It doesn’t.
Morning comes in pale, watery light, and with it—a knock. Rosa slips inside with a tray, her smile gentle, unaware of the war inside me.
“Mr. Conti said you’re not feeling well,” she says kindly. “He also wanted you to know that he was flying to Kansas City for a few days.”
My heart jerks hard enough to hurt.
“Did he say why?” My voice is thin.
“He said he texted you.” She gives me a small smile before closing the door.
When I’m alone, I reach for my phone with shaking fingers. There’s a message from him sent late last night while I was bawling my eyes out.
I open the message.
L. Conti
I won’t apologize for what I’ve done, cara, but I will make this right, which is why I’m flying to Kansas City to make sure this is taken care of.
My damn eyes water. With trembling hands, I type back.
Why bother if you aren’t going to let me go?
His reply comes immediately like he was sitting there, phone in hand, waiting for me.
I want to be a good man for you, and that means earning back your trust. Once it is safe, I won’t stop you from leaving.
My throat burns and I type the question I shouldn’t ask.
Because of your fiancée?
Because I love you.
The air leaves my lungs and tears blur my vision, hot and relentless. Before I can respond, another message appears.
And I hope one day you will feel the same about me.
A sob slips out before I can stop it. Because it’s too much. It’s all too much. Loving him. Losing him. Being trapped between safety and ruin.
I should tell him that I already do feel the same way about him. That I fell in love with him long before I ever admitted it to myself.
But my fingers won’t move. Because loving him is already destroying me and saying it out loud might finish the job.
Instead, I set the phone beside me on the bed. Wipe my wet cheeks. And walk to the window.
Outside, the city below me is quiet. Cold. Still. I press my forehead to the glass.
He’s on a plane heading straight toward danger to protect me while I’m here trying to remember how to breathe without him. And I realize if he doesn’t come back, it won’t be freedom I feel. It will be the end of me.
L. Conti
Made it to Kansas City. It’s colder than shit here.
A tiny smile tugs at my lips.
It’s cold here, too.
His reply comes instantly.
