Page 44 of Immoral

Oh God! What am I doing?

I cannot have his baby.

But I'm already forty-one, so it's now or never.

Not with him. He'll probably cheat on me while I'm pregnant.

He's never technically cheated on me.

So he says. What's the truth?

He doesn't lie.

He's lied all those times I took him back, saying he wants to be with me forever.

He'd be an amazing father.

It doesn't matter! We shouldn't be bringing a baby into our mess.

I press my hand on the tile to steady myself. Tears mix with the water, and my body begins to heave in sobs until my knees buckle. I crouch on the floor, hugging my thighs to my chest, wishing I were clueless to my fate.

How many times can a man crush your soul? I could barely thread my heart back into one piece after the last time he left me. This new us feeds into all the fantasies I always had of our life together—husband, wife, babies.

All his promises to never hurt me again, I want to believe. It makes it all that much more dangerous. I won't survive when he breaks me again. At least last time, I didn't have to see him with other women. If he cheats on me, I'll have to see it.

Well, I never saw it, except the first night I went to the sex club in New York.

Visions of it make me cry harder. Uberto texted me to meet him at the sex club. I had been to it before with Gianni. It was years ago, before I moved to Italy.

That first night back at the club, I convinced Bridget to go with me. She picked me up, and when her driver pulled up to the building, my heart almost stopped.

Somehow, I managed to go through the motions, faking excitement and telling myself again that I needed to get over Gianni. It had been years since I saw him. Up to that point, I avoided going anywhere I might have run into him. Once inside, I led Bridget to the suite Uberto was in and convinced myself to focus all my attention on him.

Halfway through the night, I needed to go to the restroom. Bridget was nowhere in sight. Uberto told me she and his friend Michelotto left.

Sure enough, I saw Gianni and his brothers in their suite. I froze outside the glass, watching some woman who was way younger than me sit on Gianni's lap while unbuttoning his shirt. All the pain I thought I got past over the previous years attacked me like I was in the ring and getting punched while pinned to the ground. I didn't stay to see the rest. I practically ran to the bathroom, spending a good fifteen minutes trying to pull myself together.

Later that night, I learned Michelotto tried to assault Bridget. Dante and Gianni stepped in. I wasn't in the room but learned about it when Gianni returned to the club to find Michellotto. Uberto had learned about the scuffle. He was in a deep conversation with some other men. I stepped out of the room and went to a dark corner. I called Bridget, but she didn't answer. Before I turned away from the wall, goose bumps broke out on my skin. I could smell and feel Gianni without even seeing him.

Since then, he's done everything possible to be a thorn in my side. And now, there's no way to keep my heart protected. He'll destroy me again, only this time, I won't be able to escape him.

The hot water continues to fall all around me. I find the strength to rise then shampoo and condition my hair. I wash my face, shave, then take the loofa and pour my body wash on it. By the time I finish washing, I have a better hold on my emotions.

I step out of the shower and dry off, wincing at my bloodshot eyes. I glance at the counter and shake my head. Gianni even remembered my brand of eyedrops.

I spend another hour on my hair, put on a thin layer of makeup, and finally feel human again.

I can handle this,I tell myself and nod in the mirror.

The white spa robe is on the hook behind the door. I put it on, tightening the belt around me, as if it'll protect me from Gianni's wandering hands.

When I step outside the bathroom, he's on the phone, deep in conversation. He stares out the window, speaks in Italian, and is wearing nothing.

I shouldn't fixate on him, but it's impossible not to. He's the epitome of a perfect male physique. Olive skin stretches across his sculpted flesh. Every inch of his backside, whether it's his shoulders, his waist that V's flawlessly, or his hard ass and thighs, makes my mouth water.

As if he can sense me, he spins.

My face heats. I state, "I'm out of the bathroom," then pull open the dresser drawer.

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