After a horrible accident, Nemesis Ace has felt nothing but gratitude towards Alessio Romano, the man who had stepped in during one of the most terrifying moments of her life.
But that's all he was supposed to be. The man who happened to witness a...
It has been a month since Alessio left. It was hard at first. Really hard. I don't know how many tears I've spilled, but it was a lot.
On the day he left, I cried and stayed in bed.
Matt has been forcing me to take my meds, and I've been taking them for a while, even to the point where he trusted that I could take them myself, without having him to encourage me to take them.
But that was a mistake on his part.
Alessio had sent some texts, trying to soothe the pain, but it didn't help.
I just couldn't believe that he'd leave. Just couldn't wrap my head around the fact. It was hard, realizing that I can't call him and ask if I can see him. Which was something I used to do.
Matt told me it was for the best if I deleted his number, so I did.
But as the days continued, I got better as well. I slowly got over him, although my mind often wanders towards the English man and I find myself wondering what he's doing. If he's happy.
If he has someone else.
I take a sip of my dirty martini and let my eyes dart around the club. I was feeling like going out tonight, so I texted Jason and told him that I'm coming over, so he let me in.
I painted my lips a blood-red and put on my favorite, black dress. It reaches till my mid-thigh and shows some good cleavage. My hair is falling in straight waves over my back, looking silky as ever.
The club is not that crowded tonight, but not as usual which I'm not used to. Every time I come here, it's packed. But tonight, it's alright.
My attention is attracted towards the door. A tall man enters, dressed in a black suit and with his brown hair slicked back. His attention is focused on his phone as he enters, his tongue slipping out to wet his plump and rosy lips.
He has slightly tan skin, which sparks some interest in me. His face is sculpted and has me wondering how there are such beautiful people out there. He has broad shoulders and a lean body – from what I can tell.
When my eyes wander towards his calloused hands, I notice a wedding band glinting at me. Mocking me.
I take another sip of the alcoholic drink in my hands and lick my lips for a split second.
When he looks up, our eyes meet for a brief second before he averts them again, to continue looking around.
Chocolate brown eyes.
He takes a seat at the bar, a few feet away from where I'm seated. "Scotch, on the rocks, please," he asks, his voice deep.
No particular accent detected. I can tell he's from the West side of the U.S.
Probably from Los Angeles. Maybe he's moved here.
For the rest of the night, we keep sitting there at the bar, my eyes occasionally glancing over at him whereas his eyes are focused on his phone.
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