Rafé
Sitting on my apartment balcony with my tie in my pocket and a drink that wasn’t helping.
I’d told myself I was ready to see her again. I wasn’t.
Serafina in white, pearls at her throat, a ring under a thousand cameras. Standing next to him.
Dante Romano.
I set the glass down and scrolled through the photos already splashed across the gossip sites. There we were—three frames caught from the crowd. One of me looking at her like an i***t. One of her smiling for someone else. One where he had his hand at her waist and I wanted to break my own rules.
The phone buzzed with the message I’d already reread ten times.
Can’t make lunch. Family obligations. Another time.
Polite. Careful.
I thumbed out a reply, deleted it, tried again.
I meant what I said tonight. I missed y
