Normal will taste like cardboard after Cristiano. I already know that. Danny could be perfectly nice and funny, and I’ll spend the whole evening thinking about amber eyes, possessive hands, and a voice that breathes my name like I’m his goddess.
But maybe this is what I need to do. If I can sit across from a normal man and feel normal things, and imagine a future that doesn’t have Cristiano’s shadow stretching across it, I might not be as trapped as I feel. Maybe the pull toward him is just habit. Just trauma.
And there’s another reason to go on this date. A darker one.
Cristiano has been so careful. So patient. The flowers, the toys, the polite retreat at the park. He’s playing the long game, and it’s working. I’m starting to wonder if this time will be different.
But if he hears I’ve been on a date with another man, maybe he’ll show his true face. Be the monster I know he is. Because right now he’s being so goddamn careful, and I’m falling for it.
I look at Leon, happily smashing dinosaurs together on my living room floor. At the flowers filling every surface, beautiful and suffocating.
If I don’t do something, I’ll wake up one day and realize I can’t remember what freedom feels like.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “One date.”
The casino restaurantis all velvet and gold, chandeliers dripping crystals that scatter light across tables filled with well-dressed patrons. A jazz quartet plays in the corner, smooth and sophisticated, while somewhere beyond the frosted glass partition, slot machines chime and roulette wheels spin.
I feel exposed. Rosa’s tiny red dress clings to curves I usually hide. The neckline plunges lower than anything I’d ever choose for myself, and it rides high on my thighs. She did my makeup, smoky eyes and bold lips, the kind of look that belongs on a woman who regularly goes to places like this, not a single mother who spends her evenings scrubbing pasta sauce off the stove.
Danny pulls out my chair for me, which is sweet. He’s wearing a blue button-down, and he smells like supermarket cologne and fabric softener.
“I love this place,” he says, settling across from me. “Great food, and if dinner goes well, we can hit the blackjack tables after.” He grins like this is a selling point.
I smile and reach for the menu. The air conditioning raises goose bumps on my bare shoulders. I feel men’s eyes skimming over me as they pass, and I want to hunch forward, cross my arms, and disappear.
A horrible thought hits me.
Is this one of Cristiano’s places?
I look around with new eyes. The elegant décor, the deferential staff, the quiet hum of money moving through the gaming floor beyond. Cristiano owns hotels, restaurants, and casinos across the city. He could own this one.
Stop it. You’re being paranoid.
“So,” Danny says. “Rosa tells me you work at a spa?”
“That’s right. At the Grand Palazzo.” I take a sip of water, forcing myself to engage. “I’m a massage therapist.”
“That’s awesome. I bet you meet all kinds of interesting people.”
You have no idea.
Danny launches into a story about his job in insurance, something about a client who tried to make a claim for a boat that sank under suspicious circumstances. He’s animated and clearly trying to impress me. He’s nice. He’s perfectly nice.
And I feel absolutely nothing.
No spark. No flutter. He’s pleasant and harmless and so utterly beige compared to—
I take another sip of water to drown the thought.
This is what I came here to find out, I remind myself. Can I want someone else? Can I imagine a future with a man who tells silly jokes and would never lock me in a wardrobe or tie me up or look at me like I’m the only thing standing between him and oblivion?
Danny is talking about insurance fraud, and I can’t even remember his last name.
I’m failing the test. I’m failing it spectacularly.
Danny says something that’s probably funny, and I laugh on autopilot, and I hate myself for allowing Cristiano Montoni to ruin normal men for me.
I’m reaching for my water again when I freeze.
