Our Little Secret by Rachael Stewart (free ebook novel txt) 📕

she’s gone and I’m alone, more alone than I’ve ever felt before.

I stare at the open doorway, hear her footsteps becoming ever more distant, and I know I can’t run after her. Because what can I say? I’m a changed man? I do want more? I want it all?

I leave the castle before the temptation to do it wins out. I don’t return until nightfall, until I know she’s long gone, and the risk of feeding her a pack of lies to get what I want is gone.

But I’m in hell. Miserable. Lost. Grieving. Not even the grappa I’ve consumed can numb the pain.

I’m still like it a week later, when the wedding feels like a distant memory and the castle is empty save for Mamma and Giovanni, who extended their visit at my invitation. It’s a selfish gesture because I hoped they would be a distraction, a way to get over the mess in my head, in my heart, and move on.

It doesn’t succeed. Not them, not work, nothing.

It’s Saturday night, exactly seven days since she left, and I find myself back in the library. I’m lying on the divan, staring at the spot on which she stood, when she told me she couldn’t stay, that she couldn’t stay and not fall for me. Fall in love. After one week.

It’s not possible. She’s not. I’m not.

No.

But the pain, the emptiness deep down inside...

I fall asleep staring, remembering, hurting.

‘Rafael! Rafael!’ I wake with a start, the hand that’s shaking me sending pain ricocheting through my skull—the delayed gift of grappa.

‘What? What?’ I focus through the haze to see my mother staring down at me.

‘I brought you a cappuccino. You look like you need it.’

I catch a waft of it on the air and it wakes up my sluggish senses. I grumble a thank you and push myself up to sitting, reaching for the cup. I breathe the scent in and feel my mother’s eyes on me.

‘What is it?’

‘Dani called me,’ she says softly. ‘She’s worried about you.’

‘I think she’s more worried about Faye.’

‘She’s worried about the two of you.’

I take a sip of the coffee, appreciating its familiar taste, the hit of caffeine.

‘She also suggested we talk. About the past, not just Faye.’

I look at my mother and my conversations with Faye come back to me—her gentle encouragement to do just this, her crystal blue eyes warm with her compassion, her understanding... My throat closes over. I miss her. I miss her so goddamned much.

‘Let me shower.’ It’s gruff, my voice unrecognisable even to me. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

‘Bene.’

And maybe, just maybe, I can make sense of the way I feel because one thing’s for sure: I can’t go on like this. I can’t.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT’S BEEN TWO weeks since I returned from Tuscany. Two weeks, and I’m walking through life like a zombie. If I don’t pull myself together soon, I’m going to have bigger things to worry about than a broken heart. The career I worked so hard for will be on the line.

Last week I slept through my alarm and missed the start of a crucial debrief. Yesterday I managed to present the sales and marketing strategy for the coming year wearing my blouse inside out, and today the CEO pulled me aside with a very concerned frown and asked if I was okay, suggested I should maybe take another holiday, in the hope I’d come back like me again.

I cringe even now as I sit on my sofa and stuff another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth, trying to forget. But even dreamy cookies and cream has lost its ability to make everything feel okay.

This whole situation is ridiculous. I knew him for one week. One week. And now my entire life has been turned on its head. Even my house is starting to look as though it’s been taken over by a bunch of youths who don’t know how to clean up after themselves.

This isn’t me. It’s not.

I stare at the half-empty pizza box and the greasy slices I couldn’t bring myself to finish and realise the truth. It is me. And I did fall in love. I do have a broken heart.

But...

I had an incredible week. My eyes were opened wide to the passion that’s possible with the right man. And Rafael was almost that man. Almost.

And if I had my time over, I’d do it all again. Even with the pain of now.

I slap the lid back on the ice-cream carton and head to the kitchen. No more feeling sorry for myself. I need to get back in control of my life, my heart, the whole damn lot.

The doorbell goes, as though rejoicing with me, and I check the time. It’s nine in the evening. Who could possibly want to call by at such a late hour? Dad wouldn’t. My friends would text first. Cold caller? This late?

It rings again and I’m already walking towards it, ice-cream pot still in hand as I pull the door open with the other. I blink. Blink again. It can’t be... It can’t...

‘Rafael?’

He’s as grey as the rainy backdrop of Chelsea behind him, water beading in his hair, on his lashes, but it’s him—definitely him.

‘Faye.’ His eyes flicker as he sucks in a breath and wets his lips. ‘Can I come in, please?’

I lower my gaze and step back, opening the door wider, but I can’t find my voice, can’t even breathe as he enters and his scent engulfs me. I count to three. There are so many thoughts racing through my brain, so many possibilities. Is he here to apologise or is it something more? I don’t dare let the hope take hold, not again.

‘Faye.’ He sounds as if he’s talked himself hoarse, the rasp in his voice making it barely recognisable. I feel his hand on my shoulder and I duck away, turning to face him, my eyes wide.

‘Please, don’t touch me.’ I can’t stand the contact after two weeks of nothing, no call,