Page 20 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting the calm flow over me like a second skin.

This vacation is supposed to feel like a reset.

A beginning again.

So why does it feel like I’m standing in the middle of something that’s already ending?

I shift, restless, the fabric of my dress suddenly too tight and too present against my skin.

I sit up, then stand, my fingers moving to the zipper without much thought.

The dress slides down slowly, pooling at my feet like something shed, something left behind. I step out of it, leaving it there, and the air against my skin feels more honest.

I tell myself I’m just trying to relax, to soften the edge of everything.

That’s all.

I sit back on the bed, then lie down again, this time letting my body sink deeper into it, letting my eyes fall shut.

I breathe in.

Breathe out.

But my mind doesn’t calm down. It drifts, wandering somewhere it shouldn’t.

I try to pull it back. I do.

To Daniel. To this room. To the version of tonight that’s supposed to be happening.

But it resists, dragging to Robert.

My breath stutters.

I shift slightly, my body responding before my thoughts catch up, before I can decide whether to stop this or let it happen.

It would be easier to stop.

But easier doesn’t mean honest.

Besides, I’m technically not doing anything wrong.

Daniel and I aren’t exactly together. This trip is supposed to decide that. To see if there’s still something here worth salvaging. And we’ve been apart for three months… three months I know he hasn’t spent alone.

That thought should shut this down. But it doesn’t. If anything, it loosens something in me.

I let my head tilt to the side, eyes still closed, and the image of Robert comes back like it owns the space behind my eyes. He stands in the dark, his eyes burning through it, burning through me, like distance is nothing, like he can see me exactly as I am right now.

My breath catches.

His hands move to the buttons of his white shirt, deft, unhurried, like he knows I’m watching. Like he’s taking his time on purpose.

Will he have tattoos?

I gasp softly as he slips the shirt off, the fabric falling away, his body pulling my mind in deeper, holding it there, refusing to let go.

God.

The tension that’s been sitting under my skin all day begins to loosen, slowly, like a knot loosening one thread at a time. My fingers curl into the sheets, leveling myself as the feeling builds.