Older. Wiser. Stronger.
“Come in, come in,” Rico says, moving all the way back and gesturing inside. I enter but take control of the door, closing it halfway so there’s still a gap open to the outside.
“What is this,bella? You don’t trust me?” He puts a hand over his heart and gives a false grimace. “You wound me.”
“I’m just here to talk.” I cross my arms over my chest and stay close to the door. My traitorous eyes make one more sweep of his body and he catches me this time. A sly smile turns up his lips.
“I always liked it when you looked at me like that. I liked it even more when you touched.” He spreads his arms like an invitation.
I should’ve known he was going to waste my time.
“I’m not here for that,” I say drily, my arms still firmly folded over my chest. “We have a lot to talk about. Preferably with you dressed.”
He sighs dramatically as he turns away. Heading to the suitcase sitting open against the wall, he digs through a pile of clothes and pulls on a gray T-shirt. I survey the room while his back is to me. It looks like he’s ordered out from every fast-food place in the vicinity and is going for a world record on stacking the wadded, greasy bags in the tiny trash can next to the dresser. My lip curls in disgust. How could I have ever been so stupid?
Without turning around, he runs his fingers through his hair as if he’s trying to fix it. It’s thick and wavy and has a tendency to get out of control. He used to slick hair oil through the heavy strands and spend an hour combing it just right. It’s overgrown now, something he never would’ve tolerated in the past.
“Look, Frankie. The truth is…I am still in love with you.” He turns around, and the sincerity in his eyes floors me. “I ran away because I knew I wasn’t good enough for you. When I saw how poor of a honeymoon I was giving you, I realized I could not provide for you the way you deserve, and I panicked.”
“You ran out on me,” I clarify, my tone cold.
“Yes,” he says, his expression remorseful. “I should have waited until I could take care of you better before making you my wife. I realized that—I knew I fucked up. So I ran. I wanted to come back to you so many times, but I promised myself I would not until I made my fortune.”
I cock my head, more skeptical than actually interested. “You’ve made yourfortune?”
He comes toward me with his hands open and pleading. “I came back for my first love.”
“This is ridiculous, Rico.” I don’t have time for this. And I’m getting seriously uncomfortable.
“We had the kind of true love that poets write about, Frankie. You can’t deny it. The passion between us was so intense, so fast. Love like that does not fade away. Tell me you don’t still think about it.” He reaches for my hand, but I don’t give it to him. “Tell me you don’t think about our first time.”
Oh, I do. I’ve thought about it plenty.
Not recently, of course, but now and then. It was rushed and a little awkward, with lots of heavy breathing on his part and lots of self-consciousness on mine. All I could think about at the time was that I hoped it felt good for him, because I was sure I was in love and I wanted him to love me back. Because yeah—the younger me naïvely equated sex with love. Rico was my first real boyfriend and I thought we were going to be together forever.
Compared to what Dante makes me feel now, I know how totally wrong I was. About everything a relationship is meant to be, or has the potential to be.
Rico’s dark eyes grow heavily lidded as he sweeps me with a heated look.
“I will never forget how special our first time together was,” he murmurs. “How I took you to the vacant caretaker’s cottage behind the Lezettis’ olive grove and laid blankets on the floor…opened all the windows so the night air could caress your bare skin, poured us good wine. You were so nervous, but so passionate while I gave you pleasure again and again…with my hands, my mouth, and then I took my time making you come again with my cock. How could you ever forget I made you feel thatgood?”
I almost want to laugh at his heavily edited version of that night, how starkly different it is from the actual event. Sure, we snuck into a dusty old abandoned cottage that reeked of rotting timber and mildew—hence all the windows being opened. I honestly don’t remember the wine, but most Italian wine is decent, so I’ll give him that. As for being passionate or having even a single orgasm…nope. How generous of him to paint himself as such a skilled and gentle lover.
“That’s all in the past,” I remind him. “I’m not interested in rehashing any of it. What I’m interested in is—”
“Okay, okay, so we will start over,” he says, holding up his palms. “Start fresh. Because Frankie—I cannot live without you any longer.”
Before I can reject him more firmly, he’s moving toward me, forcing me backwards until I hit the door. It swings shut, and now I’m pressed against it. I look up at him with a glare.
“Rico—”
Without warning, he cups my face in his hands and presses his mouth onto mine before I can turn my head away. I go completely still, half in shock and half straight up horrified, the feel of his lips on mine so foreign yet slightly familiar. My eyes remain open as I assess how this makes me feel. It’s skin on skin. But there’s nothing else, none of the old fireworks—in fact, there are no sparks at all, not even a tingle of desire. Just the uncomfortable sensation of having someone much too close to me.
It’s so far removed from how Dante makes me feel that I push Rico off without another thought. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and see the flicker of hurt in his eyes. Too bad. He elicits nothing in me but pity now.
“Frankie—”
“No.”
