CHAPTER 46
Edoardo
“Holy hell, what did you do to yourself?” Clive stops dead in the doorway, eyes dragging over me like he’s cataloging damage for insurance. “Did you mouth off to a mafia boss’s girlfriend or something?”
He squints, stepping closer. “And why the hell do you look pleased about it? You’ve got bruises blooming like modern art and you’re grinning. Did the punches scramble your brain too?”
“Such compassion,” I mutter. “I feel the love.”
“Who did this?” He heads straight for the fridge, grabs two bottles of water, and tosses one to me with the air of a man preparing to hear something idiotic.
“Cheers.” I twist the cap. “Caroline.”
He freezes mid-step. “Caroline… as in your Caroline?” His brows shoot up. “She just walked up and decked you? What did you do?”
“I boxed with her last night.”
Clive snorts so hard he nearly chokes. “Right. Of course you did. Because when most people run into their ex, they grab coffee. You, apparently, schedule a beating.” He drops onto the couch. “Why on earth would you box her? And bareknuckle Caroline, no less. Have you seen her fight?”
“I knew I’d get wrecked,” I say, taking a careful sip. Sitting down is a slow operation. Every rib protests. “I volunteered.”
“Volunteered,” he repeats, like he’s testing a foreign word. “You’re unbelievable.”
I lower myself into the armchair, wincing despite my best effort to look unfazed.
“Alright, explain. And make it quick. I’m operating on three hours of sleep and poor life choices.” He says, sprawling half-horizontal across my couch.
Well, it’s his couch. His penthouse. His everything, really. I’ve been camping here for months while I figure out where I’m actually going to live. And Clive still hasn’t forgiven me for considering a hotel after he literally had my things packed up and moved here.
“I’m trying to win her back.”
The bottle stops an inch from his mouth. “I’m sorry, what?” He stares at me like I’ve just sprouted antlers. “You got yourself turned into a punching bag as a romantic gesture?”
I give him the short version, how I stepped back when she was already all in, how I realized too late what I’d thrown away.
Clive drags a hand down his face. “Christ, you’re an idiot,” he says, but there’s no heat in it, just the long-suffering tone of a man who’s watched me break for months. “Alright. So, what’s the game plan, Rocky? Besides letting her tenderize you?”
“Working on it.”
He sighs, then nudges my foot with his. “Well, for the record, I’m in. Moral support, bad advice, whatever you need. Short of stepping into the ring myself. I bruise like a peach.”
I huff a laugh. “Generous as ever.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, finally taking a drink. “Now ice your face before you scare the neighbors. And let me dissect your plan to win your girlfriend back. Two brains are better than one.”