No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty-Two

Shit. "Why?"

He sets down two mugs with harsh finality onto the countertop.

Time ticks by.

"I'll wait here, Scarlett."

***

I pull open the shower curtain, my lips quivering from the chill of the water, even more so now that I've shut off the steady flow.

I stare at the bleach white towel on the rack, fearful to grab it.

The frigid half-hour waterfall brought me back to sobriety enough to realize just what I've done. The lengths I've taken today to forget my confusion, my pain.

I almost fucked a man who knows nothing about me, but my last name. And that isn't even the worst thing. That isn't the thing that I've repeated over and over in my brain, staring at the navy colored tiles for the past thirty minutes.

I step out of the shower, grabbing the towel.

You are drunk, Scarlett. Drunk.

You insane, stupid woman.

Everything in your life that's screwed is because of alcohol. Everything comes down to a fucking drink.

My whole life, I managed to always keep away from it.

After my mother died. After Dixon's first bad night.

I have never turned to drunken oblivion.

And an argument with Giovanni... a message on a screen... the knowledge of him with another woman was enough to do it. To make me go against myself, my better judgments.

The only thing I am certain of now, more than ever before, is that Giovanni clearly means more to me than I could have ever imagined. He has a power over me that I've never allowed anyone to grasp.

With Giovanni, I am weakened.

I pull the brush from my hair, setting it down onto the counter, feeling oddly incoherent and yet, completely reflective, completely aware... aware of what needs to be done.

Mechanically, I put on a sweatshirt and shorts, gazing into the mirror. I'm not looking at myself, not physically anyway.

With a turn, I'm opening the door, pushing past the headache, the swaying as I enter the bedroom. I place my hand on the dresser, stopping as I take moment to brace myself for what's to come.

Giovanni is going to fight.

So am I.

I move, pushing my hair to my shoulder as I enter the light, my eyes searching watchfully for movement, but there isn't any.

Just Giovanni, still as stone, sitting at my dining table.

I cross my arms, standing just in the doorway.

His finger begins to tap against the rim of his mug. There is another one placed across from him.

"We need to talk," he says without looking up.

"There is nothing to talk about Giovanni."

"Nothing?"

I breathe in, smirking. "Well, you know, maybe there is. Like, maybe we should talk about the fact that you showed up here unannounced and kicked someone out of my apartment like you lived here? If he tells anyone about this—"

"He won't." He breathes in. "He wants you. He won't fuck up his opportunity."

I look down, grimacing angrily. "I made a mistake."