She's beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
"Amelia." I nod, keeping my eyes on the room.
She moves closer. Her fingers brush my arm. "You've been avoiding me."
Have I? I hadn't thought about her enough to actively avoid her. "Busy."
"Too busy to return a text?"
I finally look at her. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes lined in black. A smile that promises things she's already delivered. Twice.
"Construction doesn't run itself."
Her laugh is musical and flat. "You're always working." She leans in, drops her voice. "I was hoping we could find somewhere... quieter."
I remind myself the code I have.
Keep it physical. Keep it simple. Keep it meaningless.
Amelia checks every box. Willing. Discreet. No expectations beyond the obvious. We've fucked, and it was fine. Efficient. She knows how to move, knows what she wants, doesn't pretend it's anything more than two people scratching an itch.
But standing here now, her hand on my arm, her body angled toward mine like an invitation?—
I feel nothing.
Not desire. Not interest. Not even the familiar numbness I've learned to accept as close enough to satisfaction.
Just... nothing.
"Not tonight," I say.
Her smile falters. Just for a second. Then she recovers, because women like Amelia always recover. "Another time, then."
"Maybe."
We both know I don't mean it.
She holds my gaze a moment longer, searching for something. Whatever she's looking for, she doesn't find it. Her hand drops from my arm.
"You know where to find me." She turns, red dress swirling, and disappears back into the crowd.
I watch her go. She'll find someone else before the night's over. Some investment banker or tech CEO who'll appreciate those endless legs and that practiced laugh.
I drain my whiskey.
The problem isn't Amelia. The problem is me.
I don't get to want things anymore.
Across the room, my mother laughs at something Valentino says. Vittoria stands nearby, checking her phone again. Carmela is deep in conversation with some woman.
My family. Playing their parts. Keeping up appearances.
I signal the bartender for another whiskey.
It's going to be a long night.
