Chapter 16
16
T HE CERTAINTY THAT HE had to end it evaporated completely when he walked into his apartment—which he now thought of as theirs—and saw Emilia. Wearing dark jeans and a black sweater, she had a camera strap looped around her neck, and the camera held to her face, as she peered through the lens. Her hair was pulled over one shoulder, and she was concentrating so deeply, she didn’t turn when he entered. He stared at her, his heart shifting in his chest and thumping hard, so that every fibre of his being rejected this—what he was about to do. Every part of him wanted to cling to every part of her, forever.
“We need to talk.”
It wasn’t how he’d planned to preface this. He’d intended to lead into it gently, giving her time to absorb it. But now that he was here, and he’d decided to do it, he wanted to get it over with. He needed to, or he’d back out.
She turned to face him, camera lowered, her lips quirking in a half-smile. “Sounds ominous,” she said, teasingly, as she lifted the camera back up, twisted the zoom slightly then clicked a photo of him. He didn’t smile—he didn’t have it in him. This was an utter mess, and he knew he was about to do the one thing he’d spent his whole life trying to avoid. He was going to hurt her. He was already hurting her.
A myriad of options ran through his mind. Ways to do this. What he could say. But each and every one had her fighting with him, fighting for this. Telling him she would choose him over her family a thousand times over. And what could he say to that? Knowing she felt that now was no insurance policy against the rest of their lives. This was the sort of rift that would become a ticking time bomb in their relationship. He could never know when it would explode—whether that be with a significant event that she was forced to miss, or if and when they were to have their own children, and she faced the reality of doing that without her own mother and father. He loved her too much to have her sacrifice that.
And suddenly, he knew the only way he could do this was to lie. Rather than telling her he was ending it for her sake, he would tell her he was doing it for his. That he didn’t want to be with her anymore. It sickened him even as he knew it was the only way, even as he opened his mouth and said, “I made a mistake, Emilia. This is all a mistake.”
She waited for the other shoe to drop. For the punch line to land. She waited for those beautiful lips she adored kissing to twist into a smile and tell her he’d ordered Thai instead of Indian—her favourite. But the longer she looked at him and silence held, the more she realised he was serious.
Deadly serious.
“What was a mistake?” she said, carefully, trying to keep her voice level.
He took two steps further into the apartment, then shrugged out of his suit jacket. He wore a business shirt beneath it, and as she watched he unbuttoned the sleeves and pushed them up a little, to reveal his tanned forearms. It was such a familiar sight; a simple act he did every time they came home from something and he wanted to unwind. Her gut kicked in recognition of that. She loved his arms.
“Us, doing this.”
Her heart stammered. For two months, they’d ignored the elephant in the room, and barely spoken of their families. She hadn’t told him when it had been her mother’s birthday, and not seeing her to celebrate had felt like a knife in her chest all day. She hadn’t told him that she’d been buying Christmas gifts for her family, even though she had no idea if she could possibly gift them or not. But he hadn’t spoken of his pain, either. Yet she knew he must feel it, because he’d been as ostracized from his family as she had hers.
“Has something happened?”
His whole body was rigid. She traced the outlines with her eyes, knowing it was as committed to memory as any photograph ever could be to paper. “I haven’t been in a relationship for a long time. I thought this was what I wanted, but I’ve started to realise: I don’t.”
Her heart went from stammering to shrieking. She lifted a hand and pressed it to her breast, as though that would stop the pain. She hadn’t regretted her decision for even a moment. Her family had cut her out, but Salvatore was more than enough. For her. Was he saying he didn’t feel the same way? “You don’t want this?”
His eyes held hers for a long moment and she could have sworn she saw anguish in them. She could have sworn he was looking at her as though this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. But then, “I’m not cut out for monogamy. I’m just not wired this way.”
Her heart went from shrieking to exploding, coating her insides with sticky goo, making it hard to breathe, and impossible to stand. She took several steps back, until her calves connected with the sofa and she sank into it, needing the support.
“You are wonderful, Emilia. This isn’t about you.”
She laughed then. A horrible, hollowed out sound. “It’s not you, it’s me? That’s what you’re telling me?”
Again she caught a fleeting glimpse of something in his expression, before he dragged a hand over his face as if to erase it. “Trite, but accurate.”
Every single moment they’d shared seemed to filter through her mind, like a thousand frames of a movie all jumbling on top of each other. Their meeting in Moricosia, the moment they’d succumbed to their chemistry, the way his hands had revered her body, and driven her wild, the charity balls, the hotel rooms…the way she’d wanted him and he’d wanted her. The moment he’d told her he loved her, with the morning sunlight filtering into this very apartment, casting his face half in golden light.
“But…you love me.”
His chest moved swiftly at that, almost like she’d hit him. “I thought I did,” he said, after an infinitesimal beat. She didn’t notice the hesitation, only the words.
“You thought you did?”
“I wanted to. I tried. But I just can’t do this.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he spoke first. “I feel suffocated, Emilia.”
“Suffocated,” she repeated, trying to comprehend. Because the truth was, regardless of the awful situation with their families, she felt the exact opposite. With Salvatore in her life, she felt more free than she’d ever known. She felt almost like she could fly.
“I should never have said I love you. I should never have let it get this far. Believe me when I tell you, I will regret this forever.”
Not only had the bottom fallen out of her world, she no longer recognised a single atom of it. She looked around and felt like the entire universe was out of focus. Salvatore’s love had so quickly become the constant in her world, something she relied on and woke up smiling about. Everything else had become a complete mess, but knowing he loved her made it okay.
Suddenly, it wasn’t their memories that formed a clog of images in her mind, but all the future memories she’d imagined them making. The house, somewhere, filled with light and laughter, and children of their own, that they would love and hold close no matter what—no matter who they chose to love, nor how they lived their lives. The future that had Salvatore at her side, no matter what.
“I trusted you,” she whispered, wanting to stand up and meet his gaze more at his level, but not trusting her legs to hold her. “I believed in you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” she repeated, furious and disgusted all at once. And now, those emotions put fire in her belly and strength in her veins, so she pushed up to standing, looking around with a sort of wild eyed fury. “You’re sorry ? I tore my whole life apart for this—for you—and you’re sorry ?”
He stared at her blankly.
“Sorry is what you say when you swipe someone’s car or accidentally close the door in someone’s face. It is not enough to say when you ruin a person’s life.”
He flinched, but she barely noticed.
“Well, I’m sorry, too,” she said, finally locating her handbag and stalking to it, pulling it over one shoulder. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ever met you. I’m so sorry I ever believed—anything you said. I’m sorry I believed in you—and us. God, Salvatore, you are such a bastard.”
She was almost at the door when his voice forestalled her. “Emilia, wait.”
She almost didn’t turn to face him.
“Will you go back to your family?”
She flinched, the question so horrible to contemplate. “That’s none of your business.”
“I need to know,” he muttered. “I need to know you’ll be okay.”
And she understood that, because she loved him, and knew him. She knew his deepest fear was that she’d be like his ex, that she’d spiral and blame him. And for a brief second, she wanted to twist that knife, because she was so devastated. But her love for him wouldn’t allow it, so she nodded bleakly. “Of course I’ll be okay. Goodbye, Salvatore.”
She woke up the next morning with the strangest sense of confusion. She remembered their fight but almost in that way that it might be a nightmare—a terrible dream she was now free from. But as she sleepily glanced around their room, she realised it was actually her room, in her apartment, and that she was alone.
Grogginess evaporated, to be replaced by screeching adrenaline. She reached for her phone, pressing a button and checking for messages. Nothing. No call from Salvatore, no text to say he’d made a mistake and could he come and see her.
Nothing.
Nothing that whole day, or the next. Nothing for the next week. Emilia existed in the strangest void, absent from everyone she knew and loved. Until, seven days after Salvatore had calmly told her he didn’t actually love her, Skye messaged, asking if she was free for dinner with them that night.
The last thing Emilia wanted to do was see them. Her family, who’d caused her so much grief. Who’d betrayed her. Who’d ignored her wishes and cut her from their life. How could she possibly go and see them? It didn’t matter that she adored Skye and Harper, nor that family had always been her guiding light, she didn’t feel she had the wherewithal to make it through a night with them. Not now. Not after everything she’d been through.
Worst of all would be to see their gloating faces. To see their smugness, at having been right. At knowing that Salvatore was just like they’d accused him of being. To hear her brother say, “I told you so.”
Emilia made up an excuse and went back to wallowing in her shockwaves of grief, determined to push everyone away, for now at least.
It was a strategy that lasted all of three days. Skye was nothing if not determined, and having got the bit between her teeth, she finally convinced Emilia to come over, using the most powerful tool at her disposal: her daughter Harper. Though Harper had been a toddler when Skye and Leandro had met, the entire Valentino family had wrapped Skye into their world, adoring her as though she’d been born to them, as though loving her was part of their reason for living. A simple text from Skye, saying how much Harper was ‘missing her auntie Emme’ had Emilia pulling herself out of bed and showering for the first time in heavens knew how long, finding something halfway decent to wear, and dragging a brush through her hair.
The whole way there, she was numb, but as her driver pulled up at the base of the apartment building in which they lived, her nerves went into overdrive. She’d been perfectly prepared to walk away from her family. That had been their choice, but a life with Salvatore had made it worth it. Or rather, it had been better than the alternative—leaving him, and keeping her family. Because Salvatore would never make her choose. Salvatore had tried to make it work, to have both her and their families in their lives. At least, he had in the beginning. What a waste of everyone’s time and energy, given how easily he fell back out of love with her.
Was she surprised?
She thought back to the man she’d first met, with all those preconceptions. The man who slept around like it was a world champion sport, as though women were interchangeable and disposable. After their first night together, she’d known how meaningless the sex had been, and she’d been okay with it. That was who he was. It was her own stupid fault for seeing more to him than was there. For hoping against hope that he was actually a decent guy, who could be with a woman, love her, and even spend the rest of his life with her.
She’d seen what she desperately wanted to see. More fool her. Now she had to live with the consequences. Out of nowhere, tears flooded her eyes and she blinked quickly, with a guttural sound of frustration. She’d dressed like herself, because she wanted the world to see that. Why couldn’t she hold it together, for even an hour?
She wiped beneath her eyes quickly and chewed the inside of her cheek. A moment later, the doors to the elevator swooshed open, right into the foyer of Leandro and Skye’s apartment. She barely had three seconds before Harper was hurtling herself across the floor to wrap her arms around Emilia’s legs. “Emmeeeeeee!” She cried, then, still hugging her, “Auntie Emme’s here!”
Emme crouched down and wrapped the little girl against her body, burying her face in the curve of her neck, and her sweet smelling hair, no longer trying to fight the tears. God, but she’d missed this. Family. Her darling niece.
“Emme,” Skye approached them, a dazzling smile on her face, and tears sparkling on her own eyes. Emilia carefully detached herself from Harper before sticking her hand down for the little girl to hold. “I’ve missed you. We both have,” she added, with no clarity about whether she referred to Leo or Harper.
Emilia’s smile was slightly more reserved, but when Skye wrapped her in another huge hug, the tears were real. “I’ve missed you, too,” she admitted.
“I’m so sorry about everything,” Skye said, gently. “Believe me, Andie and I tried to talk some sense into your brothers, but you know what they can be like.”
Emilia didn’t get a chance to respond, because a moment later, Leandro strode into the room, wearing jeans and a sweater and looking considerably less bruised in the face than the last time she’d seen him. A bubble of affection formed in her chest, but it was held tightly in place by the hurt of his rejection. It took seeing him, in that moment, to understand that his betrayal was not something she could easily forgive. For the sake of her sister in law and niece she’d try, but Leandro had crossed a line she wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to walk back.
“Emme.” As if sensing her ambivalence, he hovered a little way away from them. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she lied, tone clipped, before transferring her attention back to Harper. “What’s new with you, principessa ? Got anything you want to show me in your room?”
“Great idea,” Skye enthused, clearly seeing Emilia needed a moment. “Why don’t you two go have a chat while I finish dinner.”
“I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble,” Emme said. “I really won’t stay long.”
Skye held her hand out and squeezed Emme’s. “There’s no such thing as too much trouble for you. Is there, darling?” The question was aimed at Leandro.
Emilia flicked a glance at him as he said, “We’re glad to have you.”
She ground her teeth, anger with her brother growing. It wasn’t his fault that Salvatore had fallen out of love with her. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been right. But she should never have had to navigate that alone. She should have been able to turn to her family in the midst of her heartbreak and lean on them. Rather than feeling herself to be utterly and completely alone in the world.
Thanks to Harper, she managed to make it through the dinner. It was easy to make conversation with a little person at the table, and they all seemed to employ the same tactic. At Harper’s bedtime, Skye stood to take the little girl to her room, which Emilia took to be her cue to leave. She’d gotten through dinner, but she wasn’t going to stay and be alone with her brother. She couldn’t bear it.
Every time she looked at him, she remembered the way he was with Salvatore, and wanted to explode with rage. That he could hurt the man she loved…it all felt so wrong.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said, stiffly.
“Our parents send their love,” he said, as she walked towards the door.
Her heart trembled, and she whirled around. “Please, don’t.”
He frowned reflexively. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t pass on messages for them. They have my number.”
“Emme, you know why they aren’t using it.”
She sniffed and looked sideways. “Yes, I noticed none of you contacted me for my birthday. Thank you so much for that.”
His jaw tightened as he ground his teeth. “What did you expect?”
“A little support. Unconditional love. How foolish I was.”
“All love has conditions—you know the Santoros are a hard line for us. They always have been.”
She jerked her face away, sucking in a sharp breath at hearing even Salvatore’s last name. Her whole stomach contracted as though she’d been winded. “So, what? You beat him up? Kick me out of the family? Take my charities away, for God’s sake? My project in Moricosia, when you know I worked damn hard for that.”
He closed his eyes, and she thought she saw regret in his features. But none of that mattered, anymore. The personal betrayals were the hardest of all to accept.
“He’s the only man I’ve ever loved,” she whispered. “Did you even think, for one second, what you would have done in my situation?”
He stared at her blankly.
“If Skye and Harper had been Santoros, would you have walked away from them?”
He took a step forward. “Yes. I would have walked away before it got out of hand.”
“I don’t believe you. I know how you and Skye met. I know how instantly you fell for her. I think even from that first night, you would have put your life on the line for her. That’s how love works.”
“And how did that work out for you? Salvatore turned out to be everything we said—that’s not love. You think it is, but you’re wrong. One day, you’ll meet someone who loves you back, and you’ll know we were right. Trust me, Emme. This is for the best.”
Her heart splintered apart, the grief so sudden and deep that she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. She simply shook her head and stepped into the waiting elevator. She stared out at Leandro wordlessly, with no idea if she’d ever be able to see him again. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Emme,” he groaned, moving forward, but she held up a hand to still him.
“Just don’t,” she whispered. “I don’t need this.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t need you.”
It didn’t even occur to her to wonder how he’d known about her breakup. She was too busy being swaddled back up in the desolation that had become a part and parcel of her very soul.
His entire family had spent more than a year watching Raf go off the rails, after the breakdown of his marriage and long term relationship. Salvatore’s cousin had been to hell and back, and he’d gone from the mild-mannered, confident guy they all knew to a train wreck.
At least, that’s what Salvatore had thought, until his own life exploded and he found himself on the same path as Raf—except, with a vengeance. As soon as Emilia had left after that god awful fight, he’d texted Leandro with the news that they’d broken up. It had felt important to put it into writing and have at least someone know the truth, but even more so, he’d needed to believe Emilia wouldn’t be alone. He’d needed to think someone in her family would reach out to her, look after her when Salvatore couldn’t.
As soon as the text was sent, he started to drink. And drink. And drink. He stayed in his apartment, until all the good liquor was gone, and then he simply ordered more in. He didn’t work. He didn’t look at his phone. He simply wandered around, then slept, then drank. On repeat, for days. After about a week, he started to pull her stuff out of their room. At first, he’d thrown it all onto the sofa and stared at it. A messy pile of Emilia, to be dealt with. He’d drunk then, too, and put on some metal music at full volume, so the whole penthouse seemed to reverberate.
When he was drunk, he thought about calling her. Texting her. It was only through an amazing act of willpower that he didn’t. Sometimes, he’d wake up and reach for his phone, heart racing, because he’d dreamed that he’d weakened and sent her a message. And he knew that would be a mistake. It would just set them back. Even when the thing he wanted most was to tell her he still loved her. It was a particularly unfair byproduct of their circumstance that he couldn’t at least give her that.
But it just would have made it harder to have the clean break they needed.
After three weeks, he text messaged Leandro again, in one of those drunk, weak moments: How is she?
He didn’t hear back until the next day. She’s great. Happy to be home.
Salvatore’s gut had rolled with that. Had there been a part of him that had hoped she’d shun her family, as he continued to shun his? How stupid, when the whole reason he’d broken up with her had been to see her reunite with her parents and brothers.
After receiving Leandro’s text though, Salvatore messaged his assistant and had the jet prepared. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him sooner, but there was no need to stay here, in Manhattan, where memories of Emilia were everywhere.