“Right. You’re getting married.”
She shifts uncomfortably on her feet. She looks everywhere but at me. I can tell the topic rattles her, and I like seeing her squirm. I like seeing how much my presence alone throws her equilibrium off.
“You’re being shy with me,bella.”
“No, I’m not.” She snaps her head up. “I’m fine. Y-you’re the one being weird.”
“I’m just standing here,” I say easily. “You’re the one who looks like she’s ready to run away.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m. Not.” The blush on her cheeks deepens; she must realize it, because she looks away abruptly. “I need to go.”
“Right,” I say, voice dipping into something sharp. “Wouldn’t want to keep your fiancé waiting, hm?”
She freezes.
Her eyes flash—not guilt, not shame… something far more dangerous.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t say it like that. You don’t know anything about me.”
Her voice cracks just enough to betray her.
I take a slow breath, watching her chest rise with frustration.
“I guess I’ll see you around, then.” The words come out rougher than I intend.
But the way she reacts at the thought of him… it twists something in me.
Somethingterritorial I have no right to feel.
Not when shebelongs to someone else.
Her jaw clenches, and she looks away—because she knows I’ve hit a nerve.
She’s running from more than me.
I don’t get another word in before she turns, bolts to her door, and disappears inside. I stare at the space she occupied for a few seconds before shaking my head with a low laugh.
“Good seeing you, neighbor,” I say into the empty corridor.
It seems fate has been playing its hand with me. No matter how hard I’ve tried to push her from my mind, no matter how many times we drift away from each other… somehow, some way, we always collide.
Maybe it’s a sign. Or maybe it means I need to try harder to let this woman go.
After a few hours, I’m freshly showered and going through one of the files Valerio sent me. My eyes burn from lack of sleep. I’ve read the same line three times and still couldn’t repeat it. I’m tired of working, and the fact that this woman is only a few feet from my door is not helping my concentration.
I drop the files and sink into the couch, meaning to rest my eyes for just a second, trying to steady the chaos in my chest.
“Dammit,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. This woman has me in a chokehold. Every moment without her stretches into a lifetime. That brief moment outside my door was nowhere near enough. I need her like air.
“Fuck it.”
I march to my door, fueled by sheer desperation and need. But the second I swing it open, I freeze.
She’s already there.
