Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Stop it, I tell myself. I have to say it over and over again as I walk up to his table, and I notice how he’s looking at his phone, and how he’s radiating ‘professional distance’ like it's a shield.
The mask isn't just back.
It's fortified.
I walk over. Professional. Neutral. Every step measured. "Good morning."
"Good morning." His voice is polite. Distant. Like I'm any other server. Like his hands weren't on my body twelve hours ago. "Coffee, please."
I pour. My hands are steady. I've practiced this. I practiced this at five in the morning when I couldn't sleep, when I kept replaying the alley over and over, when I kept feeling his thumb circling and his voice in my ear telling me to let go.
"The omelet today?" I ask.
He doesn’t answer and instead looks past me. “Over here.”
Santino dismisses me with a wave as two men approach his table, and I...
I can’t remember feeling this small.
This ugly.
This invisible.
I walk away in a daze. In the corner of my eye, I notice how the men joining his table are dressed in racing suits, and I hear all three of them speaking in Italian. That should probably mean something. I feel like it matters. But I’m just too hurt to figure things out.
I get back to my work. Shame eats me inside, but I can’t stop stealing looks at his table. I don’t understand a single word they’re saying, but their gestures and body language? It speaks volume. The rigidness of Santino’s posture. The way the other men are shaking their heads. And then finally, one of them hands Santino a folder just before they leave.
Time passes by. I tell myself that I’m willing to wait for Santino to explain things. That there’s nothing wrong about choosing to believe him. But when he just suddenly walks out without looking back—
I can’t even cry.
Because this time...
The pain is simply past the point of tears.
Chapter Nine
I START PACKING AS soon as I get home. I know I’m being irrational and impulsive, but I just need...I just need to go somewhere that won’t remind me of him. My tears start falling as I struggle with the zipper of my beaten-up luggage, and the moment they do, they just won’t stop.
Jolie gives me a call, and I answer it, but all I end up is blubbering out words that even I myself don’t understand. All I want is to just get away. And beg for God to help me forget him. For good.
But instead, someone starts knocking on my door just when I finally manage to zip my luggage close.
“Thea?”
My heart stops.
Please, God.
Let that be my imagination.
Please.
“I know you’re in there.”
But it’s not, and my tears start falling faster at the roughness of his tone.
“I know you’re in there. Your car is outside."
I'm frozen. Hand halfway to my mouth. Breath caught in my throat.
"Please. Open the door."
I can't move. Can't think. Can't do anything except stare at the door like it might explode.
“I know my actions have made you think that I’m ignoring you.” His voice is different now. Stripped. Raw. Like the mask is completely gone and this is just him. Just Santino. "Or worse that I’m ashamed of you.”
Because it’s true.
“But I’m not.”
Liar.
“You probably didn’t notice them earlier...but the reporters were right outside Gail’s, and I didn’t want them to know about us.”
Because he’s ashamed of me.
“Because I love you.”
A sob catches in my throat.
Why is he lying like this?
Why?
“I asked you for two weeks, but it turns out...I only needed to see you running out of the cafe, and I just knew what my decision should be. So please.” The hoarseness of his voice makes my heart hurt so bad. “Please open the door and let me explain.”
My mind begs me to play it safe, but instead I find myself walking shakily until my fingers are turning the knob, and as soon as the door opens—
I don’t even have time to catch my breath.
His arms wrap around me like chains, and he’s holding me so tightly that he makes me feel he’s about to drown the moment he lets go.
“If the press found out about you, and you chose not to be with me...it wouldn’t matter to them, Thea. They’d still make your life hell, and that’s what I wanted to avoid. And the reason why I needed time to think about my decision...”
He slowly steps back. And his hands are shaking noticeably as he cups my face and makes me look into his eyes.
“It’s because I know choosing to be with you is selfish on my part. Life with someone like me isn’t going to be easy. Even if I retire, I won’t stop being in the spotlight. The press will still want to find ways to make headlines and they’ll try to tear you apart even if they can see for themselves you’re not like all the others. You’re all that’s good in this world, and—”