Page 80 of The Ache That Stayed

“You’re not.”

I held his gaze then, steadying myself in the way I always did when I felt exposed. His gaze lingered, like he was listening to the thoughts I hadn’t said aloud.

Julian always did that. Made me crawl out of my skin by just looking. He had the knack for it.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you can see everything.”

“I don’t need to see everything,” he replied calmly. “Just enough. You know Marcello worries about you.”

“He always does.”

“Yes,” he replied. “But not like this.”

My chest tightened at that. Marcello had brought me to Julian a few months after Romano was born, when I had insisted I was fine. That I was just tired. That new mothers didn’t sleep.

That nightmares were normal. He hadn’t believed me. He had seen what I refused to admit.

“How have you been sleeping?” Julian asked.

“Fine.” The lie slipped out easily. Polished. Practiced.

I took a sip of my coffee and grimaced. It was too bitter, too sharp. Julian slid two sugar packets across the table without a word.

“Why do you want to torture yourself?”

I simply shrugged.

“Did something happen?” he asked without looking at me.

My fingers tightened slightly around the cup. My mind was suddenly invaded with thoughts of last night.

Mint. Smoke. Calloused hands. Teeth at my neck.

His arousal—

I shook the thought away.

Everything had blurred too quickly after yesterday.

My heart was doing the stupid thing again—thudding the same way it had when he kissed me.

“What makes you think that?” I didn’t intend to sound snappy. I tried to keep a calm face, but internally I was spiralling.

“The fact you’re here.”

I looked out the window. The clouds had finally broken, sunlight spilling across the street, sharpening edges, turning everything more vivid. My reflection flickered in the glass—tired face with careful eyes, a woman trying too hard to hold herself together while quietly coming apart anyway. A version of myself I had spent years learning how to be.

“You’re analysing,” I said.

“That is my job.”

Silence stretched again. Not uncomfortable. Just aware. I exhaled slowly, my fingers tracing the rim of the cup without purpose.

“Have you ever felt like…” I began, then stopped, the words catching somewhere between thought and voice.