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"Bridget..."

"Is she your wife?"

He swallows.

"Yes."

That one word hurts more than I could ever have imagined.

For one ridiculous moment, I'd still been hoping Valentina was lying. That she was a former wife, a distant relative, or some deranged woman who'd mistaken me for somebody else.

But she's his wife.

And he isn't even trying to deny it.

Enzo reaches for me, but I step away before he can touch me.

"Don't."

"Sweetheart, please. Let me explain."

"You're married."

"We're separated. Our marriage has been over for years."

"Then why are you still married?" My voice rises, echoing down the hallway. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

He looks toward the ambulance crew, then back at me. "It's complicated."

A bitter laugh escapes me.

"Of course it is. Because apparently having a wife is something you can just forget to mention between buying me dresses and taking me to bed."

He looks as though I've struck him.

Good.

I hope it hurts, because right now, I feel like somebody has reached inside my chest and ripped out something I didn't even realize I'd given away.

"I never would've touched you if I'd known," I whisper. "I would never knowingly sleep with another woman's husband."

"I know."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

His silence is worse than any excuse he could invent.

Finally, he drags a hand through his hair.

"Because I was afraid you'd walk away."

I stare at him, hardly believing he has the nerve to admit it.

"You should've given me that choice."

His shoulders sink.

"You're right."