Page 138 of The Ache That Stayed

“Then what does that make me?”

My breath caught.

“Because whatever this is,” he said, tapping his chest, “it’s not going away. It hasn’t in three years.”

His voice broke—just slightly. “And I don’t want it to.”

“We’re not the same,” I whispered.

“No,” he said. “We’re worse.”

And I didn’t know how to defend that.

“It was a mista—.”

“Don’t you dare call this a mistake.”

He cut me off, voice dropping.

“Tell me I mean nothing to you.”

My breath faltered. The knot in my stomach started getting heavy.

“Say it.”

He stepped closer. “Look at me and say it.”

I couldn’t. God—I couldn’t.

“You know I love Marcello,” I said instead.

And for the first time, it felt cruel. He stared at me. Like that wasn’t enough. Like it never would be.

“And me?” he asked.

Just that. Two words. And that was worse than everything else. I opened my mouth, and nothing came out. The truth suffocating us.

“You should go.”

This time it came out quieter, but my voice didn’t shake. He stared at me like he didn’t recognise me. Like he was trying to understand how I could feel everything—and still choose this.

Then he reached for my hands, carefully, as if he already knew I was slipping through his fingers and couldn’t bear it.

“Please.”

The word came out so soft I almost didn’t recognise it. His forehead touched mine.

“Please don’t do this, Volpi,” he said, and this time there was no control left.

“Don’t—don’t push me away like this.”

His voice broke, as the plea slipped out, soft and entirely wrecked. He didn’t try to hide it or take it back. He just stayed there, completely undone, letting the desperate weight of his own voice hang in the air between us.

“Choose me.”

His fingers closed around mine tighter. He wasn’t fighting me anymore. He was begging. As if pride had finally abandoned him. My chest clenched, and the pounding in my head intensified.

“Tell me you feel it. Just—t,” his words cut off.