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Either way, it sucks.
As I draw closer to the man on the bench, his head angles so that I can see his profile. My heart flip-flops because damn if this guy doesn’t have a striking resemblance to Roman. The straight nose, those thick eyelashes, kissable lips.
Then, as if sensing my presence, he turns all the way around. Our gazes collide.
I stop.
My stomach’s in my throat.
It’shim.
As Roman stands up, my confrontation fantasies flee, and I have the urge to do the same. I could run away. Just spin around and never look back. But my feet won’t move, it’s like there’s some invisible force keeping them rooted to this spot as Roman draws closer, and closer.
I must look like a deer caught in the headlights because his sure gait falters and he cautiously approaches. This closely I can clearly see the uncertainty in his eyes.
“Sophia.” My name is soft on his lips, as if speaking too loudly would frighten me away. Which at this point, it might.
“Roman.” To my astonishment, my voice is both strong and steady, though flat.
When he reaches for me, and I shy away, he redirects his hand to his jacket pocket and pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper. That movement finally snaps me out of my daze.
I spin on my heel and rush away, as a jumble of emotions bombard my tenuous mental state. I don’t want to talk to him. I can’t bear being this close to him after everything he did.
“Sophia, stop.” His commanding tone halts my retreat.
I don’t want to face him, but I have to, one last time. If I don’t do this, I’ll forever regret it.
“What are you doing?” I pivot, facing him and cross my arms. “I’m not sure I even want to speak with you.”
He flinches at my tone. “This was finalized this morning, I came looking for you as soon as I had it in hand. Take it.”
Roman thrusts the paper towards me, and I hesitate, glancing at it, then up at him. If I take it, then I’m humoring him. Or I can really walk away, right now, and never look back. I’m torn.
Curiosity wins out. Or maybe it’s a driving need for hope.
As I reach for the paper, our fingers touch, and that old familiar spark of electricity travels over my skin. I try and fail to suppress my reactive shiver.
I pluck the paper from him and unfold it. It’s a divorce certificate. At first, I think that it’s for us, him and I. Why would he rub our fake marriage in my face with a false divorce certificate? My teeth clench.
My gaze scans the page down to the two names listed: Roman De Luca and Olivia Bruno. My breath whooshes from my lungs. He’s not being cruel. Or is he? I’m so confused.
“Why are you showing me this?” I glance at him. My stupid heart swelling with hope. A hope I barely dare to acknowledge.
“Because I did this foryou. I want you back, Sophia.” He drops to his knees on the walkway, earning us curious glances from the few people on campus. “I know I don’t deserve you or your forgiveness. I know what I did was wrong and deeply hurtful. I’m so,sosorry. If you give me another chance, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, I’m literally begging you, to give me one more chance. I love you, Sophia. With all my heart, I love you.”
I love you. Those are the words I was desperate to hear from him. I craved them for so long, before I gave up hope. Now it might be too late. How can I possibly forgive him?
“Say something, please, anything,” he begs, still on his knees, hands clasped at his chest. The agony in his voice, twisting his handsome though haggard features, is enough to make the coldest heart melt. For once, Roman is an open book. His myriad emotions swim in his hazel eyes, no longer lurking behind his defenses. Remorse, desperation, and…love.
I swallow hard.
Thisman is the version I’ve always wanted. The Roman that’s open and honest, afraid to let me in but willing to do it because he loves me. How do I reconcile this man with the one who married me to get revenge on another, and broke my heart? Or the monster who pushed a pregnant woman down the stairs. Then locked his wife away to punish her.
“Sophia, please.”
“Get up, Roman.” I walk past him to the bench and sit down. Hesitantly, he joins me. I hand him back his divorce certificate, then look him in the eyes. “Why should I ever trust you again? You married me when you were already married to another woman. How could you do that to me?”
“I made a mistake.”
