Page 32 of Immoral

She bites her lip, redirecting her blue orbs to her glass. She circles it on the table again.

"Tesora—"

"Of course I wish we could move forward," she declares, snapping her face toward me. "But it's not that simple, Gianni."

Her admission that she wishes we could move forward gives me a spark of hope. I admit, "I understand."

Rage floods her expression. "Do you? See, I don't think you have any clue what it's been like for me."

The pit in my stomach grows. "I know I hurt you. What I did was stupid. I promise you that I'll never do anything like that again."

Her eyes fill with tears. She blinks hard, sarcastically laughs, then takes a sip of wine while avoiding me.

I scoot closer. "I kick myself every minute of the day for leaving you that letter."

She fires, "Why did you leave me that pathetic, cowardly note?"

My pulse beats so hard in my neck, I'm sure she can see it. She's right. I was a coward. I confess, "There aren't many things in my life I'm ashamed I did. How I've treated you is one of them."

"Why? Tell me why you left me."

I count to thirty, trying to string my words into something coherent that doesn't sound weak. Nothing does. I finally admit, "I had a dream before I left. You were in the wedding dress, and it was our wedding day. I'd never felt so happy."

More tears emerge from her eyes. Her lips tremble. "You left me because you were happy?" she asks, confused.

I place my palm on her cheek. "I know it doesn't make sense. And you're right. I was a coward. It freaked me out, and I made a horrible choice."

She glares so intensely, it feels as if she's throwing fire at me. "It freaked you out? You broke my heart because feeling happy freaked you out?"

A fist could be squeezing my heart right now. I hate how I've hurt her. "If I could take it all back, I would. You don't know how many times I wished I could redo that day."

She shakes her head in tiny movements, which only makes my chest tighten further.

I wipe the tears off her hot cheeks. "I've always been a bit screwed up. A lot of shit I've done doesn't make sense. You're the only person who knows me—who really gets me."

"Which is exactly why I'll never be able to trust you. I gave you the benefit of the doubt too many times. Yet you always throw it in my face at the first chance you get, don't you?"

I count to fifteen. I'm not angry with her. I'm pissed at myself. If I were her, I wouldn't trust me, either. I slide my hand so my fingers are in her hair. My heart thumps into my chest cavity. "I vow to you, I'll never let you go again."

"I don't believe you," she mutters then shrugs out of my hold. She refocuses on her wine and takes another sip.

I debate whether to keep pushing this conversation or not. Her stomach growls, and I hold off. I pick up a piece of bread, butter it, then hold it near her mouth. "Eat, tesoro."

"I'm not hungry." She takes another drink of her wine.

I keep my voice calm but warn, "You haven't eaten in days. Don't fight me on this."

She scowls. "Or what, Gianni? What are you going to do if I don't eat?"

I count to twenty-three, feeling the burn of her laser glare, before I sternly order, "Eat, so I don't make a scene."

She caves, releasing a breath, then grabs the bread from my hand. She takes a bite.

Satisfied she's eating, I butter another piece and put it on her bread plate.

She glances at it, swallows, then pushes the plate toward me. "Don't make me eat on my own."

My hunger pains intensify. I pick up the bread and take a large bite, groaning. "This is so good!" I shove more into my mouth.

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