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Short.

Broken.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Valentino

"Is that what you believe?" Amanda's voice drops low, the kind of quiet that cuts deeper than screaming. "You believe I cried because Elio is in jail?"

I don't answer.

She laughs. One short, bitter exhale that has nothing to do with humor.

"You're a coward, Valentino." Her voice rises all at once. The words hit square in the chest. I've been called worse. None of it ever sounded like that coming from her. "You are a goddamn coward."

Her eyes are wet and furious, and she's shaking. "I love you." She throws it at me like a grenade. "I love you. Only you. I have loved you since I was a stupid fifteen-year-old girl standing in Vittoria's kitchen, watching you walk through the door like you owned the whole world. You looked at me once and called me a bambina, and I thought about it for six months."

I open my mouth.

"Don't." She raises a hand, palm out, trembling. "You don't get to talk right now. You had your turn and you used it to tell me not to touch you, so now you stand there and listen." I close my mouth, feeling properly chastised. "I told myself it was stupid. A crush. Something I'd grow out of." She wipes her cheek with the back of her wrist, hard, angry at the tears for existing. "And I grew up. I dated other men. I slept with other men. I smiled at other men, and none of it made you disappear. You were always there. In every room I walked into, I looked for you first. Every time I visited Vittoria, I checked whether you'd be in Chicago. And when you weren't, I pretended I didn't care. When you were, I pretended harder."

Her breathing is ragged. "You want to know why I cried in that car? You really want to know?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "I cried because I'm so fucking stupid that I let people treat me like I don't matter. I cried because my whole life I confused attention with care. Someone looks at me and I think that means something. Someone touches me and I think that means they chose me. And it never does. It just means I was there."

Her voice cracks. "Elio looked at me, and I thought that was enough. My mother sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I tell myself that counts as love because the alternative is admitting the woman who gave birth to me finds me less interesting than her flight connection." She drags both hands through her hair, gripping at the roots. "I don't know how people actually love each other, Valentino. Nobody taught me. I watched it on screens and read about it in books, then tried to make myself into someone people would want to keep."

Her voice goes quiet again. Devastated and precise. "And then I get one chance. One opportunity with the only man I have ever loved, and that man grabs me by the throat in a car and tells me not to touch him."

She steps back. Her chin lifts. Wet face, steady gaze.

"So fuck you, Valentino Conti."

She turns.

My heart has lodged itself in my throat. My brain is trying hard to process, but it's two steps behind. I rip my hand through my hair, feeling like a fool.

Years. I've spent years watching from a distance because I thought she was off-limits. I'm the one who kept her at arm's length, believing it was for the best, never noticing she was watching me too.

Then I have her. Her mouth. Her body. Her mind. All willingly given. She come apart for me.

And I acted like a jealous boy instead of a man and pushed her away. Again.

She's two steps away now. Each step taking her farther from me.

Fuck it.

My hand closes around her wrist before the thought finishes forming. I pull her back, and she spins, fury and hurt in her eyes, ready to tear into me again. I swallow the words with my mouth.

My free hand finds the back of her neck, and her body collides with mine. She makes a sound against my lips. Her fingers twist into the front of my shirt.

I walk her backward. Her spine hits the wall, and I press into her, one hand braced beside her head, the other still gripping her wrist. She bites my lower lip. The sting shoots straight through me, bright and sharp.

I lift her, and her legs wrap around my waist. The wall holds her weight while my hands find her thighs, her hips, the warm skin where her hoodie rides up.

She pulls back an inch, breathing hard, her eyes searching mine.

"If you tell me this is a mistake," she whispers, "I will break your nose."

"It's not a mistake." My voice comes out rough, scraped raw, something I barely recognize. "You're not a mistake."