REINA
I shoved him so hard my wrists ached.
My palms slamd into his chest with every ounce of anger and fear I could muster. For one brief, satisfying second, I felt the solid wall of muscle shift backward.
But Donico barely moved.
He absorbed the push like it was nothing, his dark eyes never leaving mine. Calm. Steady. Almost amused by my resistance.
"What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped, wiping my mouth aggressively with the back of my hand as if I could scrub away the mory of his lips.
"You kissed back," he said, voice low and certain.
"I did not!"
"You didn’t stop it either," he replied smoothly. "Not right away."
My stomach churned. "That’s not the sa thing. I was shocked. I—"
He tilted his head slightly, studying like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. "You’re alone right now, Reina. On your anniversary night."
The words hit harder than the kiss had.
"He left because he had sothing important to handle," I said sharply, trying to convince both him and myself. "He’ll be back soon."
Donico exhaled slowly, a sound laced with sothing that felt dangerously close to pity.
"Or he won’t."
My chest tightened painfully. "What is that supposed to an?"
"I’ve known n like Paolo my whole life," he continued, voice soft but relentless. "n who leave when it becos inconvenient. When the night grows long and sothing — or soone — more exciting appears on the horizon. They always have a reason. Until one day the reasons stop mattering."
"That’s not Paolo," I whispered, but my voice wavered.
Donico noticed the crack imdiately.
He stepped closer. I backed up until my spine pressed against the cold stone pillar in the garden.
"And yet," he murmured, "here you are. Alone. Calling a man who isn’t answering. On the one night he should be worshiping you."
Tears stung my eyes. I hated how right the silence in the house felt now. Paolo’s phone had gone straight to voicemail for the third ti.
"You don’t know anything about my marriage," I said, but the words ca out weaker than I intended.
"I know enough," Donico replied quietly. "I know he left you tonight. I know you’ve been sitting here waiting like a forgotten wife. Tell sothing, Reina..." His voice dropped even lower. "Did he even hesitate before walking out that door? Did he try to hold you? Kiss you properly? Or did he just... leave?"
The question sliced through .
My mind betrayed instantly.
Yesterday...
The mory flashed unbidden — Paolo rushing out of my apartnt the day before, barely looking at after our kiss. The way he pulled away so quickly, almost like my touch had burned him. The hurried excuse: "I have to et soone." He hadn’t even waited for to respond before disappearing.
What if he couldn’t stand kissing ?
What if being close to a woman disgusted him?
What if the person he had to et so urgently was... a man?
His lover?
The thoughts ca fast and ugly, twisting like knives in my gut. Maybe that’s why he never really touches anymore. Maybe that’s why he always seems distant. Maybe Paolo is gay and has been hiding it all this ti.
I shook my head hard, trying to push the poisonous thoughts away.
Donico watched every micro-expression on my face with frightening patience.
"You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?" he said softly. "Wondering where he really is tonight. Who he’s really with."
"Stop," I breathed, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "You’re twisting everything."
"I’m not twisting anything. I’m just saying what you already feel." He took another slow step forward. "You deserve to be seen, Reina. You deserve to be wanted. Not left behind like an afterthought while he chases whatever — or whoever — is calling him away."
My breathing grew shallow. The night air felt colder now, wrapping around my bare arms like an accusation.
"I shouldn’t be listening to this," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
"But you are," Donico said gently. He was close enough now that I could sll his cologne — dark, expensive, intoxicating. "Because deep down, you know sothing is wrong. A man who truly loves his wife doesn’t leave her alone on their anniversary. Not without a fight. Not without making sure she feels cherished."
I pressed my lips together, fighting the lump rising in my throat.
He continued, voice like velvet over steel:
"n like that get pulled away. They get distracted. Sotis by work. Sotis by secrets. Sotis by desires they’ve buried for years..."
Desires for n.
The thought wouldn’t leave alone now. I kept picturing Paolo yesterday — the tension in his shoulders when I tried to pull him closer, the speed with which he left, the vague "soone" he had to et. What if that soone was his homosexual lover? What if all this ti he had been living a lie?
My silence stretched too long.
Donico’s eyes softened with sothing that looked like sympathy but felt like victory.
"You don’t deserve to spend tonight waiting and hurting," he whispered. "You don’t deserve to wonder if the man you married would rather be sowhere else — with soone else."
"Stop getting inside my head," I snapped, but my voice cracked miserably.
"I’m not inside your head, Reina. I’m just saying out loud what you’re already thinking." He lifted his hand slowly, giving every chance to pull away, and gently brushed his knuckles along my jaw. "Just one night. Stay with . No expectations. No pressure. Just company. Just soone who actually wants to be here with you."
I turned my face away, heart hamring.
"I can’t. I’m married."
"You’re married to a man who left you tonight," he countered softly. "Who left you yesterday too, didn’t he? Rushing off like he couldn’t wait to get away from you."
The words hit like ice water.
Yesterday... rushing out after barely kissing back... telling he had to et soone...
Tears finally spilled over.
"What if..." My voice was barely a whisper. "What if he doesn’t want because... because I’m a woman?"
Donico didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang there, let it poison further.
I kept going, the suspicion pouring out in a broken rush. "What if he’s gay? What if the person he rushed to et yesterday is his lover? A man. Maybe that’s why he pulls away every ti I try to get close. Maybe that’s why he never really wants ..."
My chest heaved with silent sobs.
Donico stepped even closer, his body heat wrapping around . His hand finally cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear with terrifying tenderness.
"You’re beautiful. Desirable. Any real man would kill to have you," he murmured, voice thick with intent. "If Paolo can’t see that... if he’s chasing sothing else... then he doesn’t deserve you tonight."
I closed my eyes, drowning.
Paolo still hadn’t called back.
The house was still empty.
And Donico was here — warm, insistent, telling everything I was terrified was true.
"I... I don’t know anymore," I whispered, voice shaking violently.
Donico leaned in until his forehead almost touched mine.
"Then don’t be alone tonight," he breathed. "Stay with . Just one night. Let show you what it feels like to be wanted. Really wanted."
The fight drained out of slowly, painfully.
My resistance had been worn down to almost nothing.
"...Just one night?" I whispered, the words tasting like betrayal.
Donico’s eyes flashed with dark, hungry satisfaction.
"Just one night," he promised, though we both knew it was a lie.
Before I could change my mind, he closed the remaining distance and kissed again — deeper this ti, slower, more possessive. His arms slid around my waist, pulling flush against him.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t speak.
He simply bent down, scooped up into his arms as if I weighed nothing, and began carrying toward his building with long, confident strides.
His lips found mine again as he walked, kissing like a man who had waited far too long for this victory.
And I let him.
Because the silence from Paolo hurt too much.
Because the doubts he planted had taken root too deep.
Because in that mont, being wanted — even by the wrong man — felt better than being forgotten.
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