20. Casey #2
Not spoken loudly, but muttered quietly, words not meant for me to hear.
“…still can’t believe she stayed after all that.”
I slow instinctively.
Two women stand near one of the alcoves further down the corridor, champagne glasses balanced delicately in manicured hands, both dressed in the kind of effortless elegance money buys.
They haven’t seen me yet.
“I heard he had the baby for months before she found out,” one says quietly.
The other winces. “God, how embarrassing.”
“I know.”
There’s a pause.
Then—
“Can you imagine the humiliation? Everyone talking about you and laughing. I’d rather die.”
Something inside me goes completely still.
Not because the words are cruel, though they are, but because they’re true.
Humiliation.
That’s exactly what it was—is.
Standing in that market while everyone else apparently already knew I was the only person stupid enough to still believe in my own relationship.
The first woman sighs softly. “Apparently she works for the Mancinis now.”
“That’s awkward.”
“I heard Adriano Mancini’s hired her to be his nanny.”
The other woman lets out a surprised laugh. “Seriously?”
“That’s what people are saying.”
“Well,” she says after a moment, “at least something good came out of it. He won’t break her heart because he doesn’t have one.”
My throat tightens so suddenly it catches me off guard.
Because I know they aren’t trying to be cruel.
That somehow makes it worse.
They aren’t malicious.
They’re just discussing me like I’m a story.
A cautionary tale.
I step backward quietly before either woman notices me, my chest suddenly too tight for the amount of air I’m pulling in. I need fresh air.
Stupid.
This is stupid.
They don’t matter.
None of this matters. I shouldn’t even be here. Like they said, I’m staff. I don’t belong here.
And yet humiliation burns anyway, hot and ugly and impossible to reason yourself out of once it’s awake.
I make it to the balcony doors before my composure starts cracking properly.
Cold air hits my skin immediately as I step outside, sharp enough to sting my lungs.
Snow drifts softly beyond the terrace railings, New York glittering in distant gold and white lights, but I barely register any of it as I brace both hands against the stone balustrade and close my eyes hard for a second.
Jesus Christ.
Why am I letting this affect me?
I know what happened.
I know I did nothing wrong.
And still, there’s this awful crawling feeling under my skin, like everyone who looks at me sees the woman who got cheated on, lied to, and publicly humiliated without even realizing it was happening.
I hate that.
I hate him for making me feel like that.
I hate myself a little for not being over it yet.
The balcony door opens quietly behind me.
I know it’s him before he speaks.
I don’t know when that started, but I always know when he’s in the room with me. The air changes.
“Casey.”
Just my name.
Low. Steady. Familiar enough now that some of the tightness in my chest loosens despite myself.
I keep staring out at the snow. “I’m fine.”
A pause.
Then, closer. “Don’t lie to me.”
That almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
“What do you want from me, Adriano?” I murmur weakly.
I don't hear him move, but I feel him stop just behind me.
“You’re upset.”
It isn’t a question.
I exhale shakily through my nose. “I heard people talking about me. It’s nothing. I’ll get over it. I’m just being an emotional woman.”
He goes deathly still behind me. “Two things. First, don’t ever minimize your feelings as being an overemotional woman again, and, second, what people?”
The change in his voice makes me turn slightly.
Dangerous.
Quietly furious already.
I shake my head immediately. “No. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know what,” I wrap my arms tighter around myself, suddenly exhausted by the whole thing, “they weren’t being horrible. That’s the problem.”
His jaw tightens. “Who are they and what did they say?”
I stare back out toward the lights again, because somehow looking at him while admitting this feels worse.
“They’re just a couple of socialites and they called it humiliating that I didn’t know about Jasper’s baby mama situation.
They mentioned me being your nanny and how I didn’t need to worry about you breaking my heart because you don’t have one. ”
The word comes out smaller than I intended.
God.
I hate that.
Silence stretches behind me for a moment before he steps closer, close enough now that warmth brushes faintly against my back despite the cold air. “That says more about him than it does about you.”
“I know that logically.”
“But not emotionally.”
I laugh softly, but it breaks awkwardly in the middle. “Apparently not.”
The city lights blur slightly.
I blink hard once, annoyed with myself immediately. “I’m just tired,” I say quietly. “Tired of feeling embarrassed by something that wasn’t even my fault.”
That hurts more to admit out loud than I expect.
Because it’s true. I’m not angry or devastated anymore.
Just tired.
For a second, neither of us speaks.
Then his hand closes gently around my waist and tugs me back into his body.
Not restraining.
Grounding.
I look down at his fingers against my ribs before turning my head and lifting my gaze to his face.
He’s closer than I realized.