Page 80 of Obsessed by My Ex's Mafia Uncle

I turn away from the mirror, reaching for a towel that doesn’t need reaching for, wiping my hands that aren’t wet just to have something to do.

“It’s late,” I reply instead, a little too quickly. “You’re tired. You’re..” I smooth my hands over my oversized T-shirt.

“Really?” She cuts in, fierce enough to stop me mid-motion. “That is not a coincidence.”

I let out a breath, forcing something into it, something that doesn’t sound like my chest is tightening.

“Aisha…”

“No,” she steps closer, the bag of chips crinkling in her hand as she drops it onto the bed without looking. “No, don’t do that thing where you play around with words and make it small. I saw him. I saw Blue. I saw him and Blue… I’m not blind.”

“No.” I shake my head once, a weak attempt at dismissal that doesn’t even convince me. “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m connecting dots,” she corrects immediately. “And they’re not subtle.”

She holds my gaze, unflinching.

The silence turns into something suffocating, grating at my lungs.

“Christie.” She studies me again, longer this time, her gaze dragging over my face like she’s searching for the truth I’m trying to keep in. “It’s me, best friend and sister, remember?”

My stomach drops, my eyes too heavy to keep up with the staredown.

“That always worked.” Her brows pull together, her lips thinning.

“Yeah, you’re right.” I stroll over and sink onto the edge of the bed.

I exhale slowly, my hands resting in my lap, fingers curling into each other as I stare at nothing for a second too long.

“He’s…” My voice falters, and I hate that. I clear it and start again. “He’s the one… The one from Vegas.”

Her eyes widen, recognition slamming into place, connecting everything I didn’t have to spell out.

Her expression stiffens instantly.

“Are you serious?” She breathes out, disbelief flashing across her face before it twists into something a little like disgust. “That’s him?”

I nod, unable to form coherent words.

“Oh my God.” She runs a hand over her head, pacing like she needs somewhere to put it. “That’s him?”

“Yes.”

“What?” Her laugh breaks out, but there’s no humor in it. “Of all the…” She cuts herself off, shaking her head, her anger rising too fast to stay contained. “Christine, that man…”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” she snaps, turning back to me, her eyes blazing now. “You don’t, because if you did, you wouldn’t be standing there acting like this is just… something to process.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” I shoot back, but it’s weak.

“He broke you,” she spells it out. “Do you remember that? Or do you want me to remind you?”

“Aisha he didn’t…”

“You came back from that trip and you were not the same,” she continues, her voice chipping away whatever composure I’m trying to hold onto. “You shut down parts of yourself trying to survive him.”

“I said I know,” I repeat, but it doesn’t carry through.