Ben drags his hands over his face and blows a long breath, trying to compose himself before he looks back.
"Ben!" Carmela screams again, her voice trembling. "If you don't come here right now, you'll be seeing me in the ER tonight because you killed your mother!"
I lift a hand to his face, trying to calm him down with my touch. "You should go. She's not bluffing. I'll be fine."
His thumb runs over the faint mark Richard left on my shoulder and he gives me a silent apology in his eyes that he didn't get to deliver the punishment Richard deserved. Then he nods and walks to his mom.
Carmela stands by the fence, arms crossed tight, muttering Italian curses and probably prayers while mixing it with English. "I swear to God, give me the strength to deal with my son. I don't know if you're my son. Are you? You kissed another woman—who's married. I just watched you almost kill a man!"
"Come, Mamma. I'll explain," he mutters and passes her, but she doesn't walk right away behind him.
Her eyes land on me and her stare says it all: I've wrecked not only her son but the second most important day of her life.It's not just disappointment, but exile.
I take a step back, feeling my stomach in my throat.
The second they disappear, my hand clamps over my mouth, pushing back the internal rupture.
There's no way I'm walking back in there. Not after proving my heart is an idiotic thing I can't chain.
So I wait a bit, walk through the chaotic streets of New York, drenched and freezing in my yellow silk dress.
Ten minutes later, I slip through the side entrance, snatching my stuff before anyone notices, and by the time they might, I'm already in the backseat of a taxi.
Back at the hotel, Richard's things are gone. A huge relief since I planned to book another hotel room, just in case he was here.
In the bathroom, I scrub at my face with the towel, but realize he must have used it because his lemon aftershave clings to the fibers, and now clings to me.
The scent of what we were makes me sick. Now I'm sure he never cared for me. Or maybe in his corrupt, narcissistic way, Richard thought control was affection.
I take a quick shower and stumble out of the bathroom in my bathrobe, barely making it to the bed before I break. Not even the middle, just the corner, like I don't deserve more.
A sharp knock pulls me upright.
It can't be Richard. He'd just use his key.
I drag myself to the door, and swing it open to Ben. Bow tie hanging loose, black shirt half-untucked, hair a mess from running his hands through it.
His eyes find me and flash.
"If you wanted me to lose my goddamn mind, congratulations. Mission accomplished. I nearly punched the doorman," he fires immediately.
He doesn't walk in but storms, anger and worry tangled in every breath. "Why would you come back here alone? And why haven't you answered your damn phone?!"
"Oh." I blink. "It must be in my purse. Sorry."
Ben paces every room like he expects Richard to crawl out from the shadows.
"Is he here?"
"No."
"Is he coming back?"
"I don't think so."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. Gone."
