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It was ten-thirty, which meant she was getting ready for bed. She usually took an hour to wind down with a shower or a bath, depending on how stressed she was; a bafflingly intricate ten-step skincare routine, and some reading, if she wasn’t too tired.
I’d timed my call so I’d catch her after she got out of the shower.
Four rings. Five.
Assuming, of course, she picked up my call.
My nerves pulled tighter.
Vivian gave me her number that afternoon, which meant she wanted me to call, right? If she didn’t, she would’ve simply left. Hell, a part of me hadexpectedher to.
I’d lingered in that damn coffee shop for almost two hours on the off chance I’d see her. She went there every day, but her timing varied depending on her workload.
It wasn’t the world’s greatest plan, but it’d worked, even if it’d meant skipping a lunch meeting.
Six rings. Sev—
“Hello?” Her voice flowed over the line. Clear and sweet, like the first gasp of air after surfacing from a frigid lake.
The breath released from my lungs. “Hi. This is Dante.”
“Dante…” she mused, like she was trying to remember who I was.
At least she was playing along.Progress.
“We met at the coffee shop this afternoon,” I reminded her with a touch of amusement.
“Ah, right. You’re supposed to wait three days,” Vivian said. “Calling a woman the same day you get her number could be considered desperate.”
I paused in front of the window and stared out at the dark sprawl of Central Park below. The image blended with the room reflected behind me—the half-empty perfume bottles lining the dresser, the perfectly made bed where her scent still lingered, the armchair where she liked to curl up and read at night.
She hadn’t picked up the rest of her belongings yet, and I didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse.
A blessing, because it gave me hope she would return.
A curse, because everywhere I turned, there she was. A beautiful, haunting presence I felt but couldn’t touch.
A familiar ache worked its way into my chest.
“Not could,mia cara,” I said, my voice low. My reflection stared back at me, taut with exhaustion and self-loathing. I hadn’t slept properly in a week, and my appearance suffered for it. “Iamdesperate.”
Silence followed, so deep and profound it swallowed everything except the painful thuds of my heart.
Admitting weakness, much less desperation, was unheard of for a Russo. Hell, I didn’t even admit when I had a cold. But denying my feelings had landed me in my current hell, and I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
Not when it came to Vivian.
My hand strangled my phone while I waited for her answer. None came.
She was quiet for so long I double-checked whether she’d hung up. She hadn’t.
“I’ve never…” I cleared my throat, wishing I was more eloquent at expressing my emotions. It was one of the few skills my grandfather hadn’t drilled into me since I was young. “I’ve never had to…pursue someone before, so perhaps I’m not doing this right. But I wanted to hear your voice." Without pretty words, all I had was the truth.
More silence.
The ache bled from my chest into my voice. “The apartment isn’t the same without you,mia cara.”
Despite the bustle of staff and deliveries, the smell of Greta’s cooking, and the millions of dollars’ worth of art and furniture, it’d turned into a shell of itself in her absence.
