I’d done that once before. Memory slammed into me.
“No, I can’t—”It hurts too badly!
“You can, and you will.”
He didn’t know how it nearly killed me. How being in love with him destroyed a part of me that I trusted him to care for. I swore I would never let another human have that again. And it protected me thus far.
Now, I was truly in danger of my soul being resurrected once more. And if this man took me—all of me: mind, body, heart, and soul—I was never going to survive.
That was why we couldn’t be together. The real reason.
But if I had to use some other excuse, then so be it.
Moving back, Vincenzo pulled out of me. A hot mess slid down my thighs. But he returned in a moment with something warm and wet. A cloth. He cleaned the mess.
I lay in a limp heap. It felt so good, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. To fight this. Later. There was always later to insist that this wasn’t happening. We weren’t together, and if he filed the marriage, I was going to serve him a divorce.
Turning and lifting me, Vincenzo brought me back to the top of the bed. He lowered me onto the mattress. The covers draped over my body, and with one more caress of his hand over my hair, he left.
“Sleep now, fiore,” his voice whispered from the dark. But I was already falling again. This time into the embrace of a dream. One where he stayed—one that would never be more than a sleepy wish.
Chapter 30 –Amanda
Hefting the basket on the crook of my elbow, I wandered the short aisles of the delicatessen. In this store, there were a few very basic brand names that could be found in an American supermarket. But one of my favorite parts of both Boston and New York City was that these smaller groceries had international brands. It was like traveling without needing to board a plane.
Before I tackled any more items on my mile long to-do list, I needed a few staples, since there was no fresh food in my family’s Boston home. It felt strange to be in this city by myself. I rarely stayed here if there wasn’t family in town. When my dad and stepmom were here, the butler or maids ensured the kitchen was stocked. Since I did my own shopping and meal prep when I was in New York, it wasn’t too weird to take care of the mundane task.
But now, without a highly demanding job, I felt…normal. This was what average families did, a core part of what their week revolved around. They worked hard to provide for themselves, not committing a slow suicide to chase the rungs on a corporate ladder. I wandered, gaze drifting over the shelves. This slowed down ritual might be good for me.
The shop had steady traffic. The cold cut counter was the popular area. Some tourists munched on sandwiches at one of the three tables placed on the far wall. By noon, this place would be packed.
I grabbed the bag of rice, turned the corner, and went to the dairy section. While looking over the differently sized chunks of Parmigiano-Reggiano, there was a stir behind me.
The grizzly man, still in his white apron and cap, hustled out from behind the deli counter. He waved his arms, shooing the customers out the front doors.
The proprietor looked right at me as he passed, shook his head once, and scurried past.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I called after him.
But the man was already out the door, turning, and locking it behind him. I looked down at my groceries, then around the empty shop. Other carts had been abandoned, and a heap of prosciutto was waiting for the rest to be cut off. The sandwich sat half made beside it.
Confusion bloomed into a trickle of dread.
If the grey, stocky proprietor hadn’t looked directly at me, I would have thought he’d missed me in his rush to empty and close the store. But he had. I set my basket in the cooler and began to walk down the aisle to the glass front door. Surely he hadn’t left me in here on purpose…right?
“You’ve been a busy girl this morning, Amanda.”
The familiar voice sent a rush of relief through me. That deep, velvety voice promised safety. From everything but him.
Shaking myself, it took another second to realize what was happening.
“You called in a favor, I assume? Or did you order the owner to shut his deli under the threat of pain and suffering?” I accused.
“He was happy to accommodate us.”
Accommodate us? Those words shouldn’t have little bottle rockets popping in my veins. This was just another twist in whatever insane game Vincenzo was playing.
You’re playing too now. And you like the game.
