Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Color splashed into her cheeks. She sucked in her breath.
“Be honest with me, Bianca. Did you not take the pills because you changed your mind?”
She swallowed and opened her mouth, staring at the pill box. “I . . .” Then she met my eyes again. “Yes. I changed my mind.”
My arm dropped. “Why?”
“Because it wasn’t going to work anyway, and I figure we might as well just stop pretending.”
“And you didn’t think to say anything to me about it?” My pulse was hammering in my head.
She set her wine glass on the nightstand. “I was going to. I just needed some time to process everything.”
“Bianca, this is . . .” I tried to think of what this was. Plenty of words came to mind—hurtful? Shocking? Wrong?—but none of them were exactly what I wanted to say. She had every right not to take the drug, every right to take time to think, every right to decide whether or not she wanted a child with me.
So why did this feel like a punch in the gut?
She got to her knees on the bed, sitting back on her heels, and looked up at me. Her blue eyes were shining. “Please don’t be mad at me, Enzo. Please.” She began to cry. “I tried so hard to talk myself into it, but I just couldn’t. I don’t want the disappointment again. I don’t want to feel like I’m letting you down.”
“You’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” she insisted, wiping away her tears. “I know you want kids, and you can still have them. You don’t need me.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, Enzo.” She got off the bed, putting even more distance between us. “You tried, and I appreciate that. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. And if you need me to stay longer to make sure Moretti & Sons goes to you, I will.”
“Otherwise, what?” I asked, stunned to see her grab a pair of jeans from a dresser drawer I’d turned over to her and tug them on. What the fuck was happening?
“Otherwise, I think it’s best if I go back to my condo.”
“For how long?”
“For good, Enzo.” Her tears kept coming as she took off the plaid pajama shirt and pulled on a gray sweatshirt over the white tank. “It’s better this way, can’t you see?”
“How?”
“Because we can stay friends. I can still help you with the house. We can still talk. We just won’t be . . . together.”
I was dying to go over and take her in my arms, let her blubber all over my shirt, tell her to stop talking this way and get back in bed.
But I stayed put. How was I supposed to argue with what she was saying? I did have what I wanted. She’d fulfilled her end of the deal. And if she’d changed her mind about having a baby with me, there was nothing I could do about it. In fact, I should be glad, shouldn’t I? This last week had been so tough—I didn’t want to live like that.
So why did it hurt so much to watch her packing up to leave?
I stood there with the pill box still in one hand and the contract in the other while she went into the bathroom. I was still frozen in place when she came out with a small cosmetics bag.
“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” she said as she brushed by me without meeting my eyes.
“Okay.” My voice was wooden. I felt numb.
She went to the nightstand and grabbed her book, then headed for the door.
“Bianca, wait.”
She turned slowly, like she was reluctant to look at me. “What?” she whispered.
“This is what you want?” I asked. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Her expression was a mixture of fear and sadness, and I didn’t have the heart to make it worse.
“Can you—can you let me know when you get there?”
“Yes.” Tears filled her eyes again. “I’m really sorry, Enzo. But it’s for the best. Please trust me.”
Then she was gone.
Half an hour later, I was still sitting on the edge of the bed, drinking shitty wine and trying to tell myself she was right and this was for the best, when my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen. Usually seeing the name I’d entered for her in my contacts made me smile, but not tonight.
Old Ball and Chain: I’m home.
No, you’re not, I felt like arguing. But what would be the point?
Me: Thank you.
That was it.
No further words were exchanged between us, despite the fact that we were married, and barely an hour ago we’d been lying here drinking strawberry wine and celebrating our anniversary.
Exhaling, I took the tray downstairs, dumped out the bottle, put the wine glasses in the sink and the heart-shaped chocolate box in the trash.
Back upstairs, I undressed and went into the bathroom, where I saw the diamond earrings I’d given Bianca on our wedding day. They were back in the box, which she’d left open, sitting on the vanity.