by Bethany-Kris
She didn’t see him right away, as she was too busy glaring at the asshole over her shoulder who hadn’t even bothered to apologize for running into her. But when she did see him, the door was starting to close, she was already on the elevator, and Gian was frozen in place.
Cara seemed to be in the same state.
“Gian,” she said.
That was it.
That was all she said.
Just his name.
And good God, how he missed that sound coming out of her mouth.
The elevator moved up, closer to his floor.
Gian didn’t know why, as he knew better than to corner Cara, but the part of him that hadn’t seen her in three months, the piece of him that had been lost and torn and so fucking useless, made him move. He pulled the emergency switch, and the elevator jerked to a halt. A red light came on, illuminating the space. A bell-like sound dinged through the speakers.
He was well aware of the camera just above his head, but since he didn’t plan on doing anything that would get them in shit, he ignored it for the moment.
Cara shifted in her heels, the black dress she wore showed off all kinds of leg and skin, but was still long enough to be appropriate. “This is a courthouse, Gian, not your personal place of business or something. You can’t just shut off an elevator.”
“I just did,” he said quietly.
“And someone will start it back up if you don’t push the switch again.”
“So be it, but it gives me a minute.”
“To do what?” she asked.
Gian wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he went with the blunt truth that had been stabbing at him for months. “To just look at you, say hello, anything, Cara.”
“And if I’m not interested in any of that?”
“Then say so.”
Cara only stared at him, pain reflecting in her blue eyes. It killed him that he had been the one to do that to her—that his lies did this to them. He no longer wanted to excuse his actions, and he knew they couldn’t be explained away, but he still wanted her.
He loved her.
So badly.
“I did tell you,” Cara whispered, “three months ago when I left your penthouse. I told you then, Gian.”
“And I’ve left you alone, haven’t I?”
“Yes, but—”
“You should know that I think about you all the fucking time, Cara, even when I know it’s the last thing I should be doing. I miss you, constantly. I’m alone all the time, too, even when I’m not, and it’s not even your fault. I know I did this. I fucked up, I know. I’m sorry, mon ange. I would do it a thousand ways differently, if I could, now.”
“Except you can’t,” Cara said, a fire returning to her eyes and a heat in her tone. “You lied and lied and lied more, Gian.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole story, but I didn’t purposely keep it from you.”
“It, you say. It. Come on, say what it is. Your wife.”
Gian drew in a slow breath, murmuring, “Yeah, my wife. Estranged, spoiled, difficult, hateful, bitter, but yes, my wife, Cara.”
“And how is she? Your wife, I mean.”
“Pleased in her place,” he replied frankly.
He had nothing else to offer in that regard.
Elena wasn’t worth it to him, not after everything.
“I hate you,” Cara said so softly he strained to hear the words. “I hate that I want to say things right now to hurt you, only to hurt you, Gian. I hate that I want you to know what it felt like to trust you, and then watch you fucking ruin it like you did. I hate you for doing that to me.”
He could work with hate, maybe.
Hate was passionate, too.
Like love.
“You broke my heart, Gian.”
“Well, I hope my heart has been a suitable replacement, Cara. Because you still have mine, and you didn’t bother to give it back. It’s like waking up with a giant hole in my chest every single day. I can’t not know it’s gone. I always know. And maybe I don’t have any right to say that at all, but there it is.”
Cara glanced away, but he saw the wetness in her eyes all the same.
“I’m sorry,” Gian said again as the first tear slipped from the corner of Cara’s eye. “I hate me, too.”
Tears meant something—she wasn’t numb and she wasn’t cold. Not to him or what had happened, anyway. It meant there was a part of her that wasn’t done or hadn’t entirely moved on from everything. She hadn’t moved on from them.
“Are you done now?” Cara asked. “Have you gotten what you wanted? Can I go?”
He wanted to say no. He had her barricaded in an elevator, and God only knew how long he would be able to keep her there. He could finally force her to listen to the shit he had to say, if he wanted to.
Gian had a feeling that would not help him with Cara, only hurt him. He couldn’t force her back to his side, he couldn’t demand her there, and he wouldn’t ever lie to her again to have her with him, either.
If she wanted him, wanted to be with him, he needed her to do that on her own. She would then understand it was because she wanted that, too, and had done so, knowing exactly what it meant for both of them.
He couldn’t give her what she deserved. He couldn’t be her husband, or live with her in a public fashion. She would never be looked at with the same respect his wife would, and in fact, would face a barrage of shit just because she wasn’t his wife.
And the titles she would wear because of his selfishness?
Homewrecker. Whore. Mistress. Slut. Goomah.
Gian could keep going, too. He’d heard them all be slung at the woman his grandfather had loved for decades, a woman Corrado barely spoke about to anyone. How could those same people justify shaming someone, when they didn’t even know her or why she made her choices?
Why would Gian knowingly do that to Cara?
He loved her, so why hurt her more?
Gian stepped closer to Cara, and she didn’t move away. Instead, she watched him carefully, with a stone-still body, painted red lips, and eyes that cut him to the core. He reached up, the side of his hand brushing along her cheek to push back the stray curl, before his thumb swept under her eye to wipe away the tear stain.
She was still so beautiful.
Like fucking life in his hands.
“I didn’t mean to do this,” he told her.
Cara nodded. “Yeah, I know, but you still did, Gian.”
“And what I said, before you walked out on me that day, remains the same.”
“You tried to say a lot.”
“I have only ever loved you,” Gian murmured as he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Cara’s forehead. His thumb stroked her cheek, and she didn’t move away, but he felt the wetness of her tears slip down to his skin away. “And I’m sorry that it hurts you, Cara. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that I love you.”
“Me, too.”
Gian reached behind Cara and pushed the emergency switch on the elevator. It took a couple of seconds for the machine to respond, for the red light to go off, and for the elevator to move again. Cara turned away from him, then, pressing the second-floor button.
At his floor, Gian expected the people and security waiting there as the door opened to let him out. He shrugged off their questions, giving no answer as to what happened to stop the elevator.
Behind him, he heard Cara whisper as he walked out, “I miss you, too.”
For them, he had been sure it was far too late. He had done that, not her.
But was it?
“Drive,” Gian demanded the second he shut the car door.
Chris glanced at his boss through the rearview mirror. “Shit, that bad?”
“Drive.”
Quickly, the car pulled off onto the road, but the enforcer was still keeping one eye on Gian. It made him feel like a bug under a microscope. He couldn’t hide the fact he was emotionally unsettled—sad, haunted, and angry all at once.
He couldn’t hide shit when it came to Cara.
“You know I was just joking about the whole losing your license thing, right?”
“I didn’t lose my license. I paid the fucking fines. Take me home.”
“Boss—”
“Shut up and drive,” Gian snapped.
“You got it, boss.”
Chris didn’t ask or say another thing. The man made no jokes as he navigated city traffic, and headed in the direction of Gian’s penthouse. Gian, on the other hand, stewed in his fucking mess of emotions the entire way, alternating between glaring out the window, and hiding his clenched hands in his pockets.
He had paid his fines, and then gotten the hell out of the courthouse as fast as he possibly could. He feared that if he ran into Cara again, he wouldn’t have as much control the second time around. He thought it was very possible that he might just grab her, make her listen, and have her talk to him more than what she already had.
Gian was an idiot.
It was only the ringing of his phone that brought him out of his frustrated daze. He didn’t even bother to check the caller ID as he swiped the screen and then put it to his ear. The usual, causal Italian and French greeting he answered with was gone because of his current mood, leaving a rude bark in its place.
“What?” he snarled into the phone.
“Well, hello to you too, asshole.”
Gian’s anger kicked up a notch or two at his wife’s voice. “What do you want, Elena?”
“Rough day?”
“Do you care?”
“Not really,” she answered sweetly.
“Why are you calling me on a Tuesday?”
He wasn’t due back at the mansion until tomorrow evening, at the latest. He didn’t spend every day and evening there, if he could help it. Usually, he found excuses. As long as it appeared that he was in a relationship with his wife, then no one would bother to look too deeply into what was actually going on.
That was good enough for Gian.
As it was, this façade took enough work.
“Dinner, with my father. It’s coming up. He called, and wanted me to remind you.”
Fuck.
Gian’s irritation managed not to spill over into the phone when he said, “Great, anything else?”
“Nope.”
Wonderful.
He hung up without a goodbye, and didn’t feel guilty for it. After all, Elena would do the same for him.
“Quaint little place, isn’t it?”
Cara’s head popped up, and her nerves instantly bloomed at the sight of Frankie Ricci. He seemed relaxed, with his hands shoved in his pockets and a small smile on his face.
The coffee shop buzzed with noise around them.
“Frankie, hey,” Cara greeted.
“Studying?”
She closed her spread-open books. “Trying. Sit.”
He did, taking the only other chair at the table. She couldn’t help but wonder, when he looked at her, was he seeing Lea and not her?
“You all right?” Frankie asked.
Cara shrugged. “So, so.”
“I didn’t expect to get a call from you, and especially not one to meet up.”
“I, uh … was in a shitty place for a bit.”
Cara packed her books away. It had taken her months just to gain up the courage to contact Frankie, never mind considering what they would actually talk about. She had lots to ask and say. Whether he would answer … that was the question.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet me,” Cara said.
Frankie leaned back in the chair, his posture softening. “No problem. I noticed you’ve been quiet lately.”
“Quiet?”
“Not so … out and about.” Frankie smiled, adding, “With the boss.”
“Gian.”
He lifted a hand as if to say, who else.
Cara cleared her throat. “I haven’t been out with Gian in three months.”
“Ah.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“Because I’m not,” he replied. “I’m even less surprised because I know his wife has taken a more active role in his business side of life. More than she ever did when they first got married. Kind of forces you into the back seat, doesn’t it?”
Cara bristled. “I’m not with him at all.”
“I didn’t assume that, either.”
Cara checked her impulsive defensiveness. “I’m sorry, don’t mind me. It’s a knee-jerk reaction. I feel like everyone I met knew what was happening, everybody except for me. No one thought to tell me that he was married, or that I was an affair.”
Frankie’s expression didn’t change. “Define ‘affair’ for me, Cara.”
“Why?”
“Because your definition of it won’t fit with a lot of people’s opinions of the word.”
“Really?”
Frankie nodded once. “That’s what I said.”
“He’s married.”
“Yes.”
“He was involved with me in a relationship.”
“Again, yes,” Frankie said.
“Then that is an affair,” Cara pointed out.
Frankie still didn’t look entirely bothered by Cara’s reasoning. “I mean, technically, sure. But only because men who join our … thing, aren’t allowed to be divorced, for the most part. Some do, sure, but they know they’re never going fucking anywhere. Gian, being an underboss at the time, couldn’t afford something like a divorce, given the circumstances of his marriage.”
“Circumstances like?” Cara pressed.
“That’s something he’d have to answer. I just know arrangements aren’t usually made to be broken.”
“He was still having an affair with me. He made me his mistress and he didn’t even have the decency to tell me.”
“Because he didn’t have paper stamped from a proper divorce,” Frankie replied softly. “After how many years of being separated from his wife, is he allowed to have a relationship with someone else? Even though they were clearly separated, why do words like affair have to be tossed into it? Why does the fact he’s married—but again, separated—have to be the first thing to be brought up in conversation? Seems unfair to him.”
“That’s easy for you to say, to defend his actions, sure. But people still consider her to be his wife. They are still married.” Cara glanced away. “Does it seem unfair because you, too, were miserable in your relationship with your wife, and occasionally found a happy pause with my sister?”
Frankie blew out a slow breath. “A happy pause?”
“You’re still with your wife, aren’t you?”
“Yes. We have one child, a girl. Our first boy is on the way, due in a month. We’re very much together. Happily, I might add.”
“Happily. Even after what you did?”
“My wife and I were a lot like Lea and I were, before the pregnancy thing got in the way. Casual, no strings, and we didn’t get too deep with one another on an emotional level. And then the pregnancy came, so our family forced us to do the right thing.” Frankie’s tone twisted bitterly, and his lips curved into a sneer. “We didn’t want to be married. She didn’t want me around, and I didn’t want to be there, either. You think she didn’t know? She knew, but she didn’t care. She didn’t consider us together, even if everybody else did because we weren’t divorced.”
“Oh,” Cara murmured.
“Our unhappiness meant nothing to everyone else, as long as we continued doing the right thing for who we are,” Frankie continued with a heavy sigh.
“And so, Lea …”
“Was there,” he said, “and it was stupid and easy, but it hurt us both a lot, too.”
“And what about your wife?”
“Our daughter was born, and I was over there a lot more. I stayed with her, to help with the baby and whatever else. You could say the baby brought us closer, as silly as that might sound. It’d been a while since I had seen Lea at all when she died,” Frankie admitted, frowning. “The
re was no proper breakup or goodbye, whatever. It was hard, and it set me back for a while with my wife because I felt like I couldn’t explain what was happening inside my head. Circumstances being what they were, and all.”
“But did you?”
“Eventually.” Frankie chuckled. “She’s pretty amazing, my wife.”
“Did you love my sister?” Cara dared to ask.
“Not in the right way,” Frankie said without even thinking about it. “Not in a way she should have been, not like I do with my wife now. It took a while to figure that out, too.”
“In an unhealthy way?”
“Exactly.”
Cara tapped her fingernails to the table, settled in her heart, yet restless in her soul. “Thanks for meeting up with me to talk about this. I know it’s private, and you really didn’t need to tell me anything, if you didn’t want to.”
“I don’t think this was only for you to talk and learn about Lea.”
“Well—”
“I mean, you can say that, but I don’t think it is. I think that you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in your own situation with a man, and like your sister, you keep running—”
“I haven’t gone back once, actually.”
“But you consider it. You want to.”
Cara wouldn’t look Frankie in the eye. “I’m not like Lea, and I’m not like your wife, Frankie. I have a line that I don’t want to cross, and I didn’t appreciate being forced over it without even knowing what was happening.”
“Fair enough. Question for you, then.”
“Sure.”
“Had Gian said upfront that he had a wife—estranged for years, basically separated from, whatever—would you have continued seeing him?”
“I don’t know,” Cara answered.
But her voice wavered.
She had taken a second to answer.
Frankie continued staring at her, and in that moment, she didn’t think he looked at her and saw Lea at all. He just saw a confused, sad woman.
“I think you do know, Cara. Again, circumstances, and all. They make all the difference.”
Cara made a dismissive sound. “Well, it certainly does now, anyway. Like you said, his wife is present, apparently.”
“Public opinion counts for too much in this life, unfortunately, and we made men are entirely to blame for that, too.”