Eight Years of Love, One Day to Walk Away

The gown I'd chosen was cut for movement, but crossing that schoolyard track in heels was nearly impossible, the thin spikes catching in the grit between the lanes.

By the time I finally reached Lorenzo, he was deep in conversation with Adriana, all animated smiles and easy chatter, the kind of ease our families had spent eight years pretending didn't cross bloodlines.

His groom's jacket lay tossed carelessly on the ground.

The moment his eyes landed on me, his brow furrowed hard.

As if terrified I'd let something slip and expose what the betrothal pact between us really was, right there in front of a Falcone.

He spoke quickly.

"What are you doing here? I'm just talking with an old friend for a bit."

My face froze. I forced my lips into a smile.

"There's business at the club I didn't finish, so I have to head back. I'm in the gown and didn't bring my phone, so I came over to tell you in person."

A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.

The old me would have soured on the spot, but this time I didn't say a word more. I had no wish to be an eyesore in front of him.

His expression eased. He gave a nod and said nothing.

I turned and walked off, my ankles rolling with every step.

The voices behind me grew faint, hard to make out.

"Don't read into it. It was just a photographer's setup, and they insisted on shooting me with her—"

I wasn't lying. After I got back, I spent the whole day at the social club, signing off my obligations and handing my work to the associates who'd cover for me.

But when I came home that night, he'd unexpectedly set out dinner and was waiting for me.

The instant I walked in, he tucked his phone away, his expression a little awkward, the cufflink at his wrist turning slow between his thumb and finger.

"You're back. Why so late today? Dinner's ready. This morning, seeing you in that gown, you looked like you'd lost some weight..."

My steps paused for a beat.

Had I lost weight?

It seemed I'd barely eaten since the moment I saw those photos.

Now, looking at the table piled with heavy, oil-slicked dishes, my brow drew tight.

"You eat. I have no appetite. I'm going to rest."

As I turned, the heel-blistered, broken skin on my ankle came into Lorenzo's view.

I'd just stepped into the bedroom when he came up to me carrying the first-aid kit, the same one the Family doctor kept stocked in every safehouse, the one men reached for after worse nights than this.

In all my memory, this seemed to be the first time in eight years he'd shown me any concern.

A pity the wound had already scabbed over, and I no longer needed him.

I gently declined his kindness. Lorenzo's face darkened a shade.

He went back out and brought a slice of cake, setting it on the nightstand.

"I'm sorry. This morning I really didn't expect her to show up at that school. Someone you've known that long, you can't just not say hello when you run into them. Don't overthink it, I—"

Before he could finish, I glanced at the cake on the nightstand and cut him off.

"I quit sugar a long time ago. I only eat boiled vegetables now. Did you forget?"

To be in peak shape for the alliance union, I'd lived almost like a cloistered nun for nearly a week.

He hadn't cared in the slightest.

After all our years bound by the pact, his first attempt to bend was met with one refusal after another.

Lorenzo's expression finally hardened, settling back into its usual cold remove, the cufflink going still between his fingers.

This time he turned and walked out of the room, and didn't come back in.

By the small hours, my stomach was growling.

When I got up and tiptoed out for water, I caught the faint glow of his phone screen in the dark of the living room.