Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THEA
“Just make sure he doesn’t get married and tie himself down to the wrong kind, like this idiot did.” Sal’s words play on repeat in my mind as I stare out the window.
The streetlights blend into one as we sail past the houses, and the traffic is of little importance with how I feel inside.
Insignificant.
He’s married.
Divorced, maybe?
I’ve no clue because he never told me.
He wants to know everything there is to know about me, but never really shares anything about himself.
Is that why?
“She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he rasps, and I side-eye him. His gaze flicks between the oncoming traffic and me. “If that’s what’s upset you. She never really did; I realize that now.”
I laugh, but it’s sarcastic and unlike me. I’m angry, I’m sad, and above all, I feel let down. He allowed me to go to his family’s home, where they spoke about his past while I remained in the dark.
Until that moment, I was loving their company, and while it wasn’t on them, it tarnished the rest of the evening with them. All I could think about was Massio and another woman. Sure, I was aware he’s probably slept with dozens, if not hundreds, but marriage?
“You married her,” I state.
“I was a kid.” He swallows audibly. “A dumb kid who made a stupid mistake.”
“Are you divorced?”
He jolts. “Of course I’m fucking divorced!” he grits out. “We were divorced within weeks of marrying.”
I snort, but there’s not a single part of me that finds any of this amusing. “Then why marry her?”
He runs his hand through his hair. “Because I was an idiot,” he murmurs.
“Blinded by a cute blonde with perky tits. She came from a good home. I came from—” He swallows.
“Nothing much. We had a reputation in school for being the kids nobody went near. It was great nobody wanted to mess with us, but not so good when you wanted friends.”
My heart aches for him, so when his hand trembles on the steering wheel, I take it in mine.
The contrast of our hands is somewhat poignant.
His tattooed, rough hands against my small, smooth ones devoid of any ink.
“She wanted the bad boy. The rough one with connections to the underworld that only her society whispered about. I was grateful she wanted me.”
A dull ache clings to my chest, squeezing tightly. I hate this for him. The hurt he must have felt, the embarrassment in La Familia, but above all, I’m grateful she divorced him. She gave him the opportunity to find me.
“Did you love her?” I whisper, hating that I’m asking the very thing I crave to hear myself.
He shifts, detaching our hands, then stares ahead, taking my heart with him. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Sure.” I smile tightly, even though there’s no chance of him seeing the smile; he’s too enthralled by the traffic ahead of him.
Why do I suddenly feel like this is the beginning of the end?