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The past year had been her longest break from men since I met her. She deserved it.
Dealing with men was exhausting.
Case in point: my relationship with Dante. Trying to figure out where we stood was like trying to find my footing on a slab of particle board in the middle of the ocean.
Isabella and I lapsed into silence again, but my mind kept straying toward a certain dark-haired Italian.
We’d kissed, and Dante had given me not one buttwomind-blowing orgasms, only to shut down immediately after.
Nothing beat the humiliation of asking him for sex only for him to leave me high and dry. At least I’d successfully (I hoped) played the entire night off as a mistake.
A knock interrupted my inner turmoil.
“Come in.”
Shannon entered holding an extravagant bouquet of red roses. There must’ve been at least two dozen of them slotted into a slim crystal vase, and their scent instantly blanketed the room with cloying sweetness.
Isabella sat up, her eyes gleaming like a Page Six reporter who’d stumbled on a juicy society secret.
“These just came for you,” Shannon said with a knowing smile. “Where do you want me to put them?”
My heart leapt in my throat. “My desk is fine. Thank you.”
“Oh my God.” Isabella beelined to my desk the second the door closed. “These roses must’ve cost hundreds of dollars. What’s the occasion?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. Surprise and pleasure warred for dominance in my chest.
Dante had never sent me flowers before. Our relationship had smoothed into one of civil cohabitation and the occasional shared late-night snack since Bali, but we still weren’t a “normal” couple by any means.
I couldn’t imagine why he’d be sending me roses now. It wasn’t a holiday, anniversary, or anyone’s birthday.
“Just becauseflowers. The best kind.” Isabella skimmed her fingers over a velvety petal. “Who knew Dante Russo was such a romantic?”
The pleasure edged out the surprise.
I searched the extravagant blooms until I found a tiny card with my name written on the front. I flipped it over, and my stomach plummeted.
“It’s not from Dante.”
“Then who’s it…oh.” Isabella’s eyes widened when I showed her the note.
Vivian,
Happy belated new year. I thought of you at midnight but didn’t have the guts to send you this until now. Hope you’re doing well.
Love, Heath.
P.S. I’m here if you ever change your mind.
A cocktail of disappointment, unease, and confusion brewed in my stomach. Save for aMerry Christmastext, I hadn’t talked to Heath since the flea market. His sending me flowers made even less sense than Dante sending them.
“Love, Heath.” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “First, he shows up in New York andcoincidentallyruns into you, now this. Man needs to move on. You’ve been broken up for years, and you—”
“Who’s Heath?” The black velvet voice wrenched my gaze to the entrance.
Charcoal suit. Broad shoulders. Expression as dark as his voice.
My pulse skittered into overdrive.
