Page 7 of Forging Caine

“Once you were old enough to understand, I expect she was afraid it would be too much.”

I swallowed hard and forced the words out. “You need to leave.”

Elliot nodded and we walked to the door. “For what it’s worth, she wanted to tell you the truth. And she was extremely proud of you for following your passion.”

I pulled the door open, refusing to look at him.

He gripped my arm before he left. “I’m sorry if the story came too late.”

Chapter 3

Antonio

Iplacedonehandon the door handle and took a long, deep breath to center myself. Every cell in my body wanted to break it down, run and scoop Samantha up in my arms, and never let her go again. The drive from Chicago had been spectacular—rain and storm aside—filled with blaring music, singing at the top of my lungs, and dreaming about my girlfriend.

And now I was home.

Sadly, we had a party to attend tonight at her sister’s. There wouldn’t be enough time for a romantic rendezvous before the party as originally planned, but there would be plenty of time afterward. Then I could pull out the ring I’d hidden in my bedside drawer in December and propose. It was almost time for the rest of my life to begin.

I pressed down on the handle and pushed the heavy door open. The subtle scent of lemon from the cleaners hung in the air, the recently buffed marble floors gleamed, and the sun shone through the glass wall across the great room from the foyer.

“Honey!” I called, biting back a laugh. “I’m home!”

There was no response.

Perhaps she was upstairs or in the bedroom and hadn’t heard me.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps she was in the bedroom waiting for me. A shot of heat flew through me. It had only been three weeks since we’d last made love, but that was three weeks too many.

I dropped my duffel onto the bench and kicked off my shoes. Left my suit jacket on rather than slowing down more than necessary.

There was a woman in this apartment who was in desperate need of wooing.

“Bella? Do you have a surprise? Should I cover my—”

When I stepped onto the dark hardwood floor of the great room, she stood up from the couch in front of the blank television.

She neither moved nor spoke. A curious darkness hung around her, despite her white sweater and the gleam of the sun across her hair, which hung in long, loose waves, the way I liked it best.

The heat vanished, replaced by jittering nerves. Was she having doubts about living together? The reality of my return bringing all her stresses and worries about relationships to the forefront?Time to charm her, Tony. “This is the part where you’re supposed to run to me, jump into my arms, kiss me all over, and tell me how happy you are that I’m home.”

I took a step toward her, but there was no reaction beyond her chewing on her bottom lip. This usually meant she was hiding something she knew she should tell me.

“I bought you something at the airport this morning.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, toward my duffel. “It’s still in my bag, if you’d like it?”

Her fingers fidgeted across each other at her sides. That was the panic sign. Pins and needles were running through her hands.

“I know things are very different this time. Perhaps it was easy for you to be here while I was not, and now that I’m home, the commitment is scaring you again?”

Another step closer, and I spotted the red rims around her eyes. She’d been crying. A lot.

“Bella?” I hurried toward her, around the edge of the couch. A Bankers Box sat on the mismatched side table—the one she’d stolen from her hotel before Christmas—next to the coffee table, which was littered with tissues. “Is everything alright?”

Tears collected against her lids and she began shaking her head, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

I took her by the elbows, leaning down the few inches I stood taller than her to look her straight in the eyes. Everything had sounded fine when we were on the phone before I left Chicago. “Samantha, talk to me. What happened in the last four hours to cause this?”

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