Page 123 of The Ache That Stayed

“Can we… sit on the couch?”

He nodded understandingly. As I reached for the bowl, my breath caught. My heart skipped a beat as I saw my hand, the ring was missing. I checked both my hands, as though the ring would magically appear where it should have been. I turned to rush back into the room when I saw it in his hand as he leaned against the counter. The ring glinted between his fingers.

“Did you… take it off?”

He crossed the distance between us slowly, like he wasn’t in any rush. And before I could react—before I could decide if I wanted to stop him, he took my hand. His thumb brushed once over my knuckles before sliding the ring back onto my finger. The metal felt colder than I remembered.

He kept looking at the ring.

“In that moment…” he said, voice lower now. “I didn’t want anything between us.”

His gaze met mine. “Not even him.”

The words didn’t feel like a confession. They felt like a warning, settling somewhere deep, somewhere dangerous. I swallowed, my pulse picking up beneath my skin.

“Is that why you didn’t use protection?”

It came out before I could stop it. For a fraction of a second—just a fraction—uncertainty flickered in his eyes. Then his shoulder lifted in a half-shrug.

No apology. No explanation. Nothing. The asshole just shrugged. He let go of my hand.

“Come eat.”

Just a blunt command to end the conversation, completely ignoring the fact that we’d crossed a line neither of us could uncross. And yet, my body still listened when he spoke with that authority.

I could feel the silence building between us, weighted with everything we weren’t saying. Everything we couldn’t. Pressing with guilt, desire, and the kind of truth that ruins lives.

“I—”

“Don’t.”

My head snapped up to find his eyes already on me, sharp and completely unyielding.

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, his gaze never leaving mine.

“You’re already trying to bury it.”

I swallowed the acrid lump lodged in my throat.

“I have a life,” I whispered. “Marcello… my children… that means something.”

My voice cracked. “I can’t be this reckless woman sleeping around because my body reacts—”

“Your body doesn’t react like this to just anyone.”

The absolute certainty in his voice felt like a heavy weight settling deep in my chest.

“And stop degrading yourself,” he snapped.

“I’m not—”

“You are.”