But I can't. Not in this life. Not with who I am.
"I can't." I grip her hips. "Move."
She blinks. "What?"
"I need to get my phone." I push her gently but firmly off my lap. "Move."
Antonella climbs off me, her bare feet hitting the floor. She stands there in her hoodie and nothing else, watching as I reach for my phone.
My cock is still out. Hard again.
Straining against my stomach like it has a mind of its own.
The screen shows Valentino's name.
I answer. "What?"
"Pietro's office." Valentino's voice is clipped. All business. "Now."
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone for a moment. Then I shove it back on the nightstand and finally tuck myself into my pants, zipping up with more force than necessary.
"I have to go," I tell Antonella.
She nods. Her arms cross over her chest.
"One more thing," I say.
She raises an eyebrow.
"You're not allowed to go on dates with other men."
"Dates," she repeats.
"Coffee. Lunch. Whatever you want to call it." I grip the armrests of my wheelchair. "No more meetings with men who aren't me."
"Oliver is my best friend."
"I don't care."
"He's been my best friend since we were eight years old."
"Still don't care."
She rolls her eyes. Actually rolls her eyes at me. Like I'm being unreasonable. Like I didn't just watch another man wrap his arms around my wife in a public coffee shop.
"Oliver will be my forever date," she says. "Whether you like it or not."
Red edges into my vision.
"What?"
"You heard me." She tilts her chin up. Defiant. Challenging. "He's been there for me through everything. He's not going anywhere just because you're jealous."
"I'm not jealous."
"You pointed a gun at his head."
