Page 112 of When She Loves
Why hasn’t he ever confided in me about the horrors he’s lived through?
Doesn’t he trust me?
Doesn’t he see by now how far I’ve fallen for him?
* * *
The morning after the party, I wake up hungover. It’s worth it, because last night. Was. A. Blast.
Around ten, after Luca brought out my cake, most of the guests I didn’t know very well left, and then the real party started. Someone brought out a karaoke machine I didn’t know we owned, and everyone sang me “Happy Birthday.” We did rounds of shots. I’m pretty sure there’s a video of Vale and me dancing on a table. And most importantly, all of our men somehow managed not to kill each other. By the end of the night, Gemma convinced Ras to put on one of the themed shirts I bought, and he drunkenly told everyone he loved the little parrots on it. I grin at the memory and snuggle up against Rafaele.
His body shifts. “You awake?” Rafaele didn’t seem that drunk last night, but his voice still has a rasp to it.
I turn my face up to him. “Yeah.”
He looks tired. “I just got a call. There’s something I need to take care of.” He gazes down at me and brushes his fingertips over my lips. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”
A butterfly appears inside my stomach. Then I remember how he cut me off last night, and the butterfly disappears. He wouldn’t let me tell him that I love him. Why?
Because he doesn’t feel the same, and he doesn’t want you to ruin everything.
My throat tightens. Maybe he needs more time. His mom told me to be patient.
I force a smile. “Don’t apologize for being a good boss. I’ll see you tonight.”
After Rafaele leaves, I have breakfast in bed and watch a rom-com for a bit before I finally decide to get my ass up. I told Loretta I’ll be in today since we’re receiving a big shipment of fabrics, and she’ll need help doing inventory. And Gemma, Mari, Vale, and I are meeting for a happy hour at a restaurant nearby. I want to take full advantage of having them here, and I also desperately need some advice.
A half hour later, I step inside the shop. The bell we recently installed rings above my head. “Loretta?” I call out. “It’s me.”
She comes out of the bathroom looking a little green. “No need to shout.”
I grin. “You okay?” When Rafaele dragged me upstairs, she was singing karaoke in the living room while hanging off Nero’s arm.
“Drank too much,” she says in a harsh whisper. “And my voice is completely gone.”
I burst into giggles. She rolls her eyes and gives me the middle finger. “Don’t laugh at my misery. It’s all your fault, you know. I can’t even remember how many shots you poured down my throat, you little she-devil.”
“I don’t remember you complaining.”
She groans. “You’re a bad influence.”
We get to work. The delivery is a big one—hundreds of rolls of fabric that need to be catalogued and put in the right place. Our hangovers make it even more difficult, but we power through, fueled by coffee.
Around one, we take a quick break for lunch. Sandro walks us to the deli, and he’s looking rough too.
“Can you not park in my customer parking?” Loretta asks. “You’re scaring people off sitting there looking all glum.”
“I don’t look glum,” he protests. “I’m just reading the news.”
“Well, read it on the other side of the street, will you?”
“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll move the car when we get back.”
We have our lunch and get back to work. Later in the afternoon, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen. It’s a text message from Vale.
Something’s wrong with Gemma. Ras is driving her to the hospital right now. I’m almost at the corner of Clinton and Rivington—come quick.
My stomach drops. What? Was there an accident? Is it the baby?
