DEL MORINO
I was staring out the window when I felt Layla's eyes pressing down on me. The room was flooded with moonlight, which created shadows on the walls that appeared to get bigger by the moment. I couldn't bring myself to speak, not just yet, so our silence dragged on longer than it should have.
Sharing was never my style as a man. Not with anyone. Not her at all. But tonight something was different. I was now staring out of the window as I sipped from a glass of Martini.
There was something about the way she was staring at me that suggested she genuinely wanted to know and understand me.
It made the words flow out of me in a surprising way. For a moment I believed I could ignore it—pretend like nothing was wrong—because the air between us was heavy with unsaid words.
Act as
