Chapter 9 9

I took a chance then—with Gianni. The memory pulses through me even now, curling hot in my stomach like a secret I’m not supposed to keep but can’t let go of either. It was thrilling, intoxicating, like stepping off a ledge without knowing if there was ground beneath me. For once, I gave in to the unsafe bet rather than clawing my way back to safety. For once, I didn’t fight what I wanted.

Now, sober me would call it reckless. Embarrassing, maybe. Not because I didn’t enjoy it—God, no. But because it broke every rule I’d ever forced myself to live by. And yet, when I think about it, my lips still part in a smile. It was the kind of thrill that could become an addiction, the rush of taking what I want without giving a damn about anyone else’s opinion.

Maybe it’s the wine making me this bold. Maybe it’s Gianni still haunting me, whispering that I’m more than the “good girl” I’ve spent years pretending to be.

I check my phone for the fifth time, hoping Tatiana has replied. Nothing. Just the same screen glowing back at me, mocking my impatience. I sigh and lift my gaze to the dance floor—and there she is.

Tatiana owns the room the way she always does. She stands in the center of the crowd, her blonde curls tumbling down over the black halter dress that clings to every curve. The neckline plunges just enough to leave men speechless and women envious. She radiates confidence, even when her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s fearless in ways I’ve never been. I wish I had her courage, her fire, her ability to show off her body without shame.

Always the good girl. Always the safe choice. Always hiding. Except not always—not with Gianni. He’d stripped away that mask, if only for one night.

“Hey!” I wave, lifting my arm high above the heads bobbing between us. My voice barely rises over the thumping bass. For a moment, she locks eyes with me. But her lips don’t curve, and her wave never comes. Instead, she pivots sharply and slips into the narrow hallway that leads to the restrooms.

Damn it. My stomach twists, and I know before I follow that Christopher is at the heart of this. He always is.

I shove through the swinging door, bracing myself. The second I step inside, Tatiana is already on the defensive, her voice pitched too high, too brittle, trying to laugh off what’s written all over her face.

“Too short,” she announces, spinning dramatically in front of the mirror. “My dress is too short. Did you know that?” She tosses her curls, but her eyes glisten, betraying her.

“Hello to you too.” My words are dry, but my heart aches. “Is that what you were fighting about?”

She falters. “We weren’t…” Her shoulders sag as the fight drains out of her. “Actually, yes. That’s exactly what we were fighting about. As if I need him to tell me how to dress. The guy would walk around in socks and sandals if I didn’t stop him. But I wear a short dress, and suddenly he’s my father. One dad is enough. I’m a grown-ass woman. I don’t need his approval.”

She’s right. She’s always right.

“I’m sorry he’s being an asshole,” I say softly, “but for what it’s worth, you look hot.”

Her frown lingers as she studies herself in the mirror, and for once, I see insecurity etched across her features. Tatiana—who never lets anyone see her sweat—looks small, vulnerable. “Yeah?” she asks, doubt strangling her voice.

“You know you do.” I step closer, smiling, willing her to believe it. “Honestly, I’d rather have you to myself tonight anyway. We need one last girls’ night before you abandon me for a month.”

I slide my arms around her waist and squeeze, resting my cheek briefly on her shoulder. “If I had a thing for girls, I’d totally steal you from him.”

Her grin finally cracks through, genuine and bright, chasing away the storm in her eyes. “And I wouldn’t stop you.” She sniffs, wipes at her cheeks, then adds with a sparkle, “Let’s get drunk.”

“That’s more like it.” My laugh rings out as I swing the door open, ready to drag her back into the night, determined to lift her spirits.

But the laugh dies in my throat. My blood turns to ice.

Standing just outside, his dark eyes wide with shock, is the last person I expected—Luciano.

Tatiana bumps into my back, muttering in confusion, but I barely hear her. All I can do is stare at him, rooted to the spot. My boyfriend. My supposedly busy, working-late boyfriend. He doesn’t belong here. He isn’t supposed to be here.

“Luciano?” My voice cracks on his name. “I thought you were working.”

A memory flashes—catching him once in the middle of something shameful, my panties wrapped around his hand, his face stricken with the same blend of shock and guilt I see now.

He scrubs a hand through his sandy hair, his laugh hollow. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” My arms fold tight across my chest, a shield. “You said you had to close up the gym tonight.”

His eyes flicker with false light, and he tries to smile, tries to charm his way out like he always does. “Got out early. Thought I’d surprise you.”

“I’d believe that,” I shoot back, “if I’d told you where we were going. But I didn’t.”

He shrugs, still grinning, the look that once melted me now curdling in my stomach. “I overheard you and Tatiana talking about it.” He spreads his hands wide, pretending innocence. “Surprise?”

The word tastes like poison. This isn’t a surprise. This is something else. Something darker.

And then the door behind him opens.

A pair of arms snakes around his waist, feminine and possessive. A woman leans into him, lips brushing his ear, voice sultry and smug.

“Mmm, that was fun,” she purrs, craning her neck to peer up at him. “But next time, let’s take it someplace more private than the men’s room.”

The world tilts, shattering around me.