The trimmer fell from his hand in the sink, and my heart—what was left of it—fell to my knees. I’d hoped against all hope Andrea was lying, but the quiver of his hands bracing at the sink confirmed my worst nightmare.
“I thought she was lying,” I breathed, my legs wobbling.
He dashed toward me. “Maggie, cuore mio, please listen.”
“Listen to what? Listen to what, Mike?” My chest hurt. “Did you or did you not fuck my mother?”
“Maggie, please…I was eighteen, and she got me drunk. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. She—”
The room spun, and I tilted my head to the side, its weight suddenly too heavy. His lips were still moving, but I couldn’t hear a thing. “Shut the fuck up.”
He mumbled another plea.
Rage and resentment welled in me as the last fragment of my heart was torn from my chest. “How could you?” I burst into tears. “How could you? How could you?!”
“It was the worst night of my life. I didn’t know any better. Per favore…” He gripped my arms. “I love you, Maggie. You have no idea what happened that night.”
I yanked myself out of his hold, my stomach revolting. “Don’t touch me.”
He winced. “Maggie…”
I spun around and started for the door, but he jumped in front of me, blocking the way. “No, Maggie. I won’t let you leave. You promised.”
“Promised what? To let you fix things before I left? How can you fix this?” Fresh tears blurred my vision. “Just tell me how can you fucking fix this?”
“I’ll do anything. Anything.” His voice broke, and he tried to touch me again.
“I said don’t touch me!” I darted to the toilet and vomited my guts out.
“Oh God. I make you sick now?” He came behind me. “Please, amore.Thisis the past I’ve been afraid of. The reason I haven’t told you I loved you all those years.”
“You should’ve never said it!” I scrambled to my feet, aiming for the door. “That fucking night I told you about my feelings, you should’ve slapped me and told me to fuck off.”
His breaths came in short gasps, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Maggie, I beg you.”
His hand reached for my face, and my palm rang across his cheek, my fingers leaving marks on his face. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I couldn’t bear another second of this. Quickly, I grabbed the doorknob, and I bolted to the bedroom door.
“Please, Maggie, don’t go,” he moaned. “Please!”
I grabbed my backpack on the way out and went to the garage, ignoring Mike’s shouts. My designated driver was smoking a cigarette next to the blue Mercedes Mike had given me when they’d returned from Belize. I nodded at the chauffeur, and he stomped on his cigarette.
“Get out of the way,” I ordered.
“I’ll drive you, Ms. Dawson,” he said, opening the back door.
“Maggie!” Mike yelled, running half-naked across the garage. When I didn’t stop, he yelled to the driver. “Don’t let her go alone!”
“Get the fuck out of the way!” I pushed the driver and slid behind the wheel. My eyes took one last glance at Mike, who was banging on my window now, desolation and despair enveloping me, choking me. Then I slammed the gas pedal, and the tires screeched, part of me wishing I would crash and end this misery called life once and for all.
Scene70
Mike
SIXTEEN YEARS AGO
Mike glanced with eyes half open at the ice clinking in his glass as Andrea poured more martini in it. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Come on.” She gulped on her drink as if it were water. “You only had two.”
