Zeno Mancini
Other than tonight, everything else okay? She getting used to you being there?
Me
Unwillingly, but yes.
The bathroom door opens, and she steps into the common area, wet hair bound up. Water drips from it, down her bare shoulders and arms before decorating the floor. Her skin’sdarker from the water’s temperature. She clutches the towel tighter and hikes it as high as possible—which only reveals more thigh. No part of this is good for my insides trying to unknot themselves.
“You’re still up.”
“I won’t be going to bed for a while.” Especially not now. Images of her in this towel will mean no sleep for the next month.
“Oh.” She shifts, and the movement lowers her towel until the swells of her breasts are visible.
My fuck.My stare bores into my laptop’s screen—anywhere that isn’t her. She needs to put on clothing right fucking now.
“Thank you for being there. I was prepared to walk to the town and call a taxi. Or you.”
“Good instincts.”
She smiles—if a strained press of her lips can be called that. Her eyes are lined a combination of red from crying and black from smudged makeup she never completely wiped off. “Well, goodnight.”
“Night, Fina.”
What?
Printessais one thing—more of a mocking name to annoy her than anything meaningful. But shortening her name? A proper nickname, like Ana’s, isn’t…me. Names are names and nothing less.
But it slipped out, without thought, rhyme, or reason, and now it’s unable to be clawed back. Even her fucking name…nothing about this woman makes me sane.
She blinks, tilting her head a fraction. A few strands of hair fall onto her shoulder, water dripping from the ends toward the curve of her breast, kissing the towel’s edge.
I’ll admit, I follow that water with as much intensity as I code.
“Fina?”
There is no decent explanation. “I mean—sorry. So many call you Sera, and that’s probably what you prefer, right? Or your full name?”
“No.” She shakes her head, her expression still a little dazed. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, most people call me Sera, but it’s not what I prefer. No one’s ever called me Fina. I like it.”
Then Fina it is.“Okay,” I reply, because how else can this conversation end? “Night, Fina.”
“Night, Lev.”
Her voice lingers long after she’s gone.
As does her scent.
16
SERAFINA
After the third ignored phone call from Alessio, I switch off my phone, preferring not to deal with him, especially at two in the morning, when I have a nine a.m. class. Nothing he’ll say will make it better, and I’m done with his ass, so answering the call will only stress me out.
Sleep’s been rough—tossing and turning, only to be interrupted by my cell phone. I nearly answered the second call only to tell him to fuck off, but it’d mean talking to him.
A few tears have been shed since going to bed, but for the most part, they’ve dried up. At some point in the shower, I decided a man like that doesn’t deserve my tears, not when being with him caused me more stress than anything positive. The gaslighting was exhausting, and although being abandoned in the middle of nowhere in the dark could have led to numerous bad consequences, my sadness shifted entirely into anger.
