All because of me.
And here I am, getting everything I’ve ever wanted.
Moving on like none of it mattered.
I’m a sick, greedy man.
Closing my eyes against the wave of guilt, I swallow hard. But the sinking feeling in my stomach just won’t subside.
I don’t regret being with Aisling—nothing on this earth could make me regret her.
But I don’t know how to reconcile the debt I owe Genevieve.
And Aisling deserves a man who isn’t shackled by the ghosts of his past, the remorse from his mistakes.
Too restless to sleep, I carefully ease out from under Aisling, gently replacing my chest with a pillow so as not to disturb her.
Then I pull on a pair of joggers and a T-shirt and head downstairs in search of a drink.
I find Sandro in the kitchen as I enter, and I stop short, surprised to find my brother anywhere but in bed with his wife since I gave him the night off.
“Evi had a craving for ice cream,” he says by way of explanation, lifting the carton and spoon when I stop in the doorway. Then his head tilts as he takes me in, seeing far too much with just a glance. “Want to talk about it?”
Sighing, I cross the kitchen to go for the open bottle of wine on the counter. “Not really,” I admit. “But I don’t know what else might help.”
Setting the ice cream on the counter, Sandro turns to give me his full attention, crossing his arms over his chest. I lift the bottle of wine, silently offering him some, and when he shakes his head, I take one glass from the cabinet and pour myself a generous amount.
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” I confess. “I…”
Well, I can’t tell Sandro that I slept with Aisling tonight, as if that’s anything new. Because he can’t know that our relationship has been anything but genuine from the start.
So I search for an explanation that will be honest without giving too much away.
“When Genevieve died, I vowed I would never love another woman,” I say finally. “And being with Aisling…” I shake my head and swallow a mouthful of wine before continuing. “That complicates things.”
Sandro frowns, his dark eyes looking troubled. “Genevieve wouldn’t have wanted you to be miserable and alone for the rest of your life, Raf. You know that. You were forced into a relationship too quickly after her death, and circumstances haven’t allowed you a reasonable amount of time to grieve, but what you’ve done is in large part toavengeGenevieve—so don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, it has been ten months. Knowing your appetite, that might as well be a lifetime. You can’t expect yourself to stay celibate forever, right?”
I smile sardonically. “I guess not.” But until now, sex and emotion were entirely separate questions for me.
It’s Aisling specifically who’s calling into question my loyalty to Genevieve, and in that regard, I just can’t seem to help myself.
If I were blind, deaf, and dumb, I would want her as soon as she entered the same room as me.
“You shouldn’t feel bad for developing feelings for Aisling,” Sandro says, as if reading my mind—an uncanny ability he’s had since we were kids. “She’s a good, beautiful person. And if she’s who you want, you deserve to find happiness with her. Genevieve would want that for you.”
Sandro might not have a lot to say, but when he does, it always resonates. And for the first time since Aisling walked back into my life, I feel a sense of relief.
God, I hope he’s right.
Because I don’t know how else I’m going to live with myself.
I huff in disbelief at the insightful stuff that can come out of my brother’s mouth sometimes.
Staring down at my nearly full glass of wine, I find I’m not so interested in drinking it.
My lips curve into an ironic grin, because while conversation wasn’t what I came looking for, it turns out that’s exactly what I needed.
Suddenly impatient to get back to my sleeping wife, I pour the crimson liquid down the sink. “Thanks,Fratello,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.
