Alaric winces, then hums, hands on his hips and head lowered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know my son had a girlfriend.”
Frustration, humiliation, and grief slam into me, the overwhelming emotions making my stomach clench. The sensation is quickly followed by a round of chills that knock through my bones and cause my insides to quiver. Despite the violence of the reaction, a quick glance down at my hands confirms they’re steady. At least I’m not outwardly reacting.
Yet, anyway.
But then I glance up and clock the pity in his eyes. Between one heartbeat and the next, all my defenses crumble.
It’s too much. I can’t keep this locked down.
A loud, obnoxious laugh escapes me as a tear streams down my face. Doubling over, I place my hands on my knees to steady myself. I might throw up. Or pass out.
I will my stomach to not expel its contents, instead laughing harder, the reaction fueled by days of confusion and heartbreak. Loud, maniacal chortles burst out of me, yet I’m so disconnected from my body, from this moment, that I barely recognize the sound.
More tears come, streaking down my cheeks, dripping onto the ornate stamped concrete. Two of them merge, creating the tiniest of puddles. This may be the most ridiculous moment of my life. I’m both laughing and crying, and fuck—I’m having a legitimate breakdown?—
A firm hand grips my shoulder, startling me. I straighten in one convulsive move.
“Are you all right?” Alaric asks, deep concern etched into his face as he pulls his hand away.
Sniffling, I inhale deeply, then blow the breath out. Only then can I speak. “No. I’m really not.” I sniffle again, swallow, and suck in another deep, cleansing breath. “Luca and I were together for more than two years.”
I leave out the part where he didn’t call me his girlfriend for the first year. He said he didn’t want fans harassing me online. Said it would be easier on both of us if we weren’t official, and if we didn’t hard launch our relationship on social media. But weweretogether.
My bottom lip quivers as fresh shame washes over me.
Did I really fall for that bullshit? How could I have been so vapid?
Limerence, that’s how.
But that’s an issue for me to unpack with my therapist. Not my ex-boyfriend’s dad.
The man still standing two feet in front of me reaches out, as if he’s going to touch me again, but before he can, he retreats, sticking both hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Was the split amicable, at least?”
Anger flares to life inside me. Not for this man, but for his son.
Fuck it.
Luca made his bed. He curated this nightmare meet-cute. He can suffer the consequences of the truth.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and lift my chin. “I walked in on him fucking someone else on my grandma’s antique couch.”
His mouth drops open and a wheeze escapes him.
Good.
At least someone with the last name Steele has the sense to acknowledge how ridiculous this is.
Nodding toward the garage, he says, “That’s the couch, I take it?”
I peer over my shoulder.
The movers have set down the heavy piece for furniture once more. The guy with the grease stain is sitting on it, scrolling on his phone. They’re probably waiting for me. Again.
“It is,” I confirm. “Luca suggested I sublease my apartment and put all my belongings in storage. He convinced me it was for the best since I planned to travel with him this season. But clearly, this isn’t a storage facility.”
Alaric shakes his head, sighing. “That, it is not. This is my home.”
A lump of emotion clogs my throat. “Have—have you lived here long?”
