Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
GAbrIEL | AMALFI COAST
“We’ll take this one too,” I tell the dress shop owner.
“Gabriel,” Zalea hisses, flashing the owner an overly sweet smile before dragging me into a corner of the small shop.
“You just told her we’re buying all twelve dresses I tried on.
I know you have a bottomless bank account, but these cost way too much for me to even be comfortable wearing in public. What if I spill something on them?”
She’s adorable when she’s flustered, a faint pink spreading along her cheeks as she stares up at me with wide eyes. I reach forward and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb brush along her cheek.
“You’ll get used to it, Red,” I murmur. “You turn thirty in six months, and you have a pact to fulfill. I fully intend to spoil my wife with the best of the best.”
Her eyes narrow. “That’s only if I’m still single by then,” she counters. “Paolo seems very interested in me.”
“I’m not letting you slip through my fingers again, baby,” I say quietly, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. “I waited years for you to let me back in. No guy named Paolo is getting in my way.” I pause. “Besides, you’re not actually interested in him.”
She scoffs. “What makes you say that? I’m considering letting him paint me naked next weekend. Who knows what it could lead to.”
I laugh, but there’s no humour in it. The image of Zalea naked, standing in front of some guy she barely knows makes me feel sick, and irritation twists in my chest. I’m not naive enough to pretend she didn’t have hookups while we were apart.
But that’s all they were. Temporary and meaningless hookups.
Paolo doesn’t strike me as the type of guy that can do temporary.
He strikes me as the type who falls fast, proposes faster, and starts building a family before the paint dries.
And with how much Zalea wants a child right now—even if she hasn’t admitted it aloud—I know she could say yes to him for reasons that have nothing to do with love.
“If you were really into him,” I say evenly, “you wouldn’t be here with me. You wouldn’t be moving in with me. And you sure as hell wouldn’t be fucking me almost every night since I got here.”
Her hand clamps over my mouth, staring at me wide-eyed before she glances toward the owner, who’s staring at us with parted lips.
“We’re so sorry,” Zalea whispers.
She disappears into the change room, leaving me alone with the aftermath and the world’s most awkward silence.
While the owner rings up the dresses, she attempts to upsell handmade quilt-style tote bags, and I buy all three—partly because they’re nice, but mostly because I’m hoping it softens the tension.
When Zalea comes out of the change room holding the dress, she hands it to the owner who wraps it up before placing it in our large shopping bag with the rest of the dresses while I pay. We thank her and leave in a rush, largely because Zalea is physically dragging me out.
“Oh my God,” she groans once we’re outside. “That was so embarrassing. You can’t say things like that in front of strangers.”
“I was stating facts,” I reply, wandering toward a nearby homeware shop.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Zalea grabs my arm and pulls me back. “We’ve spent way more than I’m comfortable with. Shopping is over for today.”
“Fine,” I concede. “But we’re coming back tomorrow.”
We walk toward the resort, her grip on my arm eventually loosening. After a few quiet minutes, when the crowds thin and the buzz of shoppers is replaced by the sound of crashing waves in the distance, she glances up at me.
“You never asked your question at lunch.”
I didn’t forget, but after the way our conversation ended I didn’t think it was the right time to ask what I wanted to. Seeing how tense she is right now only confirms my instinct.
“How likely is it that your answer will upset me?” I ask, eyes forward.
“If you’re going to ask the same question as before, then very likely,” she says softly.
I nod, then take her hand and guide her to the inside of the sidewalk so that I’m closer to the road.
“Then I’ll wait until we’re back in Florence.”
She stops short. “What?”
I smile gently. “Let’s not invite anymore tension into this weekend. I want this trip to be fun for the both of us.”
She studies my face for a long moment, searching—for what, I don’t know—before turning her gaze toward the water.
“Okay.”
I squeeze her hand, offering comfort I’m not sure I feel. Because beneath the calm, worry is sitting heavy in my chest. Whatever she’s afraid to tell me…I have a feeling it’s going to destroy a piece of me.
A piece of us.
And all I can do is hope that we’re strong enough to survive it.
“I’ve never been this full in my entire life,” Zalea groans, clutching her stomach.
We just finished a seven-course dinner at the resort, which might’ve been overly ambitious considering the late lunch we had earlier.
“You’re going to pass out the second we get back to the room,” I say, grinning as the elevator doors slide open onto our floor.
“Yup.” She pats her stomach. “No sexy time for you tonight.”
“Oh, come on,” I murmur, my voice dropping as I slide a hand around her waist. “I saved room for dessert.”
She laughs, slipping out of my hold and darting down the hallway toward our suit. I chase after her, but she gets the door unlocked and ducks inside just before I catch her.
“There’s nowhere left to run, Red,” I call, stepping in as the door clicks shut behind me.
“You are obsessed!” she shrieks through giggles, fleeing into the bathroom.
“With you?” I follow. “Who wouldn’t be?”
I corner her gently against the glass shower door, bracing my hands above her shoulders. She bites her lip, eyes warm and expectant. Reaching out, I free her lip from her teeth, brushing my thumb over it before pressing a soft kiss there.
When I pull back, she exhales.
“I really do think I’m too tired tonight,” she admits.
“That’s alright,” I say, kissing her once more. “Want me to run you a bath?”
She smiles appreciatively and nods. “As long as there are bubbles.”
I snort. “Such a kid.”
“Oh, shut up,” she laughs, nudging me before heading toward her suitcase.
While she picks out comfortable pajamas to wear after her bath, and unpacks her toiletries, I run the bath with plenty of warm water and foam. Once it’s ready she undresses, and I help her step in, steadying her as she sinks into the bubbles with a satisfied sigh.
I start toward the door but her voice stops me short.
“Stay.”
When I turn back, she’s watching me with a sleepy, soft smile.
“You want me to sit in here while you bathe?”
She nods. “Talk to me,” she says quietly. “What’s been eating at you?”
My breath leaves me in a dry laugh as I rub the back of my neck and sit on the edge of the tub. She reads me far too easily and I’m convinced I must be transparent around her.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said at lunch,” I admit. “About me being a good dad.”
Her brows lift, and she sits a little straighter, no longer as tired as before.
“What about it?” she asks gently.
I stare at the bathwater for a moment before answering.
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re right.
” I hesitate, searching for words that don’t come easily.
“What if I’ve been projecting my own experience onto it?
Growing up with a father who failed me…maybe I just assumed that’s the blueprint I’d follow too.
That if I ever tried to build a family, I’d end up repeating the same mistakes. ”
I exhale slowly.
“I don’t know how to separate who he was from who I might be.”
Zalea’s quiet for a moment and I can practically see her sorting through her thoughts.
“When we’re kids,” she begins, “we see our parents as these perfect, untouchable people. Like they have everything figured out and can do no wrong.”
I watch her carefully, listening.
“But then we grow up,” she continues, tracing a lazy circle through the bubbles with her finger, “and we start to realize they’re not perfect at all. That’s usually when the disappointment hits, and we feel like they failed us in ways we didn’t even understand before.”
Her eyes lift to mine. “The thing is, Gabriel. They’re just people. Going through life for the first time too, making mistakes as they go.”
“That doesn’t excuse what I went through,” I say.
“No, not at all,” she agrees. “Your dad was a total dick and he treated you horribly for wanting to pursue surfing instead of a blue collar job.”
She pauses, her voice softening.
“But maybe it helps put things into perspective. You don’t have to be perfect, Gabriel. No one is. You just have to try your best, show up, and love your kids.” I feel my chest tighten as she continues. “And hope you’re not screwing them up too badly along the way.”
She smiles faintly when I don’t say anything. “That’s about the most realistic parenting goal anyone can have.”
I stare at her for a moment longer than I mean to before reaching out and resting my hand on top of her head, giving her an affectionate pat.
“When did you get so smart?” I ask, impressed.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “I’ve always been smart. You were just too busy chasing waves to pay attention.”
I chuckle quietly as I brush my thumb lightly against her hair before I let my hand fall away.
“Well,” I say softly, “I’m paying attention now.”