Page 44 of Replay
I nod woodenly and feel tears burn the backs of my eyes as he looks at me with so much concern and compassion, it’s difficult to accept. I don’t feel like I deserve it. I’m a mess.
“I…haven’t slept with anyone since…well…” I focus on his buttoned shirt, struggling to make eye contact as embarrassment heats my cheeks.
“Since when?” he asks curiously.
I inhale through my nose and force myself to be honest. “Since London.”
He blinks back at me for a long second as he processes that. “Fuck,” he finally replies. “Him?”
I nod, my chin wobbling at that realisation and then shaking that thought away as fast as I can.
“Why?” he inquires, confusion in his voice.
I shrug and sniff, running my hand through my hair nervously. “I don’t know. Fear? Regret? Self-punishment?”
“Christ.” Santino tilts his head as he looks at me with a new expression I can’t quite decipher. God, please don’t be pity. I can’t take pity from him. Finally, he shakes off his stupor and leans in to press a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Tell me what you need.”
I shake my head, trying to come off like this is no big deal but feeling like it’s an enormous deal. An embarrassing, gigantic, idiotic issue. “Look…I get it if this is a lot more than you bargained for. I should have told you before you asked me to…like…be yours and all that.”
“Tilly…”
“No, it’s fine. It’s messy. I’m messy. I’m sure I still have stuff to work through with another therapist, so I think it’s better if you and I just call it now before it gets too complicated.”
Santino steps back, staring at me like I’ve just slapped him. “You want to call it?”
“I can’t ask you to—”
He holds his hand up, cutting me off, his jaw muscle ticking angrily. “If you want to call it because you don’t want me, then you call it for that reason. But don’t call it because of some fucked-up shit you have in your head that you’re too damaged for me. Because you’re not.”
“But I am,” I exclaim, my heart breaking over the knowledge that I’m self-sabotaging this, something my therapist back in Scotland told me I’m very good at. “You’ve got your whole life together here, Santino. You have a basil plant on your balcony, for Christ’s sake.”
“Who cares? Maybe I want to share my basil plant with you.”
“Well, I’m still a work in progress, and I don’t need you fixing me with your fresh basil!”
“I’m not trying to fix you, Tilly,” he snaps, desperation in his voice. “And we have to stop talking about basil, or I’m going to throw that bloody plant over the ledge.”
I reach out to cup his cheek, hating his tortured eyes. “You tried to fix me all those years ago, and at the time, I didn’t get it…but now I do. It’s just you…you’re a fixer. You’re this saint wrapped up in a suit, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to help me.”
“I don’t feel like that.” Santino’s voice takes on an aggressive edge I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him. “You’re not the only one with baggage, Tilly. Jesus Christ. My life is not perfect. Far from it.”
I stare at him in wonder because I see nothing but a beautiful, perfect man in front of me, and I’m bringing in a truckload of baggage to drag him down. “You have an amazing career, a great flat, a lovely family. Meanwhile, I’m living with my brother. You have your shit together, Sonny. You can’t deny that!”
“Everyone has their demons, Tilly.” His tone is serious as a flash of pain crosses his face. “But it’s not something I want to talk about right now. Bloody hell. What happened? Can we calm the fuck down for a moment?”
“Okay.” I cross my arms over my chest nervously as we both go quiet. I hate that I had to stop things, but the idea of Santino taking me to his bed right now scares the shit out of me. It’s been so long, and I barely remember the last time I had sex. What if I freak out in the middle of it?
Santino exhales heavily, breaking the tense silence. “Look, I know you and I have a past, but that doesn’t mean we have to fall right back into where we left off. We can take things slow. Start fresh. Let’s just see each other for a bit. Hell, people on their first dates don’t unload years’ worth of baggage on each other, right?”
I shrug helplessly. “I suppose not.”
He nods slowly and steps into me. “So, let’s treat this like our first date, okay?”
“Do you let all your first dates make sauce with your entire family?”
“You haven’t met my zio yet.” He steps between my legs, his hands skating up my thighs and making me regret everything I’ve just said. “We’ll save that for the second date.”
“If you get a second date,” I reply coyly, resting my arms on his shoulders as I sift my fingers through his short, inky locks.
