“Book it.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait fo?—”
“Book it, Reid.”
“…Okay. The flight leaves in three hours from Naples.”
I nod even though he can’t see me. “Text me the details.”
When I hang up, I stand with my hand pressed to my chest, feeling the rapid beating beneath it. After a few minutes, I slowly walk back down the path, and find Zalea still on the beach, sitting in the sand, knees pulled to her chest. She looks up when she sees me and the hope in her eyes makes this worse.
“I’m leaving for a while,” I say, forcing the words out before I lose my nerve.
“What?” Her face drains of color. “You literally just said you weren’t leaving me.”
“I’ll be back, but I need space. I can’t process this with you looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” she whispers.
“Like I’m about to disappear.”
Her chin trembles. “It feels like you are.”
I swallow hard. “I booked a flight out of Naples. Reid got me to Switzerland.”
“You’re leaving the country?”.
“Just for a bit.”
Her eyes close briefly, like she expected this.
“I’m leaving the car for you,” I add. “Drive back to Florence whenever you’re ready.”
“You’re just… leaving?” she asks. “Just like that?”
“I need time.”
“And staying in the same country as me is just too hard for you, is it?” she shoots back.
I don’t have an answer for that either, so I turn before she can see the doubt creeping in. If I look at her any longer, I’ll stay, and that might make this worse.
I call a taxi as I head back for the road, and when it pulls up, I don’t let myself second guess it as I get in. As we drive away, I glance once in the rear window and find Zalea still standing on the beach—small and alone—and I hate that the first thing I do after learning she went through the worst day of her life without me…
…is leave her again.
TWENTY-SIX
ZALEA | FLORENCE
It’s beenthree weeks since I last saw Gabriel, when he left me in Positano. That day shattered me, and not just because he walked away, but because he did exactly what I’d been terrified he would do. He proved my fear right. And still, every night since returning to Florence, I’ve kept the adjoining doors between our hotel rooms open.
He hasn’t come back yet like he promised, but his belongings are still in the room, so I’ve been sleeping on his side of the bed, just in case he comes back in the middle of the night.
It sounds pathetic, I know.
He has every right to be hurt that I kept our daughter from him. I never planned on keeping it a secret this long. Back then, I told myself I would explain everything when he returned from tour. But somewhere between grief and anger, I convinced myself he didn’t deserve to know because he hadn’t wanted her in the first place.
I thought maybe he’d ask about the abortion, and maybe that would open the door for the truth, but he never did. Not until Italy. And maybe that should have been a red flag, but I’ve never been good at seeing red flags when it comes to Gabriel.
