Page 90 of Better Left Unsaid

The devil on my shoulder: Dude, it can’t get any simpler. Maria doesn’t love you. She’s never going to love you the way you want her to. Move on. Take the job and start a new, fresh life in Italy.

The angel on my shoulder: Don’t do it, Dom. Maria is your best friend, and she needs you. You can’t leave her. And you definitely can’t leave without telling her about this. She doesn’t even know, and she’ll be crushed if she finds out when you’re on the plane halfway to your new life. Plus, what about Isabella?

The devil on my shoulder: What about Isabella? Sure, you love her like a daughter, but she’s not your daughter. Wake the hell up, buddy, and move on.

The angel on my shoulder: The love you have for Maria is rare. It’s something special. You probably won’t find it again. Best if you treasure it.

Shit.I was driving myself batty. I needed to make a decision, but I couldn’t do that until the angel got its way, and I talked to Maria. She needed to know exactly what was going on. She also needed to acknowledge what I’d said. Like really acknowledge it.

Maybe it was about time that I returned her messages and suggested we meet up for coffee so we could talk.

I stood up finally, and Jeff looked at me like I was a loose cannon. “Where are you going, man?”

“I came. I heard you. I’m leaving.”

“I need a decision.”

“My decision is to take more time. You’re my agent. Get me more time.” And with those parting words, I walked out of his office and pulled out my phone.

Dominic:We need to talk.

I knew those words never sounded good to the receiving party, but it was what it was, and there was no other way to say it. Not that it mattered, anyway, because I didn’t have to wait long for Maria’s response where she didn’t seem bothered by my word choice.

Maria:When and where? I’ll be there.

Chapter Thirty-One

Maria

Dom wanted totalk.

Finally!

That was what he’d said, and that was a good thing.

It was, right?

I’d been going back and forth on it in my head since I’d gotten his text. A text, by the way. No call. No nothing. Just a stupid, measly text that readwe need to talk. The least he could’ve done was sent a voice message so I could hear his voice, like I’d so badly wanted.

Want to hear something pathetic? I had scrolled through my camera roll after finishing eating my cheesecake—alone, might I add—and played videos I had of us, talking, laughing, goofing around. Just so I could hear his voice. Told you, pathetic.

I also knew that a lot of the reason we hadn’t been talking was because of me.

Well, technically, you could argue both sides. He could’ve eased me into a confession like that. I mean, I had no idea he felt that way about me. And wasn’t it possible he didn’t? Love me, that was. I was still going with my thought process that it was easy to get your feelings confused when sex was involved. And we’d had a lot of sex over the years. I mean, even I’d felt things lately. But I was sure they were orgasm-adjacent. Orgasm-induced? Whatever it was, I was pretty sure they were nothing. Which was exactly why I hadn’t said anything.

That was good, by the way, because look at how Dom saying something turned out—we were on a break. One that lasted way too long, if you asked me.

By the way, did friends even take breaks? Or was that another perk of being friends with benefits? It turned out I wasn’t liking this idea as much lately. Maybe I was wrong, and perhaps the idea wasn’t brilliant so much as it was flawed.

In my defense, when I’d first suggested it, I was horny and at a wedding where I was feeling down about myself and my dating luck. Word of advice: if you’re single, don’t attend a wedding. Not unless you’re okay with knowing you might do something incredibly stupid. And if you think you are, then consider me your cautionary tale.

Meanwhile, I was on my second cup of coffee and checking the time once again as I sat outside the agreed upon coffee house, waiting for Dom to show up. Not that he was late or anything. Dom was never late. I was ridiculously early. I’d gotten here—oh, I didn’t know—twenty minutes ago. I had to make sure I got a nice table outside under the warm summer sun, pre-gamed with a cup of coffee, so I could wake the hell up and be ready when he showed up wanting to talk. I also wanted to send the right message—you know, the one that saidI care about you and what you have to say.

See, being here on time saidI’ll listen, but then I’m leaving, and I’m only doing this because I feel like I have to.And if I showed up after him—even by a few seconds—it saidI don’t care to be here. Get over your feelings, and let’s move the hell on already, okay?

I just wanted to make things right. I wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before. Things didn’t have to be awkward. They could justbe. Did that make sense? Forget I asked because it did to me.

I took another sip of my coffee and practically spilled it down the front of my shirt as my eyes finally connected with Dom. He came. And he was on time, I noted, as I checked the time. Of course he was. He was the type of guy who was always on time (which, by the way, was completely okay because he’d requested this. . . thing).

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