Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
GAbrIEL | FLORENCE
I lead her down the hallway, our footsteps soft against the oak floors, and right away I can tell Zalea has fallen in love with this apartment.
And surprisingly, so have I. It feels like a real home here, not an overly luxe villa like what I was first planning on buying.
This place is somewhere I can see us living for a long time, beyond the one year, if she decides to stay.
I push open the first door, the master bedroom unfolding before us, the terrace-facing windows stretching nearly wall to wall. Zalea steps past me, immediately drawn to them, and I watch the sun spill across her shoulders as she takes in the view of Florence.
The room is spacious, enough for a California king bed. I instantly picture this space filled with our belongings; clothes hung in the wardrobe, books stacked on the nightstand, and her hair across my pillow—a dangerous thought.
“Okay, this is really nice,” she says quietly.
I lean against the doorframe, willing my cock to behave because this isn’t the time or place. “You like it?”
She nods, still scanning the room. “It feels peaceful.”
I nod and take her hand as we move on to the second room. It’s smaller but still bright, with a single wide window that overlooks the street below. I step inside, already measuring the walls with my eyes.
“This one’s mine,” I say.
She turns, brows furrowed. “We’re…sleeping in separate rooms?”
I smirk. “Never, baby,” I tug her toward me. “This would be my office.” I gesture around casually. “Somewhere I can pretend to work while actually watching you.”
She laughs. “Very productive.”
“I excel at productivity.”
She shakes her head and slips past me toward the third room. It’s an exact copy of the room that will be my office, but with a more subtle, angled light. She walks in slowly this time, fingertips brushing along the windowsill.
“Then this one’s mine,” she says, looking around the room with a light in her eyes.
“What would you use it for?”
She turns and shrugs. “An art studio, or a library. Honestly, I don’t know but it’s calling out to me.”
“Then it’s yours,” I say without hesitation.
Her smile is small, but it lands somewhere deep in my chest. I take her hand again as we walk toward the final door, and when I open it, we’re met with a modest sized room with warm lighting. We both step in, quiet as we look around.
“A nursery?”
“A guest bedroom?”
We say at the exact same time. Silence settles between us and when I glance down at her she refuses to look up.
Zalea knows I don’t want children. I never wanted children. And now, in my mid-thirties, I still don’t feel a pull to have any of my own. It’s not that I hate kids, though I’m not a fan of teenagers with their pubescent hormones and untamed emotions, but I just don’t think I’d make a great dad.
I like my life the way it is, the freedom that I have to go where I want, when I want, without a second thought.
Everyone I know that has a kid is suffering.
They’re barely sleeping, their home is always a mess, they have to deal with temper tantrums, picky eating, dirty diapers, and middle of the night vomiting.
None of that sounds appealing to me.
But Zalea? Even though she isn’t sure if she wants a child, she’d make an amazing mother.
She takes care of everyone around her, putting in so much thought into everything she does.
It would come naturally to her, if she ever decided she was serious about having a child—it just shouldn’t be with me.
I clear my throat. “We can decide later.”
“Of course.” If she’s upset, she doesn’t show it.
I nod once, then gesture toward the hall. “Should we check out the terrace?”
She nods and walks ahead of me, but I can’t help pausing as I look at the room one last time—at the space that, for one overlapping second, held two entirely different futures.
“We’ll take it,” I say to Antonio after we’ve toured the whole place twice.
“è una notizia fantastica. Congratulazioni!"* Antonio exclaims.
“Thank you for your help today,” I say, shaking his hand. “Email me the purchase agreement paperwork and we’ll get everything signed and sent back to you right away.”
“Of course, it was my pleasure.”
He walks us out of the apartment with the biggest smile on his face, and I'm sure he’s already thinking about the commission he’ll make from this place.
I open the passenger door for Zalea, noticing how quiet she’s been since that moment in the spare bedroom. Do I talk to her about it, and risk ruining this amazing day? Or, do I hold off, in hopes she gets over it?
One look at the sad expression on her face is enough of an answer for me. I shut her door and round the car, taking a seat in the driver's side.
“What’s going through that pretty head of yours, Red?” I ask, not bothering to start the car while I stare ahead.
“I feel ridiculous for being so upset about the potential of not having kids one day,” she mumbles into the sleeve of her cardigan while she looks out her window. “Like it was barely a thought until the diagnosis. Now that's all I can think about.”
“It’s not ridiculous,” I say with a heavy sigh. “And you’re going to have kids one day if that’s what you want, Zalea.”
She scoffs, turning watery eyes to me. “And you know that how? We’ve been having sex for years, Gabriel.”
“Yeah, but that’s because we aren’t even actually trying, Zalea. You’re on the pill—”
“I was also on the pill the only other time I ever got pregnant,” she argues back. “And even that—”
She catches herself before she can finish that sentence, eyes going wide so quick I almost miss it.
“And even that, what?” I ask slowly.
When she doesn’t answer, I rub at the crease between my brows, hating that she’s still got some walls up with me.
“Well since we’re on the topic of that. Zale said something weird to me the other day, and I’m hoping you can help me understand what he meant by it.”
“What did he say?” her voice is trembling and I’m positive now there’s something I’m not supposed to know.
“He said I ruined your life, but he wouldn’t explain how.”
She’s quiet for a moment, staring at me with a conflicted expression before answering. “You didn’t ruin my life, Gabriel.”
Her tone isn’t convincing at all, so I push. “Was he talking about the abortion?”
She stops breathing for a moment, wide eyes finding mine again. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Well tough shit, Red. It’s time we talk about it.”
“No,” she says, and it’s only then that I realize she’s beginning to hyperventilate.
Zalea takes off her seat belt and opens the door, turning to look at me one last time. “You don’t get to decide when we talk about that. Not after you left me to deal with it all on my own.”
That shuts me right the hell up as she climbs out, slamming the door behind her before waving down a taxi and taking off in a rush.
So she is upset about that. After all these years she’s still holding onto that hurt and anger? Is that why she built all these walls to push me out? It’s not like I haven’t tried to talk to her about it, but she just won’t let me in.
I punch my steering wheel several times before I start up the car and drive to the hotel, gripping the wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. When I arrive, she doesn’t answer her door, so I head back to my room and wait. She’ll have to come out at some point.
* “è una notizia fantastica. Congratulazioni!" = That’s fantastic news. Congratulations!