that I lost sight of the basics. There’s a lot of lost time to make up for, and I think Giannimight be the key to that.
Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter when we’re together.
I finish the food quickly and slip back to Tatiana’s side of the house, making sure no one sees me. I text Gianni:
Me: Thank you for the shirt.
And then, whispering to myself as I hit send: And I got the message.
He doesn’t want anyone in my life but him.
I’ve reached a new low: the world’s biggest asshole. I’m a total screw-up, a hopeless case. Why did I let it happen? The question haunted me as soon as I woke up before dawn to find Caterina’s head resting on my chest. Her gentle breathing, the sweet scent of her shampoo, and her hair brushing against my nose created a brief moment of pure happiness.
For a fraction of a second, I was as content as I’ve ever been. Holding the world in my arms felt like everything I needed.
What a fool I’ve been.
By the time I step onto the treadmill in the gym, I’m seething at myself. I need a hard run to clear my mind from this mess I’ve created.
I set a five-minute warm-up, starting slow to loosen my muscles before increasing the pace. Maybe I can outrun this guilt.
What seemed complicated yesterday morning has spiraled into a complete mess, all because of my lack of impulse control. I’ve always had a knack for convincing myself to pursue what I want, even when I know it’s a mistake.
Though I can’t bring myself to think of her as a mistake. Not when she soothes my troubled soul and silences the voices in my head. I slept better last night than I have in ages.
That still doesn’t make it right.
Roger strolls in from the locker room, meeting my gaze in the reflection of the mirror across from me. I didn’t even know he was down here. Most likely, he plans on getting in a workout before the long day ahead of us. He inserts his AirPods into his ears before sitting down at the Nautilus station, and I’m grateful he’s not somebody who needs to talk during his workout.
In my mood, he wouldn’t want to hear anything I have to say.
There’s nothing worse than the morning after when the blood filling your dick has returned to your brain, where it belongs. Everything looks different in the cold light of day.
Not that I don’t want her just as much as ever. No, I want hermore. I’m greedy for her now, craving her presence even as I punish my body in penance. It isn’t enough to make her come once or twice. I need her screams, her pleas. I need the sound of her moaning my name in helpless abandon.
Fuck. This isn’t helping.
Gritting my teeth, I increase the speed on the belt, then bump up the incline percentage until my calves burn. Sweat rolls off me, soaking into my shirt, but I push through and grit my teeth in grim acceptance of the pain.
Will determination be enough to keep me away from Caterina? If not, the thought of my daughter will have to do. I can shrug off Caterina’s fears all I want, but I won’t lie to myself. My headstrong, fiery daughter will flip her shit if she ever finds out.
Certain things you just don’t do. Like screwing around with your daughter’s best friend, a kid half your age.
If she ever found out and if she lost it, I couldn’t blame her. There is no defense for what I’ve done and what I long to do again.
Your daughter is more important than pussy. I told myself that before, and it was always true. But those were meaningless one-night stands. Sometimes, it was an excuse to make sure things didn’t go further than they should.