MasukShe left him five years ago, long before he became the ruthless billionaire the world now fears. Now she’s ready to marry again but first, she needs his signature. Except Enzo Wayne doesn’t plan to let go. He’s waited five years to remind her what belonging means. One signature, one demand, one impossible month..and one question neither of them wants to answer: What if she never stopped loving him?
Lihat lebih banyakOlive stayed after Maya fell asleep.Olive and I migrated to the back porch. It was cold enough to need the blankets Maya kept in the basket by the door, and we took one each and sat in the old chairs that had been on this porch since Maya moved in.Neither of us spoke for a while.Olive was good at silence, the kind that meant I'm here and I'm not going anywhere and you can take whatever time you need. She'd always been like that, even in school, the quiet one in a group of people who were always loud.It was why I was grateful to have her here."I don't know how to say it to him," I said eventually.Olive pulled her blanket higher. "Say it to me first."I looked at her."Practice," she said simply. "I'll be Enzo. Say it to me the way you need to say it to him.""Olive…""You just told me and Maya the whole story," she said. "But that was different. That was telling your friends. Telling him is a different thing entirely." She looked at me steadily. "Practice it. Get the words in you
Maya made tea.That was the first thing she did when we got inside, before questions or anything else.I sat at her kitchen table.Olive arrived twenty minutes late and we sat with our tea in silence.Then Olive said, quietly, "Whenever you're ready."I started at the beginning.I told them about our apartment in New York.How it had started well, the two of us building something together, his company in its early stages, both of us working, tired, and telling ourselves that the long hours were temporary, a season, something that would ease when the next milestone was reached.H
It’s been four days since the Wednesday dinner, and I am still not myself.It probably wouldn’t be visible to people that didn’t know me, but for someone like Enzo, it was impossible to hide from him. I could see the effort he put into not pushing for me to share, whatever it was that was making me pull away. I appreciated it, and it was also making everything harder.It was Saturday morning, Enzo was at my apartment because we'd planned to go to the farmers market. We had breakfast.I was present enough to answer questions and pour coffee and perform the basic tasks, but something on my face must have shown exactly the kind of pressure I was putting on myself, because he was looking at me like he was running out of patience. "Elena," he said."Mm.""What did I do?"I turned to look at him.He was holding the dishtowel and looking at me."Nothing," I said."Something is wrong. It's been days, and you're…" he stopped, then continued, "...you're here, but you're not here. And I've bee
It was a Wednesday.I remember that specifically because Wednesday had become our dinner night. He cooked. He always cooked when we were at his place, which was fine with me because Enzo in a kitchen is one of my favorite things and a perk of being in a relationship with him. He cooked the way he did everything he cared about, with full attention and the results were extraordinary in a way that made my own efforts little.Tonight was pasta again. This one is different from the last one, something with a sauce that had been simmering long enough to make the whole apartment smell like somewhere in Italy.I was sitting at the kitchen island watching him finish it, wine in hand, enjoying the view.I'd been working up to it all week.Telling him.After the conversation about Felicia, after the days of quiet and the evening on the couch where he'd held me without asking anything, after thinking about everything thoroughly, I'd arrived at a decision.He needed to know.The pregnancy was the
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