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That sorrowful smile returns, and she reaches for the envelope. In a matter of minutes, she’s initialed and signed every single sheet of paper, folded them up, and hands them back to me. Taking the envelope, I stuff it in my case.
“I see you still love to paint,” I casually note to fill the awkward silence between us. It’s time for me to go, for us to part ways once and for all.
“I do, yes. Do you still have any of my old paintings at the house?”
I nod. “They’re in the attic.”
“Oh, Roman, sell them, get rid of them, burn them if you want. Those were the worst years of your life, you shouldn’t hang on to any of our memories. I want you to live every moment from this one forward for that woman who’s won your heart. Cherish her until the end of your days. And be happy. Now go.” Olivia returns to her painting, effectively dismissing me.
I do as she asks and retrace my steps across the lush green lawn, feeling a kind of peace I’ve never experienced until this moment. Olivia is finally, completely out of my life. I never realized the closure I received today is what I’ve needed for years.
Now I’m a free man. And I’m going to get back the woman I love, because I’m tired of hiding in the shadows, behind my half-truths, and only giving parts of myself to Sophia.
She once said she wanted all of me, even my damaged heart. She can have it. I’ll give her everything she asks for and more. I just hope it’s not too late. I hope I haven’t broken her heart to the extent that she can no longer love me.
CHAPTER33
Sophia
The mafia princess goes to college, I muse as I wander campus. School doesn’t start for another six weeks, but I wanted to familiarize myself with the layout and where to find the dorms.
Mama and Papa said I could live at home with them, but I want the full college experience. That means roommates, dorm parties, late night study groups. All of it.
Hell, maybe I’ll join a sorority.
I’ve already created a rule for myself: No boyfriend. Dating is fine, but no committed relationships. I’m going to fly free with absolutely no strings attached, and no falling in love. Besides, college boys are the worst.
Though, honestly, do they ever get any better? Roman, who I haven’t heard from in weeks, is ten years older than me and he’s still a liar. He’ll do anything to get what he wants and pretends there won’t be any consequences.
I know I’m better off without him, but the more I think about what happened between us the more I want to know why.
Why?That question burns in my gut.
We had sex when I was still technically his fake fiancée, he could have stopped there and rubbed that in Nik’s face. Roman won their pissing contest way before we walked down the aisle. So why take it all the way to vows when he knew he was making promises he couldn’t keep?
Why lead me on, through a romantic honeymoon, all the way to a real life that we couldn’t have together? What was the point?
Is it me he hates, or himself? Because all I can figure is that’s some sadistic, self-sabotaging bullshit. Maybe I was just the means to the end of his own destruction. Maybe, deep down, he wants me to hate him.
Not that any of it matters now. Roman has obviously moved on. I really need to do the same. Iamdoing the same. One day at a time.
Which is why it really messes with my head when I spot a man in a dark, tailored suit. He sits on a bench that I’m approaching, his back to me. Yet a tingle of awareness makes my arm hairs stand on end.
I slow my pace. As soon as I pass him, and get a peek at his face, the illusion will be over. If I draw out the moment, I can pretend that it’s him for a while longer.
I never said I wasfine. I’m moving on, that’s not the same as being okay. Are these Roman fantasies that crop up every time I see a well-dressed, dark-haired man potentially harmful to my mental health? Probably. But it’s my coping mechanism.
Besides, it’s never actually him. And pretending lets me think about all the things I’d say to him if it were. I’d tear him a new one, that’s for sure. Then I’d demand answers. I have too manywhysnagging at me.
Would I eventually forgive him? No. I don’t know.
Those fantasies, the ones where I forgive him, are the most dangerous. In those ones, he manages to offer up a logical explanation, a heart-wrenching reason for why he did what he did, and I can’t help but let him back into my heart.
I’ve gotten better at nipping those in the bud before they take root and I downward spiral.
None of it matters anyway because I’ll never see him again. If he really wanted me, he wouldn’t have given up after one week of flowers and chocolates. He would have fought for me, but obviously I’m not that important to him.
That he only gave me seven days before moving on, hurts. Did he think I’d just get over the fact that my entire life crumbled because of him? Or was he only pretending to care about me in the first place?
