I laugh at myself.
That is where I am now.
A text message comes in, and my body prepares for Mario Conti as if he might step out of the screen.
Pathetic.
I pick up the phone.
Ainsley:Did you ever get clarification from payroll on the department-level permissions?
I stare at the message for a moment, then look toward my briefcase by the sofa.
No.
Absolutely not.
I am not working.
I am eating soup. I am hydrating. I am not thinking about department-level permissions or Mario’s hands.
Me:Not yet. I’ll deal with it Monday.
Ainsley replies almost immediately.
Ainsley:Monday? Are you sick?
I smile into my soup.
Me:Something like that.
I set the phone facedown before she can ask anything else.
Then I pick up my spoon, take another bite, and let myself sit in the quiet of my kitchen, sore and rested and warm all the way through.
For the first time in weeks, I do not open my laptop.
For the first time in weeks, I do not make a list.
I just eat the soup Mario left me and try very hard not to smile every time I look at his note.
I fail miserably.
Chapter Fourteen
Mario
By the time I get home, I have sat through a three-hour meeting, signed seven documents, taken a call from Milan, and approved a budget large enough to buy a small country.
None of it has been as difficult as leaving Victoria asleep in her bed.
I am irritated by this fact. Deeply irritated.
I have left women’s beds before.
Many times. Easily. Without regret or hesitation. Without needing to pause in the doorway and look back.
This morning, I stood and looked down at Victoria in bed and decided to wake her before leaving.
