That I don’t deserve any of this.
That I’m my father’s son, the Gemini heir, no matter how far I run.
I lie instead.
“I can’t,” I mutter and feel the first crack spider through my chest. “I’m not ready to be a father.”
Her expression holds, then shifts. “We don’t have to decide everything right now.”
“I’m not deciding,” I force out. “I’m telling you. I can’t do this.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Either.” It’s worse than swallowing glass. “Both.”
She sits up, the sheet falling. Her palm rests below her collarbone, as if she’s trying to keep her heart from breaking. “Is there someone else?”
“No.” That part is true. “It’s me, Cat. It’s…my life.”
“What life?” Her laugh breaks. “You work at the marina and steal lemons from old ladies. You make coffee and fix scooters and talk about going back to Manhattan one day. What life is too big for this?” She presses my hand to her stomach, and my bones go soft. “For us?”
I lock the truth behind my teeth. Because I’m a coward or an asshole, maybe both. I can’t tell her about the men that showedup in the dark saying my father’s name or that ‘us’ is a map to hurt her. I tell myself I’m loving her by choosing the version of me without a gun. I tell myself walking away will save her, savethem.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, each word gutting me.
She looks at me like I became a stranger while she slept. “You asked me to trust you,” she murmurs. “You said we’d figure it out.”
“I was wrong.”
She nods once. The sharp movement is the kind you use to remember how to breathe. She dresses without looking at me. Sandals. Keys. Then comes the fury.
“When you leave,” she hisses, throwing the keys at me, “don’t come back.” Her eyes shine like something inside just burned clean. “Don’t you dare come back, Matteo.”
I stand and steal a kiss to the top of her head one last time when she passes close enough. I taste salt and walk out into the Sicilian sun feeling like I left a rib behind.
I tell myself I saved her. I tell myself the child will never know the life I spared them. I tell myself fairy tales while I book a flight and re-wrap the bandage around my side.
For that one summer, we were children building castles on a beach, pretending the tide isn’t scheduled.
Walking away from her is the worst thing I do. Living with it is a close second.
A whistle snaps me back. Then footsteps. A hood slips around the corner, then the rest of her. Cat’s cheeks are flushed, throat marked by the clean line of a blade that sliced and missed. ThankDio. Her eyes find mine like magnets that still work even when you swear you’ve broken them.
“You’re late,” I mumble, because if I sayI’m sorryagain I won’t be able to stop.
“You’re loud,” she shoots back, breath fogging the air. She scans the street over my shoulder before she looks at me again. “He had friends.”
“I met one.” I jerk my chin in the opposite direction where a body lies crumpled. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” She touches her throat, then shrugs. “Just the scratch.”
The line of crimson across her neck blurs and all I see is red. My vision tunnels and my fingers curl into fists. I want to kill thatpezzo di merdaall over again for making her bleed, for daring to hurt what’s mine. I may have walked out on her that terrible day all those years ago, but she’ll always be my Kitty Cat.
My gaze drops to the zipper of her jacket, and a locket glints beneath the sunlight. I look away before I see more than I’m allowed. She has a habit of pressing her palm flat beneath her collarbone like she’s steadying herself on something I can’t see. It makes my chest ache for all the wrong reasons.
“Tiernan?” she asks.
“No word yet.” The words drop like a stone. “But he and Donal can’t be far.”
