Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I punched him so hard in the stomach, he fell to the floor, hand over his stomach, heaving like I’d knocked the life out of him.
“Get up.” I stepped into his shitty apartment and shut the door behind me.
He continued to struggle to breathe.
“Get up.” I grabbed him by the T-shirt and forced him up. I waited until he stood on his two feet before I shoved him hard into the wall. He bounced off like a fucking tennis ball, then collapsed again. “Fuck with my family, you fuck with me, asshole.”
I was in my hotel room, sitting on the couch with the football game on. I’d ordered room service, had a stiff drink with dinner, but I didn’t really care about the game. My mind was lost somewhere in the past, full of self-doubt.
Wondering if I’d been wrong all this time?
As if she was literally thinking the same thing at the same time, Isabella texted me. I’m in the lobby of your hotel . . . if you want to get a drink.
A flush of heat moved through me, setting my body on fire, burning me to the bone. It’d been a long time since anything had actually meant something. I’d met a lot of wonderful women who were smart and funny and endearing . . . and nothing.
I knew this was a bad idea—a really bad fucking idea.
But maybe one more night would finally put an end to this story. Maybe the closure would help put it behind me. Maybe a piece of me was still here, and that was why I couldn’t move on with someone else. One night—and then it’s done.
I intended to stay in Taormina longer, but after my night with Isabella, I knew I needed to leave. I grabbed my bags and left her there in the hotel. Then I caught my flight, headed home, and returned to reality.
When I took my phone off Airplane Mode, she’d blown it up with messages.
Sneak out first thing in the morning? Smooth . . .
And that’s it? We’re just never going to talk about it?
Con, I thought you were better than this.
I didn’t reply, not when I was annoyed like this. I might say something hurtful.
When I got home, Rocco called. “Sorry to call when you’re visiting family, but we’ve got a couple issues here in Rome.”
“I’m home. Just got back.” I spoke to him from the back seat as my driver took me to my villa.
“Oh? Thought you were there for another five days?”
“I was, but then some shit happened.”
“Let me guess . . . Isabella.”
“Right on the money.”
“I’ll swing by in a couple hours.”
“Bye.”
I still didn’t text Isabella back.
Even when Rocco came by around dinnertime, I continued to ignore her.
We sat together on the outdoor patio while my staff served us dinner.
“Normally when you come home from Taormina, you’re in a good mood.” He grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled his glass.
“Yeah, not this time.” My phone was on the table, and I saw Isabella’s call come in from there.
I ignored it, then temporarily blocked her because I knew she would just call and call.
Rocco saw it. “Oh, this should be good.”
I told him about Isabella’s divorce, the fact that I beat her ex unconscious in his apartment and left him there, and then our hookup.
Rocco gave a slow nod. “And you’re ignoring her now because . . . ?”
“I left without saying goodbye.”
“That’ll do it.”
“I didn’t mean to be a dick, but I told her it was a one-night thing, so . . .”
“And you think she believed that?”
“Guess not.”
“And how do you feel? I know she’s always been a big part of your life.”
I took a breath, all the things I wanted to say popping into my head but never leaving my mouth. Then I let it out. “Shouldn’t have happened. I fucked up.”
“At least it gave you closure, right?”
“No, not really,” I said honestly. “Just opened up old wounds—unnecessarily.”
“I don’t get it, Con. You obviously love this girl, but you won’t be with her. I know she fucked up, but it’s been eight years.”
“I can’t really explain it. It’s complicated.”
“Maybe she’s calling because you put her ex in the hospital.”
“Based on her texts, she doesn’t know about that yet.”
“Shit, maybe he’s dead.”
“Hope he is.” Fucking asshole.
Later that night, I called her.
She answered before the first ring ended, like she’d been waiting.
I said nothing.
She said nothing.
I expected her to immediately start shouting and ripping into me, but that didn’t happen.
She eventually sighed. “Um, I’m sorry I blew up your phone earlier.”
An apology?
“I just . . . wasn’t myself. Upset that I only had a piece of you when I wanted the whole thing.”
“I told you it was just one time, Issy,” I said gently.
“I know, I know. But fuck, I still love you.” She said it more to herself than to me, full of sincere, unbridled emotion.