Layla
“He doesn’t love you.” Aldo’s words echoed in a flat, toneless bark through the empty hall. Stopping me in my tracks. Shocking me so much I couldn’t even think of a response before he added, “You shouldn’t waste eight years on a man like him, even if he is Eli’s father.”
I almost laughed. Almost. Instead, my response was sharp, cutting. “Of course Marco doesn’t love me. Why do you think we never married? But I don’t think that’s your business—”
“Do you love me?” His words hung between us, like a gunshot, leaving powder in their wake. My heart raced inside my ribcage, in the pulse of my throat. Hard and hot and fierce.
My fingers clenched into fists at my sides. How dare he ask a question like that! After eight years, after he’d walked out on me …
“Nine years ago.” I tilted my he
