Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I don't want to tell him anything, but I don't want to lie either.
God, I'm so, so tired.
"Say something."
I wish I could.
I really do.
And maybe that's why I find myself starting to cry.
"Dio, Sarica..."
Giancarlo sinks to his knees in front of me, and all I can do is cry harder.
"Tell me what's wrong. Please. I want to help you—-"
"Then let me go," I choke out.
His face whitens. "Per che?" Why?
"Just please—-"
"You know I cannot do that," he says tightly. "So just tell me—-"
"I heard you, Giancarlo. I h-heard you loud and clear two years ago...when you told your grandmother you regret asking to marry me—-"
"Dio—-no, Sarica, no."
A cry rips out of my throat the moment he tries to reach for me.
"P-Please don't touch me."
I back away from him, and Giancarlo slowly rises to his feet.
"It's not what you think—-"
"Please just stop," I whisper. "Because I k-know what I h-heard, and I just want to stop hurting. I'm s-so tired of being hurt, and I j-just want it to stop."
Help me, please.
Please.
Please.
I walk out of the room.
And this time, Giancarlo makes no move to stop me.
I'M JUST TIRED. SO, so tired.
I feel like I'm about to explode and break at any moment. I don't even know where I'm driving until gates in front of me automatically open, and I realize I'm about to drop unannounced on Maryse's home, just like always.
The staff lets me in, and Maryse and her husband are already waiting for me in the living room. The expressions on their faces speak volumes.
"Giancarlo called you," I say.
"He did."
Tom is the one who answers, and I nod.
Figures.
Men stick together, right?
Maryse's husband excuses himself, and it's just like old times again.
I'm alone with the former Angel of Death, and I'm broken once more.
"How bad is it?"
I'm already crying even before she's done speaking.
"I'm just so tired of pretending."
"About what?"
Shame engulfs me, but I know I need to tell the truth.
I just need to get it all out, even if it's only this once.
"I h-heard him, Maryse...He...he r-regrets me."
God, God, God.
"He says he w-won't let me go, but h-how can I stay when he r-regrets me?"
YOU NEED TO REST.
You need to sleep.
Tom will talk to Giancarlo tomorrow, and we'll talk, too, when you're thinking more clearly.
Maryse's suggestion makes sense, but it's already three in the morning, and my pain refuses to offer me a single second of respite.
How long, O Lord?
How long?
My heart starts pounding as I reach for my phone. I've switched it off since walking out on Giancarlo, and my tears fall anew when unread messages and missed-call notifications start flooding my screen.
Giancarlo: Come back, Sarica. Please.
Giancarlo: I've left you a voicemail explaining everything.
Giancarlo: Do you want me to go to you?
Heartbreak turns me into a monster, and I find myself forgetting God as I fall back into my old ways.
I want you to go to Hell.
And once you're there, I'll make sure to wear red at your funeral so everyone knows I'm on the lookout for another sugar daddy.
Shame eats me alive as soon as I hit Send, but it's too late to take the words back.
Hurting him only hurts me more, and shame turns to dread when my phone buzzes.
I'm tempted to delete his reply without reading it, and my fingers are shaking when I finally manage to click on his message.
Giancarlo: Go ahead and try, dolcezza.
Giancarlo: I'll come back from the dead if I have to.
Giancarlo: You are mine, and I will let no one take you from me.
I read his messages over and over without knowing why.
I read it again and again, and even though I know the world will think me a fool for this—-
I think it's going to be alright.
Even when I haven't yet listened to his voice mail, I can already feel His peace filling my heart.
Romans 8:28...
We'll find a way to make up, and it will be well.
Right, God?
It's the last thing I think of when I fall asleep.
But when I wake up, it's to find out that Giancarlo's helicopter has crashed, and local police are still searching for his body.
Missing
RAIN STARTED SLASHING against the hard ground, and by tomorrow, Giancarlo knew he would be as good as invisible to those who hunted him. The raging storm would wash away any remaining traces of his scent, but while this bought him much-needed time...the inclement weather brought with it a new hurdle for him to overcome.
The cold didn't just make every part of his body hurt a thousand times worse. It also left him susceptible to pneumonia and sepsis, depending on how long he went without treatment.
Giancarlo's head pounded as he tried to take stock of his injuries.
A head concussion, a couple of fractured ribs, and a gunshot wound on his left shoulder.
But what disturbed him the most was how he couldn't feel his fucking legs.