Antonio has money. I have money too—from work and family.
That isn’t the point.
I can’t sit around and do nothing. I can’t be kept. I can’t be the woman waiting at home while my man goes out.
Then the resentment will come from me, and is that really any better?
My stomach rolls again,sour.
I press a hand to my abdomen, breathing slowly, trying to figure out if it’s the heat, the adrenaline crash, the fact that I’ve barely eaten, or all of it at once.
Probably all of it.
I swallow hard and force myself to sit up a little straighter, water sloshing softly.
Okay. Eat something. Later. When I can stand. When I feel confident my legs can hold me. Not from too much sex this time. No, nothing nearly as fun as that.
I draw in a slow breath, then another, and stare at the tiled wall like it might tell me how to do the impossible.
How to keep him.
And how to make sure neither of us ends up paying for love with something we can’t get back.
I push myself upright in the tub, palms braced on the slick porcelain, and the movement makes my stomach roll again—heat, adrenaline, not enough food, too many thoughts.
I force myself to stand anyway, and the bathroom door opens behind me.
He’s already moving, like he felt the exact second I decided to get out.
“Dolcezza,” he says, and there’s an edge of concern under the gentleness. He grabs a towel off the rack. “I wascoming to get you.”
“I’m fine,” I say.
He doesn’t argue. He just steps in close and wraps the towel around me, and then his arms go around me.
Before I can even protest, he lifts me—up and out of the bathtub like I weigh nothing—and sets me on the floor, his mouth finding mine at the same time, a soft kiss that turns my knees weak all over again.
The way he touches me like I’m precious. Like I’m his. Like he has decided, somewhere deep and immovable, that I’m worth all of this.
A wave of love hits me so hard it’s almost nauseating.
Helpless love.
Terrifying love.
Because I can’t bargain with it. I can’t negotiate it into something else, something logical.
His lips leave mine, and he rests his forehead against mine for a beat.
The fun weekend feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s still only Monday. Like it belonged to a different version of me, of us. Those who were able to love freely without any worries.
Antonio’s hands slide up my arms, thumbs brushing warmth into my damp skin.
“Are you hungry?” he asks softly.
I swallow. My stomach answers for me. “Yeah.”
His mouth twitches. “Okay.” He kisses my temple. “Bianca sent food over.”
