Page 129 of What About Love

“Is that what this is about?” She gaped at him a moment then began to sob. “Oh, Antonio. This is my fault. She didn’t want me to tell. Tried to stop me in fact.”

“Ma—”

“She practically begged me, but I didn’t. You know how I get. I’m so sorry,mio caro. But I’m grieving, too, even with all this time passed.” She wiped at her tears with the back of her hand then leaned forward, meeting his gaze intently. “You’re right, Tonio. Your Angie is quite skilled, but in listening and being a supportive shoulder. If you want to be angry at someone,figlio, be angry at me, not that precious girl. And if you let her walk out of your life for something that is my fault, I’ll never forgive myself.”

He lay there for several long moments, listening to the internal struggle that had been going on inside his head since he met Angie. As he lay in a bed similar to the one she had lain in not so long ago while he kept vigil, he imagined life without her.

Back then, he didn’t know her as he did now. He hadn’t woken beside her with her warm body snuggled against his, hadn’t heard her laughter, watched her smile, or felt her gentle touch. And he hadn’t felt the power of her submission, tasted the sweetness of her kisses, or sank into her heat. To give that up out of fear that history could repeat itself was crazy, and as she had accused him of being—cowardly.

He pushed back the covers and sat up at the side of the bed.

“What are you doing? Lie back down.”

“I’m going to stop her, Ma.”

“They just dug a bullet out of your shoulder, Antonio.” His mother’s usually mellow voice was becoming shrill with alarm.

“I’m fine. But if I let her walk out of my life, I’ll be the one who never forgives myself.”

“You can’t possibly drive. You’re on morphine.” As she pointed this out, he ripped the IV out of his arm. She gasped.“Santa Maria, Madre de Dio.”

“Stop praying and bring the car around, Ma. Or call me a cab. I don’t care which, but I’m going to get her back.”

Chapter 30

AT THE LOUD KNOCK ONher door, Angie glanced at the clock. Only hooks remained where it once hung. She reached for her phone, swiped the screen then frowned. The cab was twenty minutes early.

Pressing down on her old hard-shell suitcase that her mother had given her in college, she latched it and dragged it along to the living room, dreading the overage charge she’d be facing. Setting it next to the other one and her rolling carry-on bag by the door, she took another look around. Megan would send the rest of her things when she settled in LA.

She blinked back tears, sparing another glance around the front room of the place she’d called home for the past five years.

“I’ll need help with my bags,” she told the driver as she pulled open the door.

“I don’t think so,” a gruff voice replied.

Her head came up sharply, and she peered in shock at the man on the other side of the screen. Behind him, she saw Sophia’s silver Mercedes pull away from the curb.

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