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"Turns out he's married."

Denise stares at me. "Oh, Bridget."

"Yep. Apparently, I skipped the chapter where Prince Charming mentions having a wife."

She squeezes my shoulder. "Do you want to go home?"

"No. If I go home, I'll sit around crying into my cats, and they're already emotionally unavailable little assholes." I attempt another smile, but my eyes burn. "Besides, I need something to do that doesn't involve thinking about what happened last night."

Denise looks concerned, but she doesn't push. I haven't told her about Valentina or the police station yet. I'm not ready to explain how I ended up stabbing my boyfriend's wife in my kitchen, especially when the police haven't decided whether I'm going to face charges.

I return to the shelves, but every time I close my eyes, I see Valentina lying on my floor. I can still hear her calling me Enzo's mistress.

God, I hate that word.

I didn't know. That's what I keep telling myself, although it doesn't make me feel any less dirty.

I'm attempting to reshelve another stack of books when Denise appears at the end of the aisle.

"Bridget? There's somebody here to see you."

Something in her expression makes my stomach drop. I already know who it is, but that doesn't stop my heart from doing something stupid when I reach the circulation desk.

Lorenzo Moretti stands near the entrance, looking impossibly handsome in a dark suit, with shadows beneath his eyes and an enormous bouquet of white roses in his hand.

For one ridiculous second, hope gets the better of me. He's brought me flowers. He's come to apologize, and maybe there's some explanation that will make everything hurt a little less.

"You shouldn't have," I whisper.

Enzo glances down at the bouquet before looking at me.

"They're not for you, sweetheart. They're for my wife. I'm on my way to the hospital."

The words hit like a fist to my chest.

His wife.

Of course they're for his wife. The woman I stabbed because she broke into my apartment. The woman he's still legally married to, no matter how many beautiful things he's whispered in my ear.

"Oh." It's all I can manage.

Enzo's expression changes immediately. "Fuck. Bridget, I didn't mean it like that."

"How else could you possibly mean it?"

"I saw you through the window and came inside without thinking about what I was carrying." He looks at the roses with obvious disgust. "I'm sorry. I came because you weren't at the café, and you haven't answered your phone."

"And you thought you'd stop by on your way to visit your wife. How convenient."

"To check on Valentina. The hospital called this morning." He takes a breath, lowering his voice. "Please, sweetheart. Can we talk somewhere private?"

I should tell him to leave. Instead, I lead him toward a quiet alcove near the reference section because I don't particularly want the entire library hearing about my disastrous love life.

Enzo follows, still carrying those goddamn roses. He finally sets them on an empty table, and I immediately look away.

"She's stable," he tells me. "The doctors expect her to recover."

"Good. At least I won't have murder on my conscience along with everything else."