Page 82 of Worth Loving You

It was easier than facing a broken heart and losing all my hopes and dreams. Losing my best friend, my first love, and my home all in one night, was more than I was prepared to handle, so I would slap a band aid on everything and pray it all worked itself out.

Chapter 31

Chastity Monroe

The view was beautiful, like none I’d ever seen. Knowing I got to get up every morning and see Lake Michigan in the distance set my soul at ease.

Most days.

Today, it confused me. My mind refused to rest. Every few minutes, I was waking up. Not wanting to disturb Milo, I had snuck out of bed, donned my robe, and crept to the living room, hoping to soothe my worries away with a beautiful sunrise.

All my conscious mind did was spin more questions. So many goddamn questions. I had always prided myself that I was a smart person. Growing up the way I did, I learned a lot about life and was always on alert. No one got anything past me, I was on to everyone’s game, seeing through the lies and smelling the bullshit a mile away.

I was strong, I needed no one. Friends had come and gone like a dime a dozen over the years. Some relationships ended amicably because life took us in different directions, some moved out of town, most faded away when their need for me waned.

An arm across my stomach, I tugged at a diamond earring. Jennifer was a true friend. I knew in my heart, in my gut, she was someone I could rely on. I could trust her. She was going to be a friend I had late into life.

How could I have been so wrong? Had the bond between us always been fake, or was she just incapable of denying Milo?

My fingers moved to my chin to stop it from quivering, my heart bleeding. Not that I could blame her, for I had been unable to tell him no, as well. Still, had that been Gary, there was no way I would have betrayed her. How could she hurt me like that?

Ever since Milo came into my life, everything had been upside down. The woman who never wanted to fall in love, had no interest in sex, only wanted to make money and further her career, had done a complete one eighty and flipped on everything. I wanted his love, I craved sex with him, and who the hell cared if I ever worked again when I had Milo taking care of me?

Craning my neck, I peered around the penthouse that was my home, filled with elegant, luxury furniture. I had diamonds dripping from my ears, designer clothes filling my closet, imported shoes lining the floor. Everything was top of the line, best one could buy, with hefty price tags attached.

I had a powerful, sexy man showing me off, bragging about how lucky he was to have me, showering me with affection for anyone to see. No matter who stared at us with awkward looks because we clearly did not match, Milo was oblivious, touching, kissing, rubbing, obsessed with feeling and holding me, regardless of the audience.

Tall, skinny, flawless women with perfect bodies and uppity attitudes saw Milo Pampinella incapable of keeping his hands off me. They gawked while he openly made out with me, groaning and grunting at the pleasure I brought him, not hiding how aroused I made him.

One of the biggest questions that had been circling my brain, keeping me from sleep was how much did I love Milo, as opposed to the life and attention he was pampering me with? Did I love him at all? Or was I swept up with the money, the gifts, the way he made me feel?

Part of me insisted I was in love with him, and it had nothing to do with all that other nonsense. How true could that be, however, that I not only went into a relationship with him, knowing I wasn’t his only woman, but allowed it to continue for almost eight months? I turned a blind eye to all the whispered phone calls or the cancelled dinners, the times he came home later than expected. I knew he had been with another woman. When he was out of town, I even heard them giggling in the background a few times.

Yet I pretended like none of it was going on, convincing myself that one day, he would realize how important I was and if I just stayed patient, he would choose me over the others.

I bowed my chin, pressing my two middle fingers to the space between my eyes. He finally promised to get rid of them, but only after I caught him, red handed, seconds from orgasming, sleeping with my best friend, the one person in the world I thought I would always be able to trust.

Heaving a sigh, I lifted my head, rubbing my palm up and down my throat. Ten minutes of persuasion, and I was fucking him. He turned on his charm, told me he loved me, spit out a few promises, and I spread my legs.

My stomach curdled, my lids lowering. Had he even showered after fucking Jennifer, or had his dick gone from her pussy to mine?

He promised he would wear condoms with his lovers. Found out that was a lie because had I not charged at him like a psychopath, he would have cum inside her. So, if he wasn’t protecting himself with her, how many other of his side chicks was he dicking raw?

When I thought about every time we had sex without a condom, my skin crawled, knowing each time he could have given me a disease. It was absurd that I was standing here, staring out the window as the sky slowly lit up, making a mental note to call a doctor in a few hours so I could be tested.

Twenty-six years, I spent alone, without love, without sex, without any real connections to anyone. I meet Jennifer and buckle, letting her through my wall. A year later, I meet Milo and throw my legs up for him within a few days.

It seemed my life had been spiraling out of control ever since. Swipe away all the glitz and glam, and everything was icky. I felt cold and hollow, alone. Milo tried to cover the cracks with his money and compliments, but things were so broken, and had been since day one.

Almost eight months with him, and I knew so little about who he was. I didn’t know if his parents were alive, where they were, did he have siblings? Were there secret kids stashed around the globe?

My pulse quickened, my muscles shaking. Was his business a front to hide his mafia ties? How high up in the mafia was he? Was he dangerous? Was I guilty of crimes I didn’t even know about because of association? How bad were the crimes? Theft, smuggling, drugs? Murder?

Wyatt had to be lying, there was no way. I’d seen plenty of movies, mobsters didn’t go for the fat chicks with stretchmarks and freckled faces. They wanted svelte, sultry women with tiny waists, big tits, tanned bodies that looked stunning in bikinis.

My arm dropped on top of the other, my fingers tapping to my bicep. Why did everything I evaluated in life have to be stripped down to my weight? Why did I always take things there?

Why would Milo want me because I was fat? I couldn’t wear a bikini because I was fat. I shouldn’t sit in that chair because I was fat. I didn’t dare ask for a promotion, because I was fat.