27. Luca
Luca
The drive home is silent. Sarah doesn’t look at me once.
She sits curled against the passenger door, staring out the window while tears slide down her cheeks one after another. Every few seconds she wipes them away, but they never stop.
I keep glancing at her. Nothing. The radio stays off. The only sound in the car is her uneven breathing.
I’ve seen Sarah cry before. I’ve seen her angry. I’ve seen her terrified. I’ve never seen her like this.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel.
“I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t answer.
“I never wanted this to happen.”
Still nothing. I reach across the center console and rest my hand on her thigh. She shoves my hand away. I let it fall back into my lap.
Another minute passes before she finally turns toward me. Her eyes are swollen, and her cheeks are streaked with tears.
“This is your fault.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She shakes her head, wiping furiously at her face.
“You don’t.”
Her voice starts to rise.
“You made me keep this from her.”
“I know.”
“No, Luca!”
She turns in her seat, tears spilling faster now.
“You don’t get to keep saying you know.”
She hits her fist against her chest.
“She looked at me like I betrayed her.”
I don’t say anything.
“She screamed at me.”
Another sob tears through her.
“She told me I chose this over her.”
She laughs once, but there’s nothing funny in it.
“And maybe I fucking did.”
“Sarah—“
“No!”
She shakes her head hard.
“You put me in an impossible position.”
Every word comes out louder than the last.
“You made me choose between the man I love and the person who’s been my best friend for years.”
I grip the steering wheel until my hands ache.
“You asked me to carry something that was never mine to carry.”
Her breathing turns ragged.
“And now she’s gone.”
The words barely make it out.
“My best friend is gone.”
I have no defense. Because she’s right.
I pull through the gates of the villa, but neither of us says another word. I bring the car to a stop in the garage, but I leave the engine running for a second, staring through the windshield, hoping she’ll say something. Anything.
She doesn’t. She reaches for the door handle.
“Sarah.”
Her hand stops, but she doesn’t look at me.
“I am sorry.”
She lets out a shaky breath.
“I know you are.”
It’s the first time she’s sounded calm since we left the estate, and somehow that hurts worse than her yelling.
“But being sorry doesn’t change what happened.”
She opens the door and steps out without another word. I watch her hurry toward the door, wiping at her face before she reaches it. She disappears inside without looking back.
I don’t move.
My hands stay wrapped around the steering wheel long after she’s gone, because I know the woman who walked into Mikey’s house an hour ago isn’t the same one who just walked into ours.
I kill the engine and finally force myself out of the car. The house is silent when I step inside.
“Sarah?”
Nothing.
I close the door behind me and head deeper into the villa, following the faint sound of running water. It leads me to our bathroom.
The door is open.
Sarah stands at the sink with both hands braced against the marble countertop.
The faucet is running, but she isn’t doing anything except staring at her reflection.
Mascara streaks beneath her eyes, and she splashes another handful of cold water onto her face before gripping the edge of the counter again.
I stop in the doorway.
“Baby Girl.”
She doesn’t turn around.
“I can’t do this.”
The words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them. I take a cautious step into the room.
“You don’t have to do anything right now.”
She laughs bitterly, shaking her head.
“That’s the problem.”
She finally looks at me in the mirror. Another tear slips down her cheek.
“If Katie never speaks to me again...” Her voice cracks. “That’s because of me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She turns to face me.
“She trusted me more than anyone, Luca.”
Her chin trembles.
“And I broke her heart.”
She stares at me for another second, her chin trembling as she tries to hold herself together. I watch her fight it, and I know she’s losing. A sob tears out of her so hard her knees buckle.
I catch her before she can hit the floor, pulling her against my chest. She clings to me, her fingers twisting in the front of my shirt as the sobs come one after another. She can’t catch her breath. Every time she tries to speak, another sob steals the words from her.
“She hates me,” she cries.
“No, Baby Girl.”
“She does.”
She shakes her head against my chest.
“She looked at me like she didn’t even know me.”
Another sob breaks through her. Her whole body shakes, and I tighten my arms around her.
“I broke her.”
She buries her face deeper against my chest.
“I broke my best friend.”
“No.”
I cup the back of her head, gently lifting her face until she’s looking at me.
“You didn’t break her.”
Fresh tears spill over.
“I did.”
“No.”
My thumbs brush away the tears that won’t stop falling.
“If anyone broke something today...” My throat tightens. “It was me.”
She shakes her head.
“She’ll never forgive me.”
“I don’t know what Katie’s going to do.”
Another sob catches in her throat.
“But I do know this.”
I wait until I have her eyes again.
“You are not going to carry this by yourself.”
She stares at me through blurred vision.
“I’ll talk to Michael. I’ll do everything in my power to help fix this. If Katie needs space, we’ll give her space. If she wants answers, she’ll get them. If she wants to scream at somebody...” I brush another tear from her cheek. “She can scream at me.”
Her lips tremble.
“This should’ve been my burden from the beginning.”
I rest my forehead against hers.
“I put you in the middle of something you never asked to be part of.”
My voice drops to barely above a whisper.
“I’m never doing that to you again.”
She closes her eyes, another sob escaping her, but this time she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist and buries her face against my chest again.
“I miss her already,” she whispers.
I hold her tighter.
“I know, Baby Girl, and I’m going to do everything I can to help you get her back.”
She nods against my chest, but another wave of tears hits her before she can say anything else. I don’t let go. I just keep one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist until her breathing begins to slow.
“Come on,” I murmur. “Let’s get you into bed.”
She doesn’t argue.
She doesn’t say anything at all.
She lets me guide her out of the bathroom. By the time we reach the bed, she’s exhausted. She sits on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the floor while I kneel in front of her and slip her shoes off.
“Lie down for me, Baby Girl.”
She does.
I pull the comforter back over her before walking around to my side of the bed. I climb in behind her.
The second I wrap an arm around her waist, she scoots backward until she’s pressed tightly against my chest. She reaches for my hand without looking, lacing our fingers together and holding on so tightly it almost hurts.
I don’t mind. I kiss the back of her head and rest my cheek against her hair, slowly rubbing my thumb across the back of her hand.
“You don’t have to carry this anymore,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
She doesn’t answer.
Her shoulders begin to shake again, silent tears soaking into the pillow beneath her. I hold her through every one of them, tracing circles against her stomach and pressing soft kisses into her hair whenever another sob catches in her throat.
Eventually, the shaking eases. Her grip on my hand loosens little by little as exhaustion finally overtakes grief. Her breathing evens out, and the room falls quiet except for the occasional hitch in her sleep.
I don’t close my eyes. I lie awake behind her, holding her against me, wishing I could go back a month and spare her from every second of this.