Her news about the life-changing surgery and that dickwad leaving her right afterward shattered my soul.
And it all made sense why Sofie threw out the question, “You’ve sorted out the whole kids thing, I assume?”like a rusty arrow aimed straight for her sister’s heart. I’d always sensed no end to their rivalry, which, according to Noni, dated back to Giana’s birth. Before Giana, it was just Sofie and their mom. Then six years later, after Giana was born, their mother’s mental illness came to light, and she felt it was best for her two daughters to live with Noni. Having children is something Giana wanted more than anything in the world—the chance to love and raise them the way she’d wanted to be loved and raised, without a lingering sense of abandonment. Her surgery not only blew her confidence and spirit to smithereens, but it also wrecked what she thought would be her purpose someday: to be a loving mom.
My heart still beat hard for Giana—never stopped beating for her—and the fact that she couldn’t have children didn’t matter to me; there were many children in need of loving homes, and because of precious Scarlett, I was no stranger to the adoption process.
I planned to take this second chance with Giana all the way home.
I planned to go for another shot at forever.
While I wanted to tell her about Tyler and Cassie and how adopting Scarlett changed my life, my gut told me it wasn’t right to spring that on her then, not after she’d shared her heartache with me. After careful consideration, I thought it would be best to wait. Tell her a few days after returning to New York. Bask in the moments we had together, getting reacquainted and falling in love.
But something happened, and I couldn’t figure out what.
Giana was quiet while we ate dinner, then told me she wanted to rest because she had an early flight out the following day.
Understandable. Besides, I loved falling asleep with Giana in my arms. There’d be plenty more opportunities for sex.
However, when I woke up early the next morning, hope for our future deflated in my chest.
There was no sign of Giana, save for the Harry Winston I’d slipped on her finger only a day before and a note scribbled on a sheet of paper.
Reed,
I can’t do this, can’t risk getting hurt all over again.
Margo, the real estate agent initially assigned to you, will continue the purchase process from here.
Thank you for coming to my rescue this weekend.
I wish you nothing but success with your TV show and future endeavors.
Giana
* * *
Four Days Later
“Have you tried contacting her through the real estate agency?” Dad slid a beer bottle across the kitchen table, then sat across from me, taking a swig from his bottle.
After meeting with Food Network aboutGridiron Foodie, I’d come to my parents’ house to pick up Scarlett. Filming would start in two months, and producers wanted to review their contractual obligations. My lawyer had added unique circumstances, such as Scarlett, my parents, and my future wife appearing in episodes, especially since the show would be set and filmed at my new home. I was tired, emotionally wrecked, and pissed off.
“Yeah, I called Monday”—I chugged back a few sips of beer—“they told me she no longer worked there; she resigned earlier that day.”
All my text messages to Giana bounced back as undelivered, and each time I tried to call, it just rang, leading me to believe she’d changed her phone number.
Dad’s brows lifted. “She must really want to avoid you.”
Truth always hurt, but his blatant declaration seared my heart.
None of it made sense to me. Our connection, our chemistry, sizzled.
I mentally combed through shit that happened over those days: conversations had, what was said, what wasn’t said. I knew I’d be fucked the moment we kissed.
And all I knew now was I missed the opportunity to love her the way she deserved to be loved.
Missed the chance to make all our stupid wrongs right.
Missedher.
