Page 52 of The Bonventi Rise
"Fuck," I say, pressing my palms against my eyes. This is my own doing. My own special form of torture—wanting a man I shouldn't, ignoring truths I shouldn't, playing with fire and pretending I won't get burned. I'm creating my own personal hell in real time.
I push back from my desk, pacing the length of my office. The walls feel like they're closing in, suffocating me.
"Enough," I say to myself. "This ends now."
I make a decision. When Marco comes in, I'll tell him everything. About Sandra, about my doubts—all of it. It's time to be honest and deal with the consequences.
I sit down at my desk, and about 45 slow, agonizing minutes pass before my phone vibrates. I reach for it instantly.
To my surprise, it's a text from Natalie. I haven't seen her since my birthday.
I swipe to unlock my phone.
Hey girlie! Happen to be in Chicago this weekend. Random thought—girls' weekend? Miss your face!
My thumbs hover over my phone. What do I tell her? On one hand, it's definitely a welcome distraction from everything. On the other, there's Marco.
Hey, Nat!
I type back.
Miss you too!
Would love to see you.
Been too long.
Her response is immediate.
Perfect!
I land at 7 p.m.
I've got an Airbnb. I'll send you the address. I can't wait to catch up!
P.S. Bring lots of champagne
I smile. This will be good for me. What would be even better is clearing my head before going, so Marco better hurry up and get here.
Two more hours pass in a haze of scattered work attempts. Then I hear his voice in the hallway—that rich timbre that makes my skin tingle even now. Without thinking, I'm on my feet, yanking open my office door.
Marco stands there, talking to one of our staffers. He's changed since I last saw him, obviously. He's in a dark blue suit and looks impeccable as always, but there's something in his stance that seems tighter than usual. When he sees me, his eyes darken slightly.
"Hello," he says, dismissing the staffer with a nod.
"Hi," I say, my voice sounding timid. "We need to talk."
A flicker of concern flashes across his face before it smooths into his political mask as people walk by us.
"Sure, my office?" he asks, motioning toward his door.
I nod and start walking. I'm so nervous, so focused, I don't even wait for him to open the door. I just walk in, and he follows behind me.
I shut the door, and he takes off his jacket. His white shirt clings to his muscles, and my mind pulls me back—not right now, Alina.
I shake my head, refusing to let it distract me this time. I don't know how to start, so I just speak.
"Sandra Reeves paid me a visit today," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
