Page 162 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

And good God, how he missed that sound coming out of her mouth.

The elevator moved up, closer to his floor.

Gian didn’t know why, as he knew better than to corner Cara, but the part of him that hadn’t seen her in three months, the piece of him that had been lost and torn and so fucking useless, made him move. He pulled the emergency switch, and the elevator jerked to a halt. A red light came on, illuminating the space. A bell-like sound dinged through the speakers.

He was well aware of the camera just above his head, but since he didn’t plan on doing anything that would get them in shit, he ignored it for the moment.

Cara shifted in her heels, the black dress she wore showed off all kinds of leg and skin, but was still long enough to be appropriate. “This is a courthouse, Gian, not your personal place of business or something. You can’t just shut off an elevator.”

“I just did,” he said quietly.

“And someone will start it back up if you don’t push the switch again.”

“So be it, but it gives me a minute.”

“To do what?” she asked.

Gian wasn’t sure how to answer that, so he went with the blunt truth that had been stabbing at him for months. “To just look at you, say hello, anything, Cara.”

“And if I’m not interested in any of that?”

“Then say so.”

Cara only stared at him, pain reflecting in her blue eyes. It killed him that he had been the one to do that to her—that his lies did this to them. He no longer wanted to excuse his actions, and he knew they couldn’t be explained away, but he still wanted her.

He loved her.

So badly.

“I did tell you,” Cara whispered, “three months ago when I left your penthouse. I told you then, Gian.”

“And I’ve left you alone, haven’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“You should know that I think about you all the fucking time, Cara, even when I know it’s the last thing I should be doing. I miss you, constantly. I’m alone all the time, too, even when I’m not, and it’s not even your fault. I know I did this. I fucked up, I know. I’m sorry, mon ange. I would do it a thousand ways differently, if I could, now.”

“Except you can’t,” Cara said, a fire returning to her eyes and a heat in her tone. “You lied and lied and lied more, Gian.”

“I didn’t tell you the whole story, but I didn’t purposely keep it from you.”

“It, you say. It. Come on, say what it is. Your wife.”

Gian drew in a slow breath, murmuring, “Yeah, my wife. Estranged, spoiled, difficult, hateful, bitter, but yes, my wife, Cara.”

“And how is she? Your wife, I mean.”

“Pleased in her place,” he replied frankly.

He had nothing else to offer in that regard.

Elena wasn’t worth it to him, not after everything.

“I hate you,” Cara said so softly he strained to hear the words. “I hate that I want to say things right now to hurt you, only to hurt you, Gian. I hate that I want you to know what it felt like to trust you, and then watch you fucking ruin it like you did. I hate you for doing that to me.”

He could work with hate, maybe.

Hate was passionate, too.