Page 96 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

“That’s what I said.”

“Because it’s true. Kent did the same thing to Sylvie. Austin tried to do it to me. It’s their default setting when things get real.”

“So what do I do?”

“You come home. You give him space to figure his shit out. And you focus on yourself and what you want.”

We talked for a few more minutes before she had to go. I hung up and sat on my bed and tried to believe that I would be okay.

I didn’t sleep much that night. Kept replaying the conversation on the balcony. Kept seeing the way he’d asked for the ring back like it meant nothing.

I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. My eyes were swollen from crying, and my head throbbed with the kind of dull ache that came from too little sleep and too many emotions. I dragged myself to the shower, hoping hot water might wash away some of the heaviness in my chest. It didn’t.

When I finally emerged from my room, rolling my suitcase behind me, Cash was already in the living area. He wore a perfectly tailored dark suit with a crisp white shirt, looking every inch the billionaire CEO. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle to be seen. It was like last night had never happened.

“Coffee?” he asked without looking up from his phone.

“Please.”

He poured me a cup from the carafe on the table and slid it across to me without ceremony. I noticed he’d already packed up his things. His laptop bag sat by the door alongside a sleek carry-on. Ready to leave Rome. And everything that happened here.

We drank our coffee in silence. I kept waiting for him to say something but he remained focused on his phone, typing away at emails or whatever important business demanded his attention.

Finally, he glanced at his watch. “The car has arrived.”

“Already?” I gulped down the rest of my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. “I thought our flight wasn’t until later.”

“We’re flying private.”

I blinked. “Private? As in a private jet?”

“It’s more efficient.” He said it like he was explaining why he chose one brand of cereal over another. “No security lines. No waiting.”

“Right. Of course.” I nodded like this was perfectly normal, like I flew on private jets all the time. “Very efficient.”

He picked up his bags and headed for the door without checking if I was following. I grabbed my suitcase and hurried after him. Goodbye Rome.

The elevator ride was excruciating. I stared at our reflections in the polished doors. Cash was immaculate like he could step out of the elevator and straight onto a runway. And then there was me. Slightly rumpled with puffy eyes I couldn’t quite hide. We looked like strangers.

The car was waiting as promised, a sleek black Mercedes with tinted windows. The driver took our bags and opened the doors. Cash immediately pulled out his laptop once we were inside, creating a barrier between us as effective as a brick wall.

“I have some work to finish,” he said, not looking up from his screen.

“Sure.” I turned to stare out the window as Rome slipped past, trying to memorize every detail.

I was leaving Rome with a suitcase full of designer clothes I’d bought out of spite after being humiliated, and a heart that felt like it had been shattered.

The flight home was excruciating. Cash worked. That was all he did—laptop open, phone in hand, completely absorbed in whatever crisis he’d created by walking away from the Rossi deal. He barely looked at me. He acted like I wasn’t even there.

I tried to sleep for the first hour. Failed spectacularly. Tried to read a book. Couldn’t focus. Finally, in desperation, I pulled out my laptop.

If Cash could bury himself in work, so could I.

I opened a blank document and stared at it. I’d been thinking about my business for months—years, really—but I’d never actually sat down and tried to articulate what it was. What I wanted to build.

What need do I want to fill?

I typed the question and stared at it. Then I started typing.