“I can take it.” I tell Beretta, my words hopefully urging her to go on.
A buzzing sensation makes me take my cell away from my ear and put Beretta on speaker. I head into my messages, figuring it was a text notification. “I sent you a photo of Bianca and some guy walking into a condo on the Upper East Side. They looked pretty cozy if you ask me.”
I tap the photo on the screen and Bianca’s light magenta hair fills the screen. Beside her is Stefan Dalca, smirking like the cat who caught a fucking fish. His hand is on her lower back and while I assess the situation, more pictures come through. I scroll through, seeing his lips land on hers and her smile grow by each shot.
This is confirmation.
Stefan Dalca is a thorn in my side, and more than that, he’s going to ruin everything I’ve set my eyes on.
No. No, he won’t. I’m not going to let him. Bianca Petran will be mine and it’s a fucking fact.
Chapter Twelve
Bianca
“Don’t bullshit me, Bianca.” Stefan grumbles, dragging a hand over his face.
Everything was fine while we were out and about, but now that we’re back at my apartment . . . things are starting to unravel. You see, Stefan might not act like a gentleman, but he really is one. He’d never make a scene with me on the streets. Though, when we’re behind closed doors things are much different.
His stress and worry is evident across his face from the way he furrows his brows and clenches his jaw. Even if he tried to hide it, he wouldn’t be able to. He’s an amazing man at hiding anything he wants when it comes to business, but whenever it’s between us . . . he wears his emotions in his expressions.
“I’m not bullshitting you, Stefan, I swear. I’m just . . . I’m trying to think about how to say this.” My chest fills with anxiety and my nerves are shot, still not sure why I let things go as far as they did the other night. The entire time I was with Mircea I wasn’t thinking about where my actions would lead me. At least, not until it was too late. When reality sunk in, my thoughts swarmed through me and I felt a fear unlike anything I’d ever experienced before.
Stefan Dalca was there for me in some of my most trying moments of my life. He offered me support when those closest to me should’ve seen I needed help, and through his friendship we formed a physical attraction. Only, until very recently, I didn’t fully realize this isn’t just physical. The worst part of all is I came to this realization when another man was plummeting his dick inside me.
“Everything you’re saying to me right now only confirms it. It’s plain as day. I can see it right in front of my fucking face,” Stefan rises and throws his hand in the air from pure outrage. He paces across the living room, clenching his fists while his nostrils flare. He comes to a stop of all of a sudden and looks at me with nothing but fury in his eyes, “I thought I was losing it, that I was just being paranoid and shit . . . but I’m not, am I?” He’s asking me a question and yet the way his voice shakes tells me he already knows the answer.
It’s as if his words are coming out faster than I respond, but I know it isn’t. He’s speaking as he normally does, calculating and authoritative. Though, this time there’s quite the bit of attitude laced through his tone.
There’s no other way for me to do this than to come out and say it. I look him straight in the eyes, knowing I owe this man the truth. “I slept with Mircea.”
“What?!” He roars, eyes widening from anger.
My shoulders begin to tremble as fear works its way through my body. I grab onto the pillow beside me on the couch and clench it until my knuckles turn white. This is what I never wanted, an altercation with Stefan. Fuck! Why did Mircea ever have to come into the picture?
“I . . . I’m sorry. I feel like I’m under so much pressure, Stefan. Things got out of hand. I felt like I did it out of duty. I don’t know, I—” I try to come up with whatever reason I can for my actions.
“No one fucks another man out of duty,” Stefan continues to scream, showing me how much I’ve hurt him. I can’t imagine the way he feels, how I’ve betrayed him. We’ve never had a conversation about putting a label on our relationship, but . . . what I did was wrong. “Don’t you dare try to put a spin on this like you’re only appeasing your parents.”
Tears roll down my cheeks and my shoulders grow tight, like someone is pushing me down into the couch below me. I’m terrified, yet it doesn’t feel like a proper word to accurately describe my fear. “I—I’m so sorry, Stefan. Please forgive me. Please.”
Mustering up all the courage I can, I rise from the couch and start to walk toward him. His nostrils are flaring like he’s a raging bull in Spain and I’m the one holding the red flag. Dangerous, yet beautiful. “Do you have any idea what I would’ve done for you? How I would’ve done right by you and married you? But you told me you didn’t want to be married, so I respected it and never asked. I accepted the boundary you put on our relationship and what we could be, Bianca.” Stefan throws his hands up in the air yet again and walks swiftly toward the fireplace. He picks up a small marble vase I picked up on my last trip to Rome and smashes it against the ground
