Twisted Fate (Dark Heart 2)

“Italy? Why?”

He gives a dry laugh, and with his green eyes flashing, he says, “Why the fuck not? You tell everyone I’m working there for six months. As if anyone will ask.”

His dark blond hair is sticking up, his work shirt is unbuttoned to his pecs, and he’s been sitting on the opposite side of the couch since we drifted into the living room. He’s got one leg tucked up toward his chest, and both his arms around it. His handsome face is as somber as a granite statue. Now I understand why.

“Are you sure there’s nothing you can do?”

He lifts a brow. “I’m sure there’s nothing I will do.”

“Why not stay and work for one of the competitors? Play double agent, screw him over? Or is that a stupid question?”

He smiles thinly, too kind to say it’s a very stupid question.

“Everyone will know,” he offers quietly, staring blankly out in front of him.

It’s true, I’m sure. Word travels fast in this city, and in niche sectors, it must be even worse.

“I am so, so sorry, Jacey.” I scoot closer to him. “Would it help if we got pregnant?”

“We?” He rubs a hand over his face and blows a breath out. “Jesus Christ, what did I do?”

“What do you mean?”

He stands up, shaking his head, looking tortured. “I fucked up your life, too, being so damn selfish.”

He stalks out of the room. A minute later, I hear his footsteps on the floor above my head. I wait a while before I follow, giving him some time to calm down.

By the time I hug Jace at the airport the next morning, both of us are just a little better.

“Every evening for you, you’ll call. Promise?” I ask.

He nods, chin against my shoulder as he curls himself around me. “Yeah, I promise.” He stands to his full height, pressing his lips flat. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely, hugging me hard.

“Oh, you know there’s nothing to say thank you for. I didn’t do anything special. Having a husband abroad in Italy is the most exciting thing I’ve got going on right now—and you know that’s true.” I squeeze him hard. “Send me every single picture. You know you’ll always have a room in my house and a spot on my bed.”

“We should get divorced,” he rasps.

I ruffle his hair. “Shut up, Jacey. Just shut up, and take your way-too-handsome ass and sit it in that first class seat and have a little too much wine. But not a lot too much. When you get there, use that melatonin I gave you to get on the right time zone, and then get lost in all those gorgeous places. I’ll be there in two weeks for our five-day weekend.”

He nods, looking at my face for a long moment before turning away.

“I love you,” I call as he strides toward the check-in desk.

His grin makes the last few weeks seem okay. “I love you more.”

I dash over to him for one more hug, which makes us both cry. Then I make my way through the maze of escalators, stairs, and corridors before arriving at the black car Jace insisted we take—even though he’s cut off from his family’s money. He’d do anything for me.

I look out the window, watching Manhattan slide by in the blinks of my perpetually watering eyes. When I get home, I go straight to my bed, curl under the indigo silk sheets and fleecy blankets and fluffy duvet, and I tumble into sleep.

I dream of him—the only thing I ever see when I close my eyes—but when I wake near dinner time, I pretend I didn’t. Even to myself, I pretend. What does it matter? I might as well be actually married, for all that I could ever be with Luca. If you’re married, you can divorce.

What can I do? If I were to publicly be with him, I’d ruin my legacy—assuming that I end up having one of those. Everyone would see me as corrupt, a liar. My victory—winning as a young female—would be a smear on women’s efforts in Manhattan politics. What’s worse than a D.A. who fucks a mob don?

Nothing. That’s the answer.

I am not dishonest. I play by the rules. It’s bad luck that got me here, to this place where I am now. It’s not my fault. I kind of…really am a victim. Of chance, or fate. Whatever.

I can choose to block him out of my mind and move forward. That’s the only logical course. I can just…move on. Force myself. One day, after some time, it will become easier. I’m not religious, but I pray for that.

Help me forget. Make me not love him. Please.

Spring comes fully into bloom, and then unfurls to early summer. I fly to Italy to frolic with Jace twice. When I get back the second time, I do the hardest thing I’ve done in months: call the P.I. I hired and tell him that it’s time to take the camera down.