Page 171 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"I saw him standing close to you," Sophie said, her tone gentle but insistent. "Closer than two people whose relationship ended long ago. And you... Oli, you looked like you were about to cry, but at the same time..."
"What?"
"Like you were forcing yourself to stay away from him," she finished, worry flickering in her eyes. "Oli, do you still love him?"
"No," I answered immediately, too quickly—so quick even I didn't believe it. "I don't love him. How could I still love him? He ruined my life, he lied to me, he's a gangster—"
"But that's not what I asked," Sophie interrupted. "I asked about your feelings, not your logic."
I couldn't answer. Because if I was honest with myself, the answer would terrify me.
"Listen," Ella took my hand. "We're not judging you. Feelings—they've never been something reason can control. But Oli, you have to understand what being with a man like that means."
"I know," I said. "Of course I know. That's why I'm leaving."
"Then leave quickly," Sophie said, her voice pleading. "Before you change your mind. Before he makes it impossible for you to leave."
But I knew those words came too late. Because in some way, he'd already done it.
That night ended late, but I tossed and turned sleepless. Moonlight spilled across the sheets. I stared at the ceiling, replaying those fragments in my mind—Ezio's hands, his deep voice, the possessiveness in his eyes. And my own response, that almost desperate desire.
I had to leave. Not just for Leo, but for myself.
The next day, the weather in New York was decent. Sunlight baked the pavement, tree shadows swaying on the sidewalk.
I went to pick up Leo.
He came running out, little backpack bouncing on his back. When he saw me, he flew into my arms. "Mommy! I drew a picture today!"
"What did you draw?"
"Us," he dug a crumpled paper from his backpack and held it up. "See, this is you, this is me, this is a giraffe, and this one—" he pointed to a circle on the right, "this is Juliet."
The circle was lopsided but boldly colored in purple and gold.
"That's wonderful, baby," I said. "Let's go home."
I took his hand and headed toward the parking lot. The afternoonsun felt good, warm. Leo walked along holding his picture up to the wind, watching it flutter, finding it hilarious.
I got him in the car, buckled him in, walked around to the driver's seat.
Started the engine, pulled onto the main road.
Leo hummed that French nursery rhyme in the back seat, terribly off-key.
No idea who he got that from. I don't sing off-key.
Traffic was light. I wasn't driving fast. At a red light, I glanced at Leo in the rearview mirror. He had the picture pressed against his lap, tracing the lines with his finger, still humming.
Green light. I started moving again.
Then I saw the car in the rearview mirror.
Black. No plates. Keeping a steady distance. It had been following for two blocks now.
My fingers tightened on the wheel.
Maybe a coincidence.
