Layla
I paced a lap across the sprawling room, from the oversized bed to the towering armoir. Back again. The bathroom behind me was silent, like Aldo didn’t dare move. Maybe he feared my wrath.
Good. He should. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
And scorned I surely was.
No. I’d been scored eight years ago when he’d left me for another woman. This … This was so far past scorn, I’d need to invent a new category. He’d left me for another woman—and he wasn’t even with the other woman!
I don’t know why, but that somehow made it all hurt worse. Because he hadn’t left me for her, hadn’t been swept up in her Italian beauty, in the sultry sensuality I couldn’t offer.
Maybe that would have been forgivable, understandable, even. We were twenty-six. Young. Naive. Rash. I could have forgiv
