Page 75 of Ruined By Protection
"Why did you leave that morning?"
Hazel laughs, a soft sound that vibrates against my chest. "What reason would there have been to stay? You were leaving town that day anyway." She shifts slightly, looking up at me. "We had sex. You told me you only do one-night stands. That's what it was."
"I never said I didn't want to see you in the morning." My tone is harsh. "At least for a goodbye?"
She stares at me, those hazel eyes searching mine. "Why? Would it have mattered?"
The question slams me square in the chest. Why did it matter? Why has it bothered me for three years that she slipped away without a word? Why did I keep that memory of her locked away when I've forgotten countless other women?
I open my mouth, then close it. The words don't come.
"That's what I thought," she says, not unkindly.
"No, it's not that." I run a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. "I just... fuck, I don't know."
And that's the truth. I don't know why it mattered. I don't know why I remembered her when I shouldn't have. I don't know why finding her again feels significant when it should just be convenient sex with someone I've already had.
I've never been good with words that matter. I can negotiate business deals, threaten enemies, charm information out of people - but this? Explaining something I don't understand myself?
"I just wanted to see your face again," I finally admit. "In the daylight."
I watch Hazel's expression change, a mixture of curiosity and something else I can't quite read.
"Why don't you just have relationships like all normal people do?" she asks, her fingers tracing an idle pattern on my chest. "Instead of all these one-night stands?"
The question catches me off guard and a genuine laugh escapes me. A real laugh that feels strange coming from my throat.
"Normal people?" I repeat, shifting to look at her directly. "Hazel, do you really think I'm a normal guy?"
She studies me for a moment, those unique eyes taking in every detail of my face. "No," she finally says. "You're not normal. But that doesn't answer my question."
I exhale slowly, considering how much to tell her. I've never explained this to anyone before.
"In my line of work relationships are a liability," I say, my voice low. "Any person close to me becomes a potential target, a weakness someone can exploit. A girlfriend? That's just a hostage waiting to happen."
I pause, remembering Lucrezia's kidnapping and the hell the family went through.
"I've seen what happens when enemies take the people you care about. I won't put someone through that risk." I run my thumb along her jawline. "And even if I could keep them safe, what kind of life would that be? Constantly looking over your shoulder, never knowing if today's the day someone decides to get to me through you."
I shift my gaze to the ceiling. "Besides, I'm not built for the normal shit. The anniversaries, the meeting the parents, the compromising. I work for Damiano. I'm on call 24/7. My life isn't mine to share."
The admission feels heavier than I expected, like I've revealed more than I intended.
"So I keep it simple. One night, maybe two. Everyone knows the rules going in. Nobody gets hurt." I look back at her. "Nobody is disappointed when I have to leave in the middle of dinner because Damiano calls. Nobody has to lie to their friends about what I really do."
I watch the emotions play across Hazel's face as she processes everything I've just said. There's understanding there, as well as an unreadable emotion she’s working through—something that makes my chest loop in knots.
"That's sad," she finally says, her voice soft. "And horrible."
The words ram harder than they should. I've never thought of my life choices as sad before. Necessary, practical, smart—but not sad.
"It's just reality," I counter.
She shakes her head slightly, hair spilling across the pillow. "No, it's a choice. A choice you've made because of your reality but still a choice."
I clench my jaw, not liking how easily she cuts through my bullshit. Most people don't challenge me like this—they either want something from me or they're too afraid to push back.
"It's more complicated now anyway," she continues, her fingers still tracing patterns on my chest. "Between us, I mean."
