Page 179 of Ruins
“Where’s the restroom?” I manage, my voice quieter now.
Angelo gestures toward the hall. “First door on the left. Guest room is right across from it.”
I nod, forcing my limbs to move, to escape before the emotion overwhelms me.
The cool marble countertop grounds me as I brace against it, staring at my reflection. My face is pale, my lips pressed into a thin line. Get it together.
I splash water on my face, letting the icy bite drag me back to reality. But it doesn’t erase the image in my head—the idea of Santo with someone else. The betrayal I shouldn’t even assume, but can’t help but feel.
Would Angelo tell me if he was?
Or is this whole night meant to distract me?
I hate this.
I step back, inhaling deeply, and head into the guest room. The moment I open my bag, I realize my mistake—I only packed a nightie. No robe. No cover-up.
I stare at the delicate blue silk in my hands, frustration bubbling beneath my skin.
I’d picked this outfit for Santo. What a waste.
Maybe I can just spend the night in this room and avoid any further interaction with Angelo.
I undress and slip into the blue nightie before crawling into the bed. I press my face into the pillow inhaling deeply. It smells like Santo. Like the remnants of something I miss so badly it aches. A single tear escapes, then another.
A sharp knock breaks the moment.
“Are you alright in there, Tiny?”
Angelo.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m okay.”
“Are you coming out or not?”
With a quiet groan, I push myself out of bed, rubbing away any trace of tears before opening the door. I pass by Angelo quickly entering the living room, keeping my gaze averted to hide my redden face, but the moment I face him his expression shifts.
“Do you own anything that covers more than half your body?” His tone is incredulous, laced with amusement.
Heat floods my face, and I wrap my arms around myself. “I forgot my robe at home.”
Without another word, Angelo disappears down the hall and returns moments later, tossing me sweatpants and an oversized shirt. “Wear these.”
Grateful, I hurriedly pull the pants on, cinching the drawstring tight and rolling up the legs to fit. I pause, glancing up at Angelo, who has, thankfully, turned away to give me some privacy. I discard my nightie and put on the burgundy shirt withStanfordwritten across the chest.
“You went to Stanford?” I ask, surprised.
Angelo shakes his head. “No. Just Santo. Those are his clothes.”
A strange feeling washes over me—bittersweet. I’m wrapped in his scent, his belongings, but not him.
The elevator chimes.
“Pizza’s here,” Angelo announces turning around as the doors slide open to reveal Nico, two boxes in hand.
The moment he sees me, his face hardens. His gaze flicks to Angelo, something dark in his expression as he hands over the pizza.
“I didn’t know what you wanted on yours, so one has pepperoni, and the other is just cheese,” Angelo explains as he sets the boxes down on the coffee table in front of the couch.
