Chapter 2 #3
Sniffling, I inhale deeply, then blow the breath out. Only then can I speak. “No. I’m really not.” I sniffle again, swallow, and suck in another deep, cleansing breath. “Luca and I were together for more than two years.”
I leave out the part where he didn’t call me his girlfriend for the first year. He said he didn’t want fans harassing me online. Said it would be easier on both of us if we weren’t official, and if we didn’t hard launch our relationship on social media. But we were together.
My bottom lip quivers as fresh shame washes over me.
Did I really fall for that bullshit? How could I have been so vapid?
Limerence, that’s how.
But that’s an issue for me to unpack with my therapist. Not my ex-boyfriend’s dad.
The man still standing two feet in front of me reaches out, as if he’s going to touch me again, but before he can, he retreats, sticking both hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “Was the split amicable, at least?”
Anger flares to life inside me. Not for this man, but for his son.
Fuck it.
Luca made his bed. He curated this nightmare meet-cute. He can suffer the consequences of the truth.
I tuck my hair behind my ears and lift my chin. “I walked in on him fucking someone else on my grandma’s antique couch.”
His mouth drops open and a wheeze escapes him.
Good.
At least someone with the last name Steele has the sense to acknowledge how ridiculous this is.
Nodding toward the garage, he says, “That’s the couch, I take it?”
I peer over my shoulder.
The movers have set down the heavy piece for furniture once more. The guy with the grease stain is sitting on it, scrolling on his phone. They’re probably waiting for me. Again.
“It is,” I confirm. “Luca suggested I sublease my apartment and put all my belongings in storage. He convinced me it was for the best since I planned to travel with him this season. But clearly, this isn’t a storage facility.”
Alaric shakes his head, sighing. “That, it is not. This is my home.”
A lump of emotion clogs my throat. “Have—have you lived here long?”
Maybe he just moved to the area. Maybe that’s why Luca’s never brought me by the house or introduced me to his dad.
“I’ve lived here for about ten years. Though I split my time between Austin and Monaco. I bought this place after I separated from Luca’s mom,” Alaric admits, focusing on his shiny shoes.
The hits just keep coming. Luca had ample time to introduce us over the last two years. He just didn’t want to.
“It’s weird that my apartment is less than an hour from here,” I say, “and Luca never brought me by or introduced me to his family.”
Alaric doesn’t respond to that, his attention still averted.
We’re silent for several seconds. His brow is creased, like he’s searching for an adequate response. I don’t mind the awkwardness. It gives me time to get my head on straight.
Here’s what I know for sure: Luca is a sleezy, lying, cheating rat bastard. He never mentioned me to his father who lives less than an hour from my apartment. Just like he probably didn’t mention me to any of the girls he was sleeping with behind my back.
On top of that, I have no other options for storage at this moment. Oh, and I also have no place to live, because I subleased my apartment for a full year.
Wringing my hands, I bite down on the inside of my cheek, working hard to hold it together. “I’m really sorry about all this,” I finally say, “but I don’t have anywhere else to store my belongings. Would it be okay if I kept the couch in your garage for a while? Just until I get things sorted?”
Alaric hits me with a stern, no-nonsense look. “Of course. It seems you already have a gate code, so let me give you my cell phone number in case an issue comes up.”
My nerves settle as relief floods my insides. It’s embarrassing, really. All this man is doing is being reasonable and decent. Am I seriously that starved for tenderness and care?
“Thank you,” I say quietly. “Do you mind if I make sure my other things are in there? I assume this is where Luca had all my stuff sent…”
Fresh shame sinks in, replacing my momentary relief. Why the hell did I trust him to take care of this? Why didn’t I ask questions?
“Of course not. I haven’t been home much lately, and admittedly I haven’t even been in the garage for a few months.
” He reaches into his back pocket, flips open his wallet, and hands me a black and red card.
“Here’s my number. I have a virtual meeting in ten minutes, but I’ll be around for the next few hours.
Take all the time you need,” he encourages, tipping his chin toward the garage.
I mumble a “thanks,” then turn, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“Evangeline.”
Still on edge, I whip around, my bright blond chin-length hair flying in my face. Smoothing it back behind my ears, I focus on Alaric, where I find glimmers of pity wading through the deep warmth of his dark brown irises.
“I really am sorry. For everything with Luca.” He clears his throat. “If there’s anything you need, or anything I can do—”
I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I insist, dismissing the offer before he can even finish the sentence.
I’m done believing a word out of any man’s mouth. Especially men with the last name Steele.