Before the complications.
Before we both changed for the worst.
Before we ended our marriage and everything that came with it.
I know what it feels like to be on the opposite side of that smile—it’s contagious. Almost intoxicating. I used to be willing to give anything to be the one who made him happy. The twins are those lucky people now, and I hope they never grow sick of our devotion for them. The same applies to Addilyn. They will always be on the other end of our smiles, even if we never look at each other in that same way again.
“So, what’s this boy’s name?”
“Samuel.”
“You’re far too young for that, darling. I’m the only man who can kiss you.” She giggles at Giulio’s attack of cheek kisses. “No other boy will do that until you’re older and until it is truly what you want. Understood, carina?”
“I promise, Daddy.”
“Good.”
“Don’t worry, Ma.” Oscar winks and nudges the dip of my waist. “All the girls try and hold my hand at school but I don’t want none of them. You’re the best hand holder.”
“No, you’re the best. I love you!” I hold onto him tightly, never wanting to let go.
When I do pull back, Giulio’s hot gaze lands on mine and it’s all over. The pact I made with myself to reserve all my nerves shatters into a million pieces as those eyes burn straight through me. They’re heavenly fire. A perfect concoction of gray with specks of powder blue in the center.
It’s as if he can see me. All of me.
The twins run off down the hall, and as much as I want to pull away, I don’t. I’m trapped in his stare, at his mercy from all the emotion it brings. We remain in silence, inactive in clutching our past, and so instead, we simply stare at one another as if we are in foreign lands. Our bodies are inches apart, so much so that I can feel his hot breath tickle my lips. It shouldn’t affect me this much. I should be able to stand and venture into the kitchen.
Instead, I stay.
And so does he. For now…
The vision of him during therapy replays in my mind. Do you still want me?
As much as I want to say yes, I can’t. Just because I’m still attracted to Giulio doesn’t mean we have a resolution. Our sentiments are and always will be laid out on the table. I still feel that beat in my chest when I see him, but it’s not for complete infatuation, it’s for disappointment. It’s heartache and devastation all in one.
Giulio answers the question for me as the muscles in his jaw tighten before he retreats.
I thought these five months would have provided me with a small comfort or some sense of security at least, but it hasn’t. Our daughter is still missing and I’m just as heartbroken that we can’t see the entire case eye to eye as the first day.
The large tear in my heart mimics the sound that comes from ripping the paper from therapy into shreds. I should have been honest and told Dr. Eross that I couldn’t comply. Not only have I let him down, but I’ve let myself down too.
My mouth waters in the kitchen from the sweet aromas of Giulio’s homemade cooking. It soon turns bitter when I open the trash can to throw away the paper, only to find half a dozen red roses.
“Were these for…”
“You? Yes, partly. They were for Addilyn too.”
“What happened?”
Shards of smoky glass circle his eyes as Giulio opens and closes his mouth. A sharp, staggered breath escapes me and when I finally do open my eyes again, his back is to me. He’s slowly stirring the pasta and by the white noise between us, I know our conversation is over.
This is certainly not what I imagined life would be like marrying the man of my dreams. The cracks only appeared after we became skin deep in a missing person investigation.
“I’m cooking your favorite.”
Spaghetti Bolognese.
“Thank you.” I fail to mention every single one of his dishes is my favorite. They still are because they remind me of him. Of us. Giulio has always been a passionate cook; it’s the Italian in him.
In an attempt to distract myself, I focus on the accents of brushed brass and white marble surrounding us. My gaze flickers to the cream herringbone backsplash tiles. The kitchen is dim and moody, producing an elusively false sense of romanticism.
I despise the way my eyes are drawn back to him to analyze his jawline and straight nose. His attractive features, that narrowed waist, and his impressively toned body plunges me from my thoughts as he turns to face me. Giulio should be miles away and I should be able to breathe properly.
“How was therapy?”
“It was…progressive.”
“Good to hear. Is everything else okay?” His voice comes out softer than I expected.
Giulio’s question remains in the air when I grasp two wine glasses. No. Nothing is okay.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem different tonight.”
“You can judge all that based upon the two minutes we’ve seen each other?”
“No,” Giulio rejects sternly. “I can judge that based upon the seven years I knew you.”
I knew you.
The words are toxins against my ears. Past tense. They have no meaning. None.
Giulio fell in love with the type of woman I once was. Before all the shit got in the way. Now, he is left to adapt to the changed person I am. I know this because I find myself doing the same with him. That’s what makes it harder, that we have to accept that perhaps we’ll never be the people we once were. Coincidentally, it’s also the equalizer between us, the only thing that is fair as we’re both struggling to comprehend it.
I take a step forward and grip the necks of two
