Page 151 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Ten minutes.

Twenty.

I haven’t moved. My finger hovers over her name.

Finally, after thirty minutes, I hit the call button.

She doesn’t pick up. “Hello, you’ve reached the personal voicemail of Tatiana Cole Rossi. Please leave a message after the tone.”

Tatiana ColeRossi.

The reminder of what we had brings a tear to my eyes.

The beep sounds, and suddenly words are pouring out of me, raw and unfiltered.

“Tatiana. I know you won’t listen to this. I know you hate me right now, and you should. What I did was unforgivable.” I pause. “You were right about me, Tatiana. I am a coward. I am.”

I laugh bitterly, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. I pause again. Finally:

“I love you, Tatiana. More than anything in this world. And I’m not saying that to get you back. I’m saying it because it’s true, and because you deserve to hear it at least once, even if it’s too late. Even if you never forgive me.”

The voicemail beeps, signaling the end of the recording time.

“To save your message, hit 1,” a friendly voice comes over the line. “To delete it and record again, hit 2.”

For a long moment, I stare at the phone, at her name on the screen. Then I hit 2.

Delete.

She doesn’t need my confession. My guilt. My pathetic attempt at redemption.

She deserves to move on. To find someone worthy of her.

I drag myself off the floor, leaving the broken glass where it fell.

In the bedroom, her scent still lingers on the pillows. I think of the nights we spent here, together.

The moments when I almost let myself believe this could be real.

Then I think of her face at the restaurant. Of the betrayal in her eyes.

It’s over.

It’s truly over.

I collapse on the bed, and simply stare, unblinking, at the ceiling.

It’s over.

41

Dominic

Ilie on the floor of my penthouse, staring at the ceiling. The whiskey bottle sits empty beside me. I don’t remember finishing it. Don’t even remember leaving the bedroom.

Sleep won’t come. Whether my eyes are opened or closed, I see her face. The shock. The disgust.

You tried to trade me. To hand me off to your brother like some sick peace offering.

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