If ever I could fall prey to an addiction, Stephanie would be mine.
This feels like it did back then, the day I met her, this thrill of finding a woman I’m so intensely attracted to, I couldn’t stay away if I wanted.
She was just a normal woman, not some perfect bride who’d been brought up in our world of misogyny and violence and offered up to me through a contract.
She was a woman I would have to win over.
She’d never even heard of my family name—a rarity in Chicago.
And making her mine was the single greatest accomplishment of my life.
Releasing a sigh, I open my eyes and stare up at the ceiling of my bedroom.
After eight years, it feels almost sacrilegiousnotto mourn her.
But now that she’s back from the dead, I feel as though something inside me has been resurrected as well.
I don’t quite know what to think of what’s happening between us. This game she’s playing…
It’s entirely illogical.
And yet, when I had the opportunity to clear the air, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
If she doesn’t have a husband, if she’s not trying to stop me from coming back into her life, then why all the pretense?
The question hovered on the tip of my tongue last night as we did the dishes.
It begged to be vocalized.
But I froze up when the opportunity arose.
The truth is, I’m terrified that if I ask, I’ll snuff out what potential we might have.
For whatever reason, Stephanie wants to be another person.
She wants the world to know her as Jane.
Maybe she’s allowing me to stay as long as I’m willing to go with it.
Maybe she considers it a sign that I’m ready to give up my family.
Her question about what I do for a living did feel very pointed.
And yet, she continued the charade even after I all but told her I’m still involved in the same corrupt lifestyle.
Hell, I practically confessed to becoming the new Don.
Could it be that she truly doesn’t recognize me? Have I really changed that much over these past eight years?
Maybe, but if the roles were reversed, I’m certain I could never forget her, and it breaks my heart to think she could have so completely moved on from me.
Pressing the heels of my palms against my eyelids, I massage the throbbing headache forming behind my eyes until I see stars.
I don’t know what to make of it. I don’t know what to make of her.
All I know is that if I could earn back the woman I fell in love with, I would do anything to make it happen.
Like a dam breaking in my mind, memories of our past together flood back to me, images flashing before my eyes, reminding me of just how desperately I wanted her—needed her—in my life.
