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Two can play this game. Turning the mug, I place my lips exactly on the spot where his have been as I sip the strong, creamy brew. It’s a subtle act, easy to miss, but the way in which his eyes heat and his jaw flexes gives him away. He noticed. He’s not unaffected either. I suppose that’s something. We may hate each other, but our chemistry has always been strong.
He surprises me by hooking my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering there in a tender caress.
“You’re very beautiful, Sabella,” he says in a deep, soft voice, staring down at me.
I’m not sure what to say. What do I make of this sudden change from last night?
My mind drifts back to when Heidi and I arrived, to when Angelo stood formidably at the end of the hallway in his classy suit. When he walked toward me, he looked proud and arrogant. But when he apologized for my discomfort, I could’ve sworn there was genuine remorse in his expression. As if he truly regretted it. As if he had a heart.
Spearing his fingers through my hair, he cups my head. “I have to go away for business.” He brushes his thumb over my jaw. “A week at the most.” Up, down. “I need to take care of things in Marseille.” Up, down. “If there’s something you need to tell me, now’s your chance.”
My stomach draws tight. “Take care of things? What does that mean?”
“Let me worry about the details.”
“Are you going to kill someone?” I ask, hating how my voice trembles. “That lieutenant?”
“Why? Are you worried I’ll eliminate your ally?”
A sigh catches in my throat. “Are we back to that again? I told you the truth.”
His gaze drills into mine. “Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t know why you even bother to ask. You’re just going to believe what you want to.”
He drops his hand, disappointment creeping into his features. I don’t know why that makes me so angry. So sad. Whether he believes me or not shouldn’t matter.
“This is how it’s going to be,” he says, his manner resigned.
I swallow. “Like what?”
He stares at me for a beat before he delivers his verdict. “We’ll never be on the same side.”
I also don’t know why that hits me so hard, why I feel like he’s stolen my breath when he turns around and walks away.
For a week.
For however long he chooses.
And there’s nothing I can do about anything.
He goes inside and closes the door behind him, leaving me in the brilliant, cold sun, letting me stand here alone and wish for something I can’t name, only knowing I feel like crying.
Yes, I suppose we are who we are. No matter what I say or do, he’ll never be able to look at me and not hate me. I’ll never be able to look at him and not see my dad’s killer.
It’s that damn hamster wheel again.
Turning my back to the doors, I catch the tears that slip free with my fingers. I swallow them with my morning coffee, pushing everything down and locking my feelings away with the storms in my chest. It’s a coping mechanism, the only way I know how to exist.
When my mug is empty and I go back inside, my features are schooled, and my back is straight. Not a trace of the turmoil inside me is visible on my face. I keep that part to myself, because I won’t give Angelo my pain. Monsters feed on pain. It only makes them stronger. Happier.
Heidi enters with a tray just as I’m taking off my coat.
“Good morning.” She places the tray on the coffee table and offloads a plate heaped with bacon and eggs. “I made you an English breakfast. You can do with the protein.”
“Thank you, but you shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. Croissants would’ve been fine.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” She sets a glass of orange juice and a basket of toast on the coffee table. “Come sit down. Eat before it gets cold.”
