“Will you tell me what that other asshole said to you on the phone?”
A thread of darkness bleeds through his tone, and it occurs to me he must be monitoring my phone somehow. He seems to sense what I’m thinking, and he doesn’t deny it.
“I saw that he called you.”
“You saw, or you heard?” I question, wondering what the extent of his surveillance actually is.
“I didn’t hear the conversation.” He sounds irritated by that, like he wishes he had.
“At some point, we need to talk about your stalking tendencies. But can we save that and the Riccardo conversation for later? I don’t want to think about him right now.”
A long stretch of silence follows, and I can tell it bothers him not knowing what Riccardo said to me. But he doesn’t push it right now.
“Let’s talk about school, then. Are you ready to go back?”
“Why do you care?” I ask, not meaning for it to sound so blunt, but genuinely curious.
“Because you love school.” He pulls me a little closer. “And I want you to be happy.”
Those words trigger an unexpected rush of emotion, for the simple fact that no other man has ever said that to me.
“Dammit.” I press at the edges of my eyes, laughing at the absurdity of it. “Here comes the waterworks again. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” he says. “But we’ll save that for the next therapy session.”
I offer him a smile, but it fades quickly.
“The thing is, I do love school, but it’s been really uncomfortable lately. I think the members of Imperium have told everyone I was with Nate the night he disappeared, and now they keep whispering and staring at me. They’ve made it pretty clear I’m not wanted there.”
His body goes unnaturally still beneath me, and his grip on me tightens with quiet possession.
“I wish you’d told me.”
“I just wanted to forget it ever happened, but it doesn’t look like that’s possible.”
“I don’t want you to worry about it,” he answers softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay?”
I don’t know how, but I nod, because I’m too exhausted to think about it right now. Instead, I lean into his hold and let out a happy little sigh.
“I imagine this is how Beppe feels when he crawls inside my sweater.”
“It’s like having your very own emotional support sociopath.”
“If the diagnosis fits,” I muse. “Does that mean you’re not going to ghost me again?”
“No,” he promises. “I won’t do that again.”
I believe him, but I can also tell something is off with him. He keeps trying to warn me away, and there has to be a reason for it. But like everything else, it feels too big to unpack at the moment.
“Secret for a secret?” I ask.
“Okay. You first.”
“I think about you…a lot.”
A long stretch of silence passes as he brushes my hair back, and when he finally speaks, his voice is rougher than it was a moment ago.
“I think about you, too, Gabi. All the time.”
