No,I think,you’re the gift I want to keep forever. And I want to be the one who’s forever yours.After all she’s shared with me tonight, the confession dances on my tongue right along with the three little words it’s getting harder to keep to myself. I might have been the one to take control, but this woman fucking owns me.
The Ex-Files
Running into your ex is awkward at the best of times, but running into your ex and his new, much younger date is the stuff of nightmares in our humble opinion. The exes in question are former legal power couple Raf Princi and Victoria Williamson, who dated long-term until their split almost three years ago. A statement at the time of Mr. Princi and Ms. Williamson’s split reported it to be amicable and mutual to allow Ms. Williamson to pursue career opportunities in Los Angeles.
However, our sources reveal the reception between Mr. Princi and Ms. Williamson was icy at best, making us wonder if there’s more to this breakup story. If reports are to be believed, it is alleged Ms. Williamson was suitably humbled by Mafia princess Chiara Gigioliotti.
They allege that while Ms. Gigioliotti remained a picture of beauty and grace, she brought the heat with her quick wit and sharp tongue, rendering Ms. Williamson red-faced and causing her to stalk off, prompting the notoriously private legal eagle to plant a passionate kiss to his date’s lips in a rare public display of affection before also taking leave from the Champagne-swilling law crowd. Again, allegedly. Sorry folks—this is what you get when you’re reporting on an event about a bunch of lawyers—they all demand to be “off the record.”
Both Mr. Princi and Ms. Williamson refused to comment on the allegations, but what we can report as fact is that Ms. Williamson is back in New York indefinitely as the newly appointed partner at Bartholomew Jones Entertainment.
Our sources report Ms. Williamson seemed keen to explore reconciling with Mr. Princi, who is being groomed as the eventual successor of Princi Law & Associates. However, it does not appear that’s on the cards for the serious attorney. In fact, if the empty spots at the dinner table were anything to go by, Victoria’s appearance prompted Mr. Princi and his date to disappear before guests were seated for their meals.
All’s fair in love and war—or is it? Only time will tell.
’Til next time, stay out of trouble.
XOXO,
GG
Chapter Forty-Seven
Love And Honor
Raf
God,I am so relieved I didn’t opt for a big Italian engagement party with Victoria. Maybe it was the universe’s way of cutting me a bit of slack for the backhand she was going to deliver months later. Silver linings. Funny, the more time I spend with Chiara, the shinier the shitty things I’ve had to wade through to get here seem.
Bella Donna has been transformed with no expense spared to look like we’re somewhere in the heart of a Sicilian olive grove not too dissimilar to the one I met AJ in almost six weeks ago. It’s a spectacle one hundred ten percent befitting Marco and Sophia, but it’s far too much fanfare for me. Chiara has her camera in hand and is fawning over every detail, snapping candid shots of the happy couple with their guests and stolen moments of them being smitten and obsessed with each other. Watching them used to make me feel uncomfortable, almost annoyed they would behave like that in public. Now I understand it was just confronting to see what true love should look like. It made me realize I wasted years resenting relationships because I thought I had found love and beenburned by it. What I had with my once-fiancée was never what Sophia and Marco have. Pure adoration and affection for each other. This is true love. And when I think about how it makes me feel, I instantly envision a five-foot temptress with the face of an angel wearing fuck-me boots.
When I find my thoughts meandering along wayward paths I swore I would never consider canvasing again, it’s Chiara I imagine by my side. Despite all the raw moments we’ve shared, we haven’t defined “us,” even though the marriage certificate from the State of New York clearly defines us as husband and wife. She hasn’t asked me to put a label on what we are or if there’s an expiry on our arrangement, and I haven’t brought it up either. I think we’ve both been in situations where being lulled into a false sense of security has bitten us on the ass. I can’t completely shake a sixth sense that moving to define us will break the good thing we have right now. Victoria’s betrayal blindsided me, so there’s always a part of me that feels like I’m one moment away from being knocked over again. My insecurities aside, one thing that’s certain is the longer my fake wife stays in my bed, the more intent I am on doing just about anything to prove there’s nothing fake about it.I don’t want to lose her; I want to keep her forever.
Chiara hasn’t brought up Julian since the night she categorically told him she would not marry him, but the biggest threat is Alessandro. His messages continue, and I wouldn’t put it past him to go to extreme measures to get what he wants:her. Proper labels, definitions, and the promise of commitment aside, the carnal part of me has already claimed her as mine.
“They look happy as fuck, but this shit ain’t for me.”
I turn towards the person who seems to have voiced my internal monologue.
“AJ,” I say with a curt nod, sticking out my hand for him to shake. “On the plus side, you probably feel like you’re still in Sicily.”
“I don’t need the fucking reminder, to be honest. My dad is riding my ass hard to get the Rizzos back on our side. Ultimate world domination is always his fucking goal.”
“Well I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but we need to talk about someone I believe you know well—goes by the name Alessandro, but that’s just one of his many aliases.”
“Fuck me! I’m gonna need some of Marco and Seb’s top-shelf scotch for this.”
“Probably the whole bottle,” I say, walking towards the bar and motioning to one of the wait staff who knows me.
“Whole bottle of the Balvenie thirty-year-old Rare Marriages single malt scotch whiskey,” I say, watching his eyes flare at my request. I mean, I get it. I did just ask for a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch.
“Just put it on my tab,” I tell him, alleviating some of his stress as he pours our neat scotches and leaves the bottle on the bar for us.
“This is as close to fucking marriage as I’m going to get,” muses AJ, downing it like a shot.
“Almost went there once. Almost turned me off for life,” I say, taking a sip and swirling it around my tongue. Scotch definitely tastes better laced with Chiara. I keep that to myself. “If the way you just shot scotch that’s meant to be sipped is anything to go by, something tells me you’re more the quickie marriage type of guy,” I deadpan.
“Quick anything is my preference,” he says, shooting daggers at me. “Now, tell me what the fuck is going on.”
