Page 19 of Valentino

"I hate liars." My finger digs in harder. "But you know what I hate more? There's a girl somewhere who loves you. Who thought she was the only one. And you were off—" My throat closes for half a second. "You were off doing this. Doing me. Doing whoever else."

He doesn't move. His eyes don't drop. That's almost worse.

"So the next words out of your mouth to me," I say, "will not be until I need something.”

I turn to walk away.

And I slam straight into a wall of warm cotton.

The shopping bags swing into my legs. A pair of hands catches my shoulders, and I look up.

Valentino.

His dark eyes move over my face fast. He smells like smoke and clean wool, and my heart does that skipping thing.

"What's going on?" he asks. His voice is quiet.

"Shopping," I say. I lift one of the bags like proof. "Lots of it. The economy thanks me."

He doesn't smile, but he does look past me, over my shoulder, to where Elio is standing.

I watch the change happen on his face. Valentino looks past me.

At Elio.

Nothing about his face changes, but Elio comes off the wall like he’s been called by name.

The back of my neck goes cold.

I've seen Valentino annoyed. I've seen him bored. I have never seen this.

It scares me. Not for me. For Elio.

Valentino's hands leave my shoulders. He moves past me like he has all the time in the world.

I clutch the bags to my chest and walk the other way to the black car Elio parked at the curb, and I pull open the door, then slide into the passenger seat. The door closes with a soft thunk, sealing the street's noise out into a muffled hush.

Through the tinted window, I watch them.

Valentino's back is to me. Broad shoulders, dark coat, head tipped just slightly down toward Elio, who stands stiff and still on the sidewalk. Valentino's mouth is moving. I can see it from the angle of his jaw, the small movements. But the glass swallows every word.

My heart is still going too fast.

I press a hand flat against my chest, trying to slow it down, but it doesn’t work.

I think about what I said to Elio.

God.

I sounded jealous. Bitter. Like one of those women who finds out about the fiancée and turns herself into a cautionary tale over a man who was never hers.

That’s not what this is.

That was never what this was.

I didn’t want to own him.

I wanted to know I hadn’t been stupid for believing him.