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That came from Vik, and he had yet to see me.
Alessio debated, “I care what you look like. You’re representing me, jerkoff, and I’m not having you stand in front of my club with people thinking you’re the riffraff. You look like a gangbanger.” The scarred man noticed me then, jerking his chin my way with a curt “Hey.”
Vik saw me then. The way he put his hands to his hips and lowered his head was not exactly welcoming. He did, however, spurn me briskly “What are you doing here?”
This bitch.
“Excuse me?” The second I said it, Vik’s brows lowered dangerously. “I am not in the mood, sir. I am here because I’m here. That’s all you get.” Leaning to the left, I looked around Vik to Alessio. “Want to grab lunch?”
With a touch of regret, he lightly shook his head. “Busy today, toots.”
“How about Nicolas? Or Davi?” I asked a little desperately. Hell, I didn’t like the guy, but at this point I’d take anyone’s company. “Roman?”
“What about me?”
My head snapped up to the open doorway where Philippe stood, leaning against it, and when my eyes met his, they softened. “Hey.”
Vik clicked his tongue. “Get outta here, Frenchie. If anyone needs a baguette, we’ll call.”
They would never get along. Not with our history.
I loved Vik. I loved him so much that at one point, I was so consumed by it that it frightened me. I never wanted to be that woman. The one who loved a man more than he loved her.
I was young and stupid. Twenty-one-years old, thinking I had all the answers. Scared to death of Vik and the intense, desperate feelings he inspired in me. In a move I will forever regret, a move that broke something inside of me that I will never be able to repair, I left him.
And then there was Philippe. Sweet, kind Philippe.
He was there when I so desperately needed the distraction. He was there in a way that dulled the pain. I’d never had what he provided.
Peace of mind.
Contentment.
And, although it shamed me, for a while, I mistook that contentment for love.
He was a breath of fresh air at a time when I felt as though I was suffocating.
I never had to guess what he was thinking. Never had to guess where I stood with him. He was open and so forward with his feelings that when he proposed after only six weeks, everything stood still.
Convinced I would never find a man who would treat me better, I accepted, though my stomach ached.
It didn’t take long for me to realize I’d made a mistake. It took even less time for me to see that I would never love Philippe the way he loved me.
How could I do that to him?
In short, I couldn’t.
It would have been hypocritical of me to ask this man to spend a life with me knowing my mind drifted to another, knowing my heart was already claimed by a man who may not have deserved it but owned me nonetheless.
I called it off and in a cowardly way at that. I packed my shit, left a note on his pillow, and made my leave while he was at work.
Two months but it felt so much longer. Two months without Vik felt like an eternity. And when I turned up at his door with my bags in hand, I was ashamed to say, we picked up almost exactly where we left off, unspeaking of the events of the previous months, refusing to acknowledge our time apart.
Unsurprisingly, Philippe did not talk to me for years after. I didn’t blame him. I did him dirty and we both knew it.
Things were better now but the underlying tension between us had never faded. Without wanting to appear vain, it was clear that Philippe still held a candle for me and no matter how many times I blew it out, he lit the wick over and over, letting it burn. But his friendship was so important to me that I ignored the shadows the flickering flame cast in his eyes.
Philippe looked down from the steps, and when his gaze took in the damage to Vik’s face, he uttered, “Wow. Somebody made some real improvements to your face, my commie friend.”
Vik’s jaw ticked, but to have the chance to talk with my friend about everything that happened was too good an opportunity to deny. And when Philippe’s dark gaze rested on me, daring me to accept, I shrugged and asked, “Is Italian okay?”
Philippe straightened, and his eyes smiled. “Perfect.”
Well, all right then. I smiled widely. “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
Philippe passed Vik slowly. They eyed each other with open abhorrence. Philippe’s arm nudged Vik’s, and Vik laughed caustically. It was a dick-measuring contest if I’d ever seen one, and currently, neither one of them was winning.
