Page 55 of Unforgivable Ties

“But cuff links are so...boring,” Jessica said, making a face when I voiced the idea to her.

“I think it’s thoughtful,” I countered. “It’s something he will get use out of.”

Jessica conceded, and we walked to a men’s specialty store. The store was nice, but the dollar prices on the pieces were something Vincenzo would use as toilet paper. But I wasn’t a rich mafia man who could buy diamond encrusted cufflinks on a whim. I was still a medical student, albeit it less struggling now that Vincenzo paid for most things.

I picked out a pair of sterling silver cufflinks with a matching tie clip, simple and elegant. I knew Vincenzo didn’t appreciate over the top designs, always opting to wear solid, dark colors and rarely chose patterned clothes.

“Would you like to get these monogrammed?” the sales rep asked as he rang up my purchase.

That seemed like something Vincenzo would like.

“Yes, please.”

“If you could fill out this form,” the sales rep asked.

He passed me an obnoxiously long form and a pen. It felt like far too much text to just get a monogram on the clip and cufflinks; three paragraphs about delivery, shipping and payment methods, another two on care and maintenance, and still more on returns and exchanges. And, I had to sign and initial on each page.

Finally, I passed the form back. The sales rep said they would arrive by the 22nd, and would be gift-wrapped.

Feeling a sense of relief, I thanked the sales associate and exited the store, Jessica hot on my heels. As we continued our holiday shopping, I couldn’t help but think about Vincenzo, and what he would think about my gift. Would he think it was stupid?

It didn’t matter, I reminded myself. This wasn’t real. When I told him I had to buy it because Jessica was around, he would understand. Then, he could toss it in the trash.

I felt a small pang of hurt in my heart at the idea of him throwing my gift away. I really needed to get it together.

Stephanie

Vincenzo and I pulled into the underground parking garage of the apartment complex we lived in. The two of us had just finished getting dinner at my favorite spot, Minnie’s Diner. He hadn’t known about it until I took him there, and now he was obsessed.

We stepped into the underground garage, and somehow, the wind chill bit through even down there. I shivered in my winter coat, wrapping my arms around myself in a fruitless attempt to ward off the sudden drop in temperature.

“It’s fucking freezing,” I complained as we waited for the elevator. “I’ve always hated it. I’m moving to California when I’m done with med school.”

He scoffed, and maybe I was imagining it, but it was a very dark possessive look in his eyes.

We stepped into the elevator as it arrived with a soft ding.

“Shoot, I left my phone in the car!” I said, beginning to step out of the elevator. “We need to go back.”

He stopped me with an outstretched arm. “You go to the lobby and wait before you freeze your ass off. I’ll get it.”

His words were firm, leaving no room for argument. I nodded, relenting under his protective insistence. As the elevator doors shut behind me, my heart did one of those little flip-flops. Vincenzo was always looking out for me and doing nice things, a stark contrast to his cold personality.

I exited the elevator doors and walked into the lavish lobby. When I first moved here, I was in absolute awe that people lived this way. Heck, I was still in awe that people lived this way. But I had grown accustomed to it over time, even if the opulence still left me feeling a bit like I was in a dream.

“Stephanie,” a cold voice said to me.

Well, that was an easy way to ruin my day.

“Preston,” I responded, not bothering to hide my disinterest.

He had exited the descending elevator from the apartments and was standing in front of me with his arms crossed. He looked like a mannequin in a high-end clothing store; his hair, a perfect blonde wave styled with just the right amount of product, his clothes obscenely expensive and meticulously tailored to his lean frame. His cheekbones were sharp, almost too sharp for his face.

“Are you headed home?” he asked.

I hated the way he looked at me. Most of the times it was a combination of wanting to tear my clothes off, mixed with a glacial hatred. At least at med school, he played nice.

“Uh huh,” I responded, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.

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