“What’s this?” I snatch the page from her, lifting it to my eye level. “Another little note?”
Not one written by her, anyway.
Liv’s delicate scrawl blares from the page, and recognition hits like a lightning strike. God, I can smell her again, the faint scent of her perfume tinging the air. I see her—those wide hazel eyes, that sexy half-smile when she was excited or content.
And the devastating frown when she wasn’t…
When I blink, she disappears. All I’m left with are the remnants of whatever she wrote years ago.
I feel invisible around you, baby. Sometimes it’s like I’m a ghost. You’re already a brilliant father, but as your wife, I’m just an afterthought. I miss you, but I have to wonder if you feel the same?
I don’t remember this, not even the context of what might have been happening when she wrote it. I was busy—I was always busy—but when I look back, I always see Liv smiling from the doorway of my study, or smiling from the porch as I came home after being out all night on behalf of the famiglia. Always fucking smiling.
“What the hell do you want, huh?” I crush the letter in my fist. Mischa or his fucking daughter won’t destroy Olivia’s memory. Over my dead body. “Did you want to earn tips from my first wife? I’ll give you a hint—stay out of my way.”
She flinches. Not because of the threat, but that word and all the connotation it carries. Wife.
I eye the letter again. Why show me this? To gloat, most likely. Prove that I was always a fuck up—but her cruelty isn’t what sets my nerves on edge. What else might she have gleaned from the other letters?
Why the hell can’t I remember?
“Don’t move.” The words are out of my mouth the second she stands.
I expect her to run, push past me for the door. Instead, she turns to the window, putting her back to me as if I’m as inconsequential to her as Liv thought she was to me.
“You’re so talkative all of a sudden,” I snap. “But you were silent when Mischa threatened to end your little game before it could start. What are you playing at?”
She doesn’t react, but I know she’s processing every word. As I approach, I can see myself reflected in the glass. She already has that fucking lip between her teeth, her eyes blazing—but her knuckles whiten over the windowsill when I finally come close enough to touch her.
“Did you enjoy prying into what a happy marriage was like?” I ask her, raking my gaze along that pale, slender neck. A slight quiver betrays the way she swallows. “Poring over my relationship? I’m sure your father would get a kick out of that. You should have been a good girl today and gone back to him.”
She whirls to face me, her hand outstretched, and a part of me stirs…excited? Either that or fucking relieved. It’s about time she fought back. Hated me. Seethed. Raged.
When her fingers land against my chest with no force behind them, I just assume I’ve overestimated her strength. She’s lost that hellcat spark.
But those eyes pack enough of a punch to make up for the softness, doggedly riveted to mine, blazing like hellfire. One by one, she fans out each finger, grasping my pec. Damn. I know what she’s doing—tracing the letters carved into the flesh beneath the cotton of my shirt—proof of my lie.
Olivia’s name isn’t here. Hers is.
I snatch her wrist, wrenching her around so that her back is to me.
“Was it the fucking you liked reading about?” I ask against her ear, taking a shot in the dark. I’m sure I wrote about the sex; we both did. Private, intimate shit that I should be pissed at her seeing. I’m not. Maybe because I know the truth, she won’t admit to herself. “Were you jealous? You should be, because you’ll never feel that.”
I’m not referring to fucking me, either.
“What it’s like to have a man crave you from the inside out. To have him in your skin. Your soul—”
I break off the second her lips twitch. Silence was never a hindrance to her. God, it’s like I can hear her voice in my head, sly and taunting. But you were. You tried. You watched me.
“I’m not talking about having someone watch you get off, either. You don’t even know what love is, do you?”
Her eyes flit away from mine, and bullseye. I’ve got her.
“You don’t. You have no idea what could drive a man to go to any lengths for you—and I’m not talking about Mischa,” I add, slipping my hand around her throat, letting my thumb play with her windpipe. It doesn’t feel as good as I imagined—it’s even better.
This way, I can feel the slight quiver as she swallows, that involuntary hitch in her breathing. Her fear.
“I’m talking about someone so dedicated to you they’d blow their own brains out if you asked them to,” I say, startled by the rasp in my voice. “They’d give anything. Do anything. The sex isn’t the why—no. It’s the how. You let them into your body, into your soul, and you hook them for life. You want to know what love is? It’s finding the one person who sees the shit in your soul—who you really are—and they don’t even flinch. Can you understand that? No, you can’t.”
I scoff at her ignorance, but inside I’m reeling at my own fucking words. The insanity of it. The truth…
That’s the shit I felt for Liv. Constant need. Constant pain. When she hurt, I ached. When she died, a part of me died right along with her. Her absence left a black hole inside me. Fuck, maybe it’s where my heart should be.
“You have no idea what it’s like to mourn for someone day fucking in and day fucking out, hating yourself for being the reason they’re gone—”
She rotates so quickly I don’t even see the slap coming. Her palm
