Cocky asshole.
“What do you want?” I ask, infusing as much annoyance as I can.
He sighs, and I look out the floor-to-ceiling panoramic window, Central Park stretching below me. I don’t think I will ever tire of this dreamy sight.
“How much longer?”
“You know my conditions.”
“Meet me halfway. My patience is wearing thin.”
I gasp, letting out a sound filled with theatrics. “Let me check how much I care about that. Right. Zero.”
He clears his throat, tsking. “You’re acting like a brat.”
“And you’re being an asshole.”
Even our stubbornness matches, making me believe we can be either great or terrible together.
“Have fun this weekend. I’ll be in Miami tonight.”
“Why?” I ask, my voice shakes, revealing my true state.
When he’s in the city he owns, I don’t have reason to worry, but facing the deep-seated fear that something could happen to him slays me open, evoking all my vulnerabilities.
The thought that I’d never see him again terrifies me.
No anger, no hurt could match my feelings for him rooted in my being. And I hate that even more.
“I have a monthly poker game with the guys.”
“I thought you’d be more into chess,” I say through the lump of emotions stuck in my throat.
“I’m into winning.”
I picture him smirking, and a small smile curls up at the corners of my mouth. That sounds like my conundrum of a man.
“I guess I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Viviana?”
“Hmm?” I say, lost in thought. I miss him already, and my eyes well up.
“Stop running, baby,” he rasps, voice tender and edging on a plea.
“If I stop, you’ll be there to seize the win.”
“I’ll be there to catch you. This is not a game I wish to win. It’s about the life I want to build with you. The future I long to gift you,mo run.”
The line disconnects, leaving me stranded in purgatory once again, not knowing how much longer I can postpone giving in.
My phone vibrates with a text from him.
Next weekend. You and me. No excuses, wife.
Is that an order or a request?
Whatever makes you feel better about agreeing.
