Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
What?
I walk to the door, feeling awkward, not quite the greeting I expected. I make my way up to the kitchen and pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.
What the hell was that?
With my heart in my throat, I drink my coffee, I’m not getting dressed. We need to talk.
I wait and wait and wait….
Twenty minutes later he walks out, his back is ramrod straight and he looks me up and down. “I thought you were getting dressed.”
My eyes search his and he snaps them away. He goes to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup of coffee, he can’t even look me in the eye.
“Is this about me leaving?” I ask softly.
He stays silent and sips his coffee, his eyes are wild as if he’s about to lose control.
It is.
“I guess,” I smile hopefully, “I could rent my house out and….” I shrug. “We can’t work together anymore, but….”
He walks over and stares out the window with his back to me.
Yes, why not? I could stay. After the magical night that we had, I have to see where this goes.
“I’ll get another job, and I mean.” I begin to pace as I think out loud, “I’ll have to rent another apartment but as long as the rent covers my mortgage…. then.”
He remains silent, his back still to me.
“I mean, of course, I’ll have to go for a week to collect the keys and stuff, but I’ll come right back.”
“You need to go to Connecticut.”
I frown, “Connecticut?”
“Wherever the fuck it is your moving to,” he spits angrily.
I step back, shocked by his venom. “But ….
I thought?”
“You thought wrong,” he cuts me off.
“What?”
He stays staring out the window, back straight, shoulders squared.
“Look at me?” I whisper.
He turns, “You need to go,” he whispers.
“Why? I don’t understand. We had the most incredible night?” I whisper.
“I know.” His haunted eyes hold mine.
“Then why?”
“Because I can’t give you what you want, much less, what you deserve.”
“It’s okay.” I take his hand in mine and lift it to kiss his fingertips. “We can work out this dating thing together.” I smile softly.
“I can’t marry you.”
I frown, “Well, we just got together.” I chuckle, “Who knows what will happen?”
“I know.” His jaw ticks as it clenches, his eyes hold mine. “I am to marry an Italian girl.”
“What?” I drop his hand.
“My heritage is very important to me. I want a strong bloodline; I want an Italian wife; I want my children’s first language to be Italian.”
I step back from him, the sting from his words cuts like a knife.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I….” He pauses. “There is no excuse for my selfishness last night.”
“It’s the twentieth century, Gabriel. Why would you think that you need to marry an Italian?” I snap as my anger rears her ugly head.
“Because I want to, Grace,” he snaps. “Because I want to.”
His silhouette blurs.
“So…. last night….” I screw up my face in tears, “Meant nothing?”
“It meant everything,” he whispers, his nostrils flair. “It was a gift that we gave to ourselves. One that I will hold dear forever.” He pushes the hair back from my forehead. “You will never be forgotten.”
And I feel it coming, the pain, like a tidal wave, as my heart shatters into a million pieces. I turn and march up the hall to the bedroom. I rush into the bathroom and see my clothes folded neatly on the chair, and I put my hands over my mouth and sob. When he folded these….. he knew.
He knew that we never stood a chance, all along. He knew.
My god.
I’m such a lovesick fool.
I just need to get the hell away from him.
I throw on my dress and shoes and rattle through my handbag for a pair of sunglasses. I put them on and walk back out.
His eyes hold mine, “Gracie….” he whispers as he reaches for me.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I whisper, I march to the elevator and push the button.
He stands quietly behind me, unsure if I’m about to take a swing at him.
The elevator doors open, and we ride to the basement in silence.
With my dark glasses on he can’t see my tears, but the lump in my throat hurts so bad as I try to hold them in.
Once in the basement parking lot, he strides in front, and I follow him as pieces of my heart drop onto the concrete like confetti.
He gets to a fancy black car and the lights flash twice as he pushes the button. I don’t even know what kind of car it is, only that it’s cold.
Like him.
We drive to my place in silence, and I pray to God that he’s going to change his mind once we get there.
How could he not, we are meant to be together.
He pulls the car to the curb outside my building, and we sit in silence. “Gracie….” he whispers. “Don’t hate me.”