ANTONIO
I’m on fire. At least I think I’m on fire. Stella’s hands are all over me, rubbing all the right places, kissing my neck, breathing deeply in my ear.
“Fuck.” I bite her lip and pull away to see her kaleidoscope eyes. How can anyone have eyes like this?
“Antonio.” She leans further away from me, and I study her eyes. She doesn’t have to continue. I know she’s stopping this.
“You’re right.” I shove my hand through my waves and wipe her taste from my lips.
“I—”
“It’s fine, Stella. I get it.”
“Antonio—” I don’t need her pity. I’m weak. I fucked up and kissed her again. Fuck. Why am I like this?
I hear her heels clicking on the wood floors after me, but I don’t stop or turn around. She manages to grab my hand in front of the stairs, and I’m set on whipping it away to punish her for making me want her, and then everyone’s heads tilt to us. Shit. Forgot about them being here.
“Everything okay?” Madame Lombardi asks.
“Yeah.” Stella sniffs, and I glance back at her teary eyes. Damn, I’ll be fine, honestly. I can get any woman I want. She doesn’t have to cry for me. My chest swells with pain because she’s sad, and I don’t like this cycle.
I grip her hand and squeeze it, eyes wide, so she knows she doesn’t need to be upset. Why is seeing her sad the worst thing in the world? It’s a hundred times more painful to think that I might be the reason. I promise myself I won’t be around enough to ever see that look in her eyes. After tonight, we are purely just for show. I can’t risk being around her anymore.
She seems to play off my cue because she blinks her tears away and steps up next to me.
“Well, come sit. Alk made a lovely spread.” Madame Lombardi beckons us, and we move like robots to our seats, smiling like we’re the happiest couple in the world. Inside I feel a deep dread, and I can’t shake it. Earlier today, I felt the same thing. When I went against my better judgment and tried to go along with Stella to that meeting.
I told myself I’d keep my distance, and the second I went back on that, it blew up in my face. There’s nothing I can say to Stella to clarify that I don’t want to be friends when this is over because I can’t even look at her without wanting to fuck her. But it’s deeper than that now. For some horrible twist of fake dating fate, I care about what she thinks… Like who I am as a person is supposed to be good in her eyes, or I feel fucking miserable.
What the fuck is up with that?
Dinner goes well, I think. I can’t really tell if anyone senses anything between us apart from what we tell them we are. We act like we used to before I fucked things up by having sex with her. I almost believe it’s real, so I don’t see why our families wouldn’t believe our lie.
We say goodbye to the very last person— Tito, talking Stella’s ear off. And when the door closes, I swiftly lift my arm from around her shoulders, slink up the stairs silently, and shut my door as quickly as I can.
The rest of the week is just as bland. We make appearances out in public, then in private, we’re strangers. Complete Jekyll and Hydes. I do a couple scouting missions every other day with Jack in the afternoons and late evenings, which I’m glad to do because it keeps my mind off her. Jack might be annoyingly gung-ho about every little thing, but at least he’s not Stella.
On Thursday evening, Jack calls it a night at around five. I’m not pleased with this because I know Stella’s schedule this week. She printed off a copy and taped it to my door. I think this was her attempt at getting us to spend time together, but I’m using it as a way to avoid her.
I’m sure she feels bad for me— my attempting to constantly fuck her to no avail (except that one time), and nothing we do means anything to her. It doesn’t to me either… but for some reason, it fucks with my brain and makes me think things about her, I wouldn’t think about anyone.
I’m not the sentimental type; I don’t do serious romantic relationships. It’s not who I am. So, why is Stella Lombardi stuck in my head like an annoying top 100’s pop song? (Yeah, I still listen to the radio. Sue me.)
When I get home, I head up the stairs quickly and quietly—a motto of mine this past week— and slip into my room without a word from Stella. She may be out for the night, but I doubt it. She’s a well-structured person. Kinda fucking annoying if you ask me… then again, I’m terrible at structure, so it is a little impressive. Dammit. I can’t even insult the woman in my mind without turning it into something positive.
I need a shower because all I can think about is the way she looks naked. Cold— I need a cold shower. My legs take me to the bathroom before I can think about anything else, but when I open the door, my heart stops.
“What the fuck?!” Stella is screaming at me to get out, covering her naked body that’s in my shower.
“What are you doing in my shower?” I look away as she calms down.
“Mine’s been broken. I’ve been showering here this week.” I narrow my eyes and glare back at her, remember she’s naked and turn my head to the door.
“Jesus, Stella. Well, why didn’t you tell me? Or at least lock the door?”
“Sorry.”
I unclench my fists and breathe out slowly.