“You don’t know that. And maybe if you’d said something to them, rather than started yelling about it in the middle of a family dinner, you could’ve worked it out. I think you really hurt them, Vincent, just by the fact that you would even consider working somewhere else. I saw your dad’s face. He was devastated.”
“But what about me? What about how they hurt me, and undervalue me, and make sure I know how much they don’t need me?” He glowered. “And why do I get the feeling that you’re less than jazzed about the idea of us living in the same city? Don’t you want me to be closer? Or is it that you like your freedom, and you thought we’d just go on like this forever?”
“Of course, I didn’t think that, and of course, I would be so happy for us to live closer. Hell, if you moved to Philly, I’d want you to move inwithme, not just near me. I want that, Vincent. I wantus. But why didn’t you tell me? About the interview, I mean. Or even just about Mr. Romano giving you his card? This came at me out of nowhere. So yeah, just like your parents, I’m a little shocked. I feel like you hid this from me, and I don’t like that at all.”
Both of his shoulders lifted, and he threw up his hands, a gesture reminiscent of his mother. “I didn’t hide it from you. I just hadn’t decided what I was going to do yet. I had the meeting the day we went to the party with the governor, and I didn’t want to talk about it on the way there, and then after ...” He paused, and I remembered what had happened after that party. He’d told me that he loved me for the first time, and we’d had hours of joyous celebratory sex. We hadn’t come up for air until midway through the next day.
“Okay, I get that, I guess. But you could’ve said something so many times since. We’ve talked on the phone. We’ve seen each other in person.” I shook my head. “I just don’t understand.”
“What you need to understand is that this is my decision. Mine. I’m the one who gets to decide if I want to leave my family’s restaurant and work in the city. So telling you would’ve dragged in yet another variable, and—” He glanced away from me. “What if I told you about it, and then I decided not to take the job? You would’ve been hurt. You would’ve wondered why you weren’t important enough to make me move closer to you. I didn’t want to take that risk until I’d come to a decision on my own.”
My own irritation abated slightly. I could see how Vincent had reasoned this out—I didn’t agree, but I could see it. “So when there’s something that you think might hurt me or something you don’t want to know my opinion on, you’re just not going to tell me? Is that how this relationship is going work?”
His face was impassive. “If I think it’s for the best, then, yeah. Maybe. Or maybe not, maybe that was just this one time. For fuck’s sake, Amanda, we’re not married. I can still call my own shots without running every little thing by you.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t!” I jumped to my feet, my voice climbing several decibels. “I didn’t say I wanted input. I just wanted to know. I know we’re not married, but Christ, Vincent, I’m your girlfriend. I think there are some things I have a right to know about. And this is one of them.”
“And see, this, right here, now—this is why I didn’t want a relationship. This is why I never got tangled up before. I make my own choices, and I live my own life, on my own terms, and no one gets to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do. I never wanted a fucking girlfriend!”
I was silent in the wake of the words Vincent had just yelled. I didn’t know what to say. He’d taken something that I’d held precious—something I hadn’t realized I’d wanted until I had it—and crumpled it up, turning it into an ugly and painful accusation.
Wheeling around, I grabbed up my purse and made for the door. Part of me was silently begging Vincent to stop me, to keep me from leaving ... to tell me that he hadn’t meant it. But he didn’t move as I re-enacted our departure from his parents’ home, slamming the door behind me as I stumbled to my car.
I’d just sunk into the seat when he came flying out of his house. “Amanda! Wait. Don’t go. I didn’t mean ...” He stopped and raked his hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t drive when you’re upset. Just ... just wait a minute.”
But my anger was burning bright now, and I didn’t want to stay with him another minute. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine. Just leave me the hell alone, Vincent. You have a good time, calling all the shots on your own. Enjoy the freedom you’ve apparently been missing.”
I swung my car door shut and turned to look behind me as I backed out of his driveway. When I ventured a glance back to the front of his house, Vincent was still standing there, hands on his hips, watching me leave.
I drove away.
