by S. M. West
Opening his eyes, he immediately meets my stare and groans in frustration. His hands curl into fists at his sides and he grinds his jaw, his brows creasing as his eyes strip me bare.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I take in a jagged breath and will my body to cool down.
“Sweetness, I want you.” His voice is gruff.
“Evan, you have to leave,” I whisper, my voice shaky.
“Stop playing hard to get.”
My head snaps up and I glare at him. “What did you say?” I have no doubt I heard him correctly. He steps toward me. “You didn’t just say what I think you did, did you?” I threaten, taken aback by this Evan.
This Evan who is pushing me, has no regard for what I want, is intent on having me. I’m not scared of him, not in the real sense of fear. Rather, I’m scared of him kissing me again because he knows me.
He knows that’s all it would take for me to give in, to forget about these years apart, forget about Greg, and forget about why I’m upset with him. He knows it—it’s clear as day in his eyes.
“You heard me,” he taunts, his sexy grin all for me.
“Since when did you become an asshole?” I seethe. “I’m not playing hard to get. It’s not my style. I’ve never played hard to get with you, ever, and you know it. You left me. You keep forgetting that little but hugely significant tidbit,” I say. “I would have waited for you forever.”
“But you didn’t.” His tone is flat and cold.
My eyes widen and heat rises from my chest up my neck, flaming as I look at him in disbelief. “What?”
“You didn’t, though. You moved on. You’re with Greg.”
His eyes are impassive, his shoulders deflate, and he shifts his gaze away in defeat. My heart stammers and my stomach knots as I marvel at how the hell this got turned around and why I now feel like I did something wrong.
Before I can say anything further, the click of the front door opening snaps both our heads in that direction. Greg. He’s the only person it could be.
“Carys?” Greg calls out.
“In here,” I answer, my gut clenching as the taste of Evan sours in my mouth.
The sound of Greg’s footfalls increases as he nears, and he visibly stiffens when he enters the kitchen. Frowning, his brows crease and his eyes flit back and forth between us.
“What’s he doing here?” His tone is hard.
Great, just what I need. “He was just leaving. Evan, goodbye,” I say. “I’ll walk you out.”
Evan gives Greg a brief but pointed stare on his way to the door. As I pass the hallway mirror, I do a double take. My eyes are vibrant, shining, and my lips are swollen, stained red from our kisses. Shit. Greg will know. There’s no way he won’t guess, especially with my hair a mess and my cheeks flushed.
Evan steps into the hallway and turns to face me. Before he can say a word, I give him a quick smile and shut the door on him. It’s time to face the music.
Now
Carys
“ARE YOU OKAY?” GREG asks from behind me.
I’ve been staring at the door for who knows how long, fixed to the spot, not looking forward to what’s coming, to what I must do.
“No, but I will be.” I sigh, turning to face him.
Concern etches his face and he takes my hand. Instinctively I pull away, walking past him into the living room. I can’t accept his kindness, not when I’m going to break his heart.
Following, he sits beside me. “Talk to me.”
“Greg, we need to—”
“Wait, hold that thought,” he interrupts, a smile taking form on his lips.
Grabbing my hand, his fingers hold mine as he slides onto one knee. My stomach knots and dives into my toes.
No! He can’t do this. Pulling at his hold, I jerk him back on the sofa, but he’s impervious or oblivious, I’m not sure which it is.
“Greg, don’t do this,” I sputter, my voice weak and shaky. My stomach tumbles and twists at his intentions. “Please, don’t do this.”
Greg smiles—smiles! So oblivious. He’s in his own world as he puts his hand in the pocket of his dress pants and pulls out a small black box—a ring box.
“Greg, no,” I wheeze, fighting for air. It’s like I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.
“Carys, I love you.” He’s not only unaware of the blaring cues to abort his mission, he’s entered a trancelike state where he keeps talking about how happy I make him.
“No!” I shoot up from the couch, the sting of oncoming tears in the back of my throat. “No. The answer’s no.”
“What?” Standing, he steps into my space and I cringe.
Turning from him, I cover my face with my hands. I’m a horrible person. How could I let it get this far? Was I so stupid to think my actions were clear? Obviously so, or else we wouldn’t be here, in this moment where a marriage proposal sits expectantly on his lips.
“Greg, I don’t know how else to say this. We don’t have a future together. I’ve been trying to tell you that for a while now. I’ve tried to end things with you, you know this, but every time, I let you persuade me to keep things the way they were. I shouldn’t have, and that’s on me. There’s a woman out there for you, and when that day comes, she’s going to be deserving of you. I’m not.”
“Is this about Evan?”
“No, Evan has nothing to do with this. If you stop to think about it, you’ll know that’s true. Yes, his coming back complicates things, but not between you and me. We’ve been on borrowed time for months now. I’m sorry. I’ve been one foot out the door from the beginning, and that wasn’t fair to you. Please forgive me, but we’re over.”
“Carys, no. If you need more time, take it. We have a good thing going here. I’m good for you.”
“Greg.” I grind my teeth, exasperated. Why doesn’t he get this? “We aren’t good together. How can we be when you’re the only one in this relationship? This isn’t the first time I’ve said something like this, that I’ve said we should end things, but it’s the last. Greg, I need you to leave. I’ll pack your things and call you to make arrangements to pick them up.”
Gripping his hair tightly, his jaw clenches, eyes boring into mine.
“I don’t know how you can say this has nothing to do with Evan. Would you be doing this if he hadn’t come back?”
“Yes. Dragging this out is on me, but it was inevitable. I’m sorry, I handled this all wrong, and it was never my intention to hurt you.”
Releasing his hair, his shoulders deflate as he turns from me. There’s no comfort in saying what needed to be said. Seeing Greg dejected and knowing it was my doing only adds to my distress, but it’s for the best and I can only hope that one day, he’ll understand. One day, he’ll look back on this moment, grateful that it worked out like this.
“Did he say where he was? Why he left you?”
Seriously, I don’t want to get into this with him. Evan is not up for discussion.
“Answer me.” His tone is insistent and hard. Lifting my head to meet his eyes, I see his face is closed. “Don’t you want to know where he’s been and what he’s been doing? And who with? Or do you not care? You’ll let him treat you like shit and go back to him every time?”
I don’t like what he’s saying, although it’s nothing I haven’t asked myself.
“Greg, please go.”
“Just tell me where he was,” he shouts and I jump, completely surprised by his outburst. I understand he’s upset, but he’s excessively fixating on Evan.
“Get out, now!”
Huffing, he gets a hold of himself and sighs. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll come back to get my things.”
“Okay.”
“And Carys…” His back remains to me. “I hope you find the love you deserve, even if it’s with Evan.”
A sob breaks past my tight lips. He closes the door behind him and as much as I want to cry, I search for my phone instead. She picks up on the first ring.
“L, I need you, and plea
se call Tate. I broke up with Greg.”
Within twenty minutes, my closest friends are by my side. Lauren cuddles with me on the sofa, her fingers combing through my nest of hair. Ry carries in another tray of margaritas as Tate grabs a glass before sitting in the oversized armchair.
“Well, ladies, as much as I’d love to sit here and cry into my beer, I have shit to do,” my brother gracefully says with a smirk.
He came with Tate, although Lauren made it clear it was girls only. Hearing what happened, always the protective big brother, he needed to see with his own eyes that I was okay. He had one drink and witnessed my mini-crying fest about how horrible I am. Now, he’s had enough.
Kissing me on the forehead, Ry says goodbye, but not before grabbing Tate around the waist and taking her with him to the door. The two of them nuzzle, whisper, and kiss. I love seeing my brother happy, and Tate is the best woman for him. Wanting to make myself happy, too, I gulp down two-thirds of my drink.
“Easy there, girl.” Lauren snatches the glass from my grasp. “Don’t need you puking. Pace yourself, it’s gonna be a long night.” She winks.
“I’m one hot mess,” I admit with a slight slur to my words. Lauren’s right, I’d better slow down.
“But you’re in love,” Tate adds with hope in her voice.
We’ve moved from talking about Greg to Evan, or at least, they’re determined to talk about him.
It’s true, I am. Greg’s words echo in my head. Do I let Evan treat me like shit? I don’t think so, but maybe I’m so blinded by love that I don’t see it.
“Are you going to let your bruised ego get in the way?” Lauren asks.
“What?” I scrunch my nose and study my adorable friend. She’d hit me right now if she knew my thoughts.
“He’s back and he loves you. He’s made it clear he wants you back and that he made a mistake. Are you going to let the past prevent you from being with him?” Lauren brings her drink to her lips and waits for me to respond.
Tate chimes in, “You don’t need to punish him any more than he’s already punishing himself. You’re also punishing yourself, and for what? For loving him? Is he not worthy of love? I know if it were Ry, if he did something like this and came back to me, I’d take him back. I’d be damned if I’d let him go. He’s my soul mate. I couldn’t live my life without my other half, especially if I knew he wanted me, and something tells me that’s what Evan is to you.”
She’s right. He is punishing himself for his father’s transgressions and likely worried we’d want nothing to do with him, thought we might blame him for what his father did. He feels responsible, like he could have done anything to stop it.
“You’re telling me to choose him?”
My tone is low and unsure, as if I need her to give me permission to move past the last few years. Her insight has my insides on a roller coaster, or perhaps it’s the second margarita…
I’m conflicted because I don’t want to hang onto this anger and hurt toward Evan, but I’m hurt that he didn’t let me in. I thought our love was stronger than that.
“Tate’s right. We’ve known each other practically all our lives, and I’ve known you BE and AE.” My eyebrows crease and my eyes narrow. What the hell is she talking about? Rolling her eyes, she clarifies, “Before Evan and After Evan, and you’re back! My sassy spitfire is back!”
Exhaling an exasperated breath, I shake my head and gesture dismissively at Lauren. That girl has always lived in her own head.
“Let me tell you what I see: I see a woman who has found herself again. Before, you were drowning, but now, you have a chance to storm through the waves and come out of the water, to be happy. Don’t let your pride hold you back.”
It’s not pride getting in the way. I understand why he left. While we saw him as family, he lost his, and on some level, he felt like he didn’t belong. Then he discovered his father was the reason our dad was taken from us—that’s a lot of guilt and anger to carry around.
I would never have stopped him, no matter how dangerous the mission, from finding out about his father. If I were in his shoes, I would have done the same. I even understand his concern for our safety. I only wish he’d told me, given me a chance to stand by him.
Tate wraps her arm around me and squeezes tight. “You know those couples where you can just feel the love when they’re together? Even if they aren’t standing side by side, you can feel the devotion and adoration between them, around them? That’s how it is with you and Van. I’ve only seen the two of you together a couple of times, but your love is fierce and intoxicating.”
§
Evan
REGRET NEVER TASTED SO fucking good. It’s been two days since I last kissed her. She’s like a drug — I’ve kissed her twice now, and I can’t get enough. I can’t get it out of my mind.
I shouldn’t have kissed her, but I couldn’t help myself. It took everything in me not to take her right there in her kitchen, fucking peeping Tom be damned. Her sweet, luscious lips upon mine nearly brought me to my knees. Her scent lingered in my clothes, in the air. Like everything else about her, she’s always with me.
Then she pulled away, pushed me out, and it was like walking away from her all over again—except the first time, I had a reason, a purpose. The other night was plain torture.
I understood where she was coming from. Greg was there, for fuck’s sake, and I need to respect that she’s in a relationship, though the thought of him, of them together, sends me over the edge. That’s why I spent the morning putting my body through hell, working out like I was prepping for a mission—anything to take my mind off them.
Patient, that’s what I have to be. She will be mine again, I just need to find the right time.
Now
Evan
SLIPPING INTO THE BACK of the church is easier than I thought—almost too easy. I wait longer than I normally would in the confessional to make sure no one surprises us. Tonight is the perfect night to approach Paola. The priest is away, so there’s no chance of him interrupting us, although someone else could.
Cautiously stepping out of the confession booth, I see Paola is two pews over, praying. Not wanting to frighten her, I make sure she sees me approaching. Watchfully, she slides back onto the bench, hands clasped in her lap.
“I knew you’d come.” Her words are a whisper, but her gaze is assertive. “We can’t be seen together. Let’s go in there.” She points to the confessional I just vacated.
Once safely hidden in the booth, I open the partition so we can talk.
“I suppose you want to know everything,” she says.
“That would be a good start.” While I don’t care to hear it all, I want a read on this woman, and the more she tells me, the better.
“My daughter was naïve and easily swept away. From what I’m told, your father was a charmer, good-looking, much like you are.”
Her words stab at me, wounding. She has no clue, but being compared to my father is the last thing I want to hear. No longer wanting to talk about this or hear any more about my father, another course of action is required.
“Paola, why should I trust you?”
“What do you mean?”
Even though her letter checked out, I’m not taking any chances. Knowing who her husband is, this could all be a ploy. For all I know, he knows about me. He’s figured out I’m the Monk and he’s seeking revenge. Although it’s highly unlikely that he’d use his wife to do his bidding, I can’t rule it out.
“You risked a lot to give me that letter. My guess is if your husband knew you’d spoken with me, he’d make you pay, so why should I trust you?”
“Contrary to how it looks, I love my granddaughter. I’ve had to stay away for her own good. My husband will not have me speak of her, but he’s very aware of her. He has her followed.”
“I know. What do you want me to do? How do you expect me to save Anna?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice is soft and bleak. “You’re my last hope. We man
aged to buy twenty-four years of her life by having my sister raise her, but now, she doesn’t have long to live. While she’s left everything to Anna, my husband could stop that.” A light laugh, void of emotion, passes her lips. “He will stop it. Anna will have nothing and will be at his mercy. I don’t know what they are, but he’s making plans for her. My guess is he’ll have her marry someone in la famiglia.”
“And why would that be so bad? You did.” I’m playing devil’s advocate. I have no plans to let my sister stay in that world, but she doesn’t have to know that. I’m testing her, looking for any lies or red flags.
“Yes, I did, but it was different. I grew up in the family and have strong ties, and for what little it’s worth, I come from a respected family. Anna’s never been part of this world, and while Franco won’t speak of her, those in power know he doesn’t care for her. She’s in a precarious position. I think he has plans to marry her to a bad man, a ruthless man who will destroy her.”
“Who is it?”
Staring at me through the intricate lattice dividing our small spaces, her eyes are dark, lips pinched as a frown slowly forms.
“Angelo Gatti.”
My breath is trapped in my throat. The name should be inconsequential—one made man is as bad as another—but Angelo carries a whole other meaning. Angelo was to marry Renata and my father fucked up his destiny. The man is old enough to be Anna’s father, and even with the age difference aside, I’d bet my life that he carries deep hatred toward both Ciaran and Renata.
With the little I know of him, he’d relish the opportunity to get revenge through their daughter, a living child, the very thing that prevented him from having closer ties to the Don all those years ago. Being connected to the boss’s consigliere carries a lot of clout and opportunity, if played right. My father and, indirectly, Anna, took that all away from him.
“Fuck,” I say and Paola gasps, quickly making the sign of the cross at my profanity. “Sorry.”
“Please help.” Paola’s concern is evident, even in the dim light and with obscured vision.