Page 104 of Forty, Flirty & F*cked

So I do the only thing I can.

I walk away, calling a car.

And this time, she doesn’t follow.

My phone buzzes when I slide into the back of the waiting car.

ARIANA: I’m sorry

ARIANA: Not for loving you

ARIANA: But for making you afraid to love me back

I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Then I delete it.

26

THE WEIGHT OF WORDS UNSAID

ARIANA

Three days after Monaco, Seattle's weather matches my mood—all steel-gray skies and the kind of rain that feels like the universe is crying with you. Or maybe that's just the protein powder fumes getting to me.

"It's not that bad," Dad insists, stirring what appears to be a radioactive smoothie. "The marketing team says green is very on-trend."

"Dad." I look up from where I've been hiding in his kitchen, surrounded by failed attempt number twelve at Nonna Flora's lasagna. "Your smoothie is glowing."

"That's the superfood blend!" He beams. "Want to try the new formula? Bristol's Bodacious Blend 2.0—now with extra spirulina!"

"I think I'll stick with drowning my sorrows in carbs." I poke at the congealed pasta. "Though apparently I can't even manage that right anymore."

"Sweetheart..."

“It’s fine.” I stand, needing to move. “I’m…fine. So, please. Don’t treat me like some broken thing, Dad. I just can’t.”

"You're not broken." He sets down the smoothie. "You're hurting. There's a difference."

"Is there?" I gesture to the kitchen chaos. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm doing a pretty good job of destroying everything I touch."

Just like I destroyed things with Connor.

Just like I ruin everything good in my life by trying to control it.

"That's not true." Dad moves closer. "You've never destroyed anything. You've only ever tried to protect people. To be strong for everyone else."

"Yeah?" My laugh sounds hollow. "How's that working out?"

Before he can answer, Lily bursts in, brandishing what appears to be several thousand dollars' worth of shopping bags.

"Retail therapy!" She announces. "Plus wine. And possibly some slightly illegal Italian chocolates that may or may not have required bribing a customs official."

"Lily..."

"Nope!" She begins unpacking. "No arguing. No wallowing. No more stress-cooking Italian food while pretending you're not thinking about a certain billionaire's pancake preferences."

I definitely haven't been thinking about Connor's pancakes. Or his hands. Or the way he looked at me that last night in Monaco, like I'd broken something precious.

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