Page 118 of Mafia and Gold Digger

“It’s about the goddamn red roses yourex-boyfriend sent you.”

“No,it’s not.”

My hand balls into a fist. Why does she have to push this? Why does she have to prod and dig and keep going for the kill even when she knows what lies beneath isn’t pretty? “Fuck!” I drag my hand through my hair as I turn from her and pace. But ‘fuck’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Why, Saint?”

“Why, what?” I pause my pacing.

“Why did you do this? And be honest for once with me.”

The dig doesn’t go unnoticed. If anything, it cuts me at the knees. My hand scrubs at my jaw before I finally work up the courage. How has one woman managed to smash through everything the way Emerald has? How can I let her in to see me like this, knowing that all remains in me is some empty fucking pit?

“Fuck,” I hiss. I look her in the eyes. “Fine. You want honest? You want the goddamn truth? Fine!” I step toward her, watching as she backs up toward the bed.

I step forward.

She steps back.

“Because I can’t do that shit, Emerald. Because I can’t ever be the man who brings you flowers and a sappy as shit card for your birthday. I’m not capable of it. This is what you get. And that’s it.” My arms spread wide. “This is the man you’re going to marry. The physical stuff, I’ve got you. But if you want the emotional stuff, I can’t do it.”

She blinks at me shaking her head. “That’s a damn lie.”

“No, Emerald, it’s not. This is probably the most honest I’ve ever been with you.”

She sits on the side of the bed. “Why? Why can’t you give me that?”

I sigh. My body deflates slightly as the anger and jealousy dissipate. I drop to the bed beside her, hanging my head as my hand rubs my neck. “I don’t know any other way to be.”

“This all seems like a rather extreme reaction to red roses and a birthday teddy bear, don’t you think?” she says slowly.

A harsh laugh leaves me as I look up at her. “That…might have been more than just jealousy.”

“You don’t say,” she replies in a dry tone as she looks at the remains of the bear she’s clutching.

I shake my head. “It’s not important.”

“It is.”

“Please, Em…” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Please, don’t push this.”

“That’s not how this works, Saint.”

“Why do you have to be so goddamn stubborn?”

A small smile tilts her lips. “Because I love you, Saint. I care about you. Just explain it to me. Please?”

The softness of her smile soothes some of the heated fury within me, although bile burns my throat at the thought of peeling back my perfectly crafted shell. Of showing her even a glimpse of the man I am beneath it, scared and broken.

“When my parents…died, they used red roses at the funeral.” The words stick in my throat and feel like thorns tearing it raw, each word more painful than the last to grit out.

My mind can’t help wandering back to the day when I turned five—and my childhood fell apart, and I lost my innocence forever. Emerald doesn’t say anything, but her hand squeezes mine, so I tell her about the memories that won’t stop haunting my mind…

It’s my fifth birthday today, and I can hardly sit still. I tug on Mommy’s shirt and beg, “Can we go to the park please?”

“Sure we can, poppet,” she says with a smile, “but it’ll have to be later because we need to finish setting up for your party first.”

Daddy nods in agreement—he’s busy blowing up balloons while Mommy’s pinning the streamers on the wall.

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