Page 129 of The Ache That Stayed

I let out a slow breath.

If seeing the worst parts of her and staying anyway meant love—

If wanting to protect her even from herself meant love—

If watching her walk away hurt worse than any knife ever had—

Then I fucking loved Roxanne Talati.

And maybe it was time, she knew too.

CHAPTER 34

Roxanne

Istormed out before Santino could see through everything I was trying so desperately to hold together. The door opened, someone saying something about measurements or deliveries or furniture. I didn’t register it. Their voice blurred into the background, distant, meaningless. I nodded as though I understood, like I was still Roxanne Talati—the composed one, the one in control. And then I walked past them before they could finish.

Each step felt rushed and unsteady, as though my body was moving ahead of my mind, trying to outrun the truth sitting deep inside me.

I didn’t stop walking until I couldn’t hear him anymore. Even then, I didn’t slow down. Not until I reached the far end of the manor, where the noise of the site faded into a dull hum—where no one would come looking, where no one would see.

The air grew thick with quiet. I took two deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart and the mess in my head, which kept throwing different things my way.

What the hell had I done?

My stomach twisted violently. I heaved in a panic, almost about to throw up.

Then it all crashed into me. The way Santino’s hand had been on me, in me. The way my body had responded, without shame. The way I hadn’t stopped him.

And worst of all, I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

A pulse throbbed low in my stomach, slow, lingering—like an echo of him still inside me. My thighs pressed together instinctively, a reflex I couldn’t control anymore, couldn’t stop. Disgust hit me instantly.

“No—” I whispered, shaking my head, like I could force it out of me.

But it didn’t stop. Heat spread through me first. Then awareness. Then memory. And with it came the sickening realisation that my body was betraying me all over again.

I could still feel him. And after today, I knew it wasn’t only physical for him. This wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t a fixation he would eventually burn through. It wasn’t a passing obsession he could bury and walk away from.

No.

A chill swept through me. Because I’d seen the way he’d looked at me. The way his voice had changed. The things he’d said. Not about my body. Not about possession. About my laughter. My tears. My nightmares. Every broken piece I’d spent my life trying to hide.

And the realisation hit me with sickening clarity. He wasn’t trying to conquer me. He was trying to keep me. To love me.

The thought made my blood run cold.

No.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Because men survived obsession. They survived lust.

But love?

Love stayed. Love endured.

And if Santino Rossi loved me—there would be no halfway for him. And God help us both. Because I already knew he would burn for it. And I didn’t know if I could survive watching another man destroy himself for me.