Page 73 of Mafia Don's Twisted Proposal
Mia avoids me with surgical precision. She manages to grab dinner and disappear upstairs before I even make it to the kitchen.
She sleeps in the guest room again. Every closed door between us feels like another nail in the coffin of whatever we had.
By afternoon, I’m staring at quarterly reports without seeing the numbers. My head pounds from lack of sleep and too much coffee. When I finally give up and head upstairs for aspirin, I nearly collide with Mia in the hallway.
She looks as lost as I feel.
“Are you okay, baby?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know how to handle any of this. Three weeks ago, my biggest problem was deciding whether to splurge on avocado toast.”
“You’ve been happy here.” I take her hand, relieved when she doesn’t pull away immediately.
“Sure. Look at this place.” Her gesture encompasses the marble floors, the crystal chandelier. “It’s like living in a magazine.”
The words sting.
Her expression softens. “I’ve enjoyed being with you too. But Lorenzo...after today, I don’t know what was real.”
My instinct screams to tell her it was all real. Every moment, every touch, every laugh we’ve shared. But why would she believe me now?
“Come with me.”
I tug her hand, and she stumbles into me. For a split second, her body relaxes against mine, and I catch a hint of her shampoo. The scent hits me like a drug.
She glares up at me, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Where?”
“On a date.”
Her eyebrows raise toward her hairline. “A date? Now?”
“Especially now.” I lead her toward the stairs, ignoring her halfhearted resistance. “Let’s forget about everything else for a few hours. Just you and me doing something reckless.”
That gets her attention. One corner of her mouth twitches before she catches herself and looks away.
“Fine,” she says. “One date. But this doesn’t fix anything.”
I nod, though we both know I’m not giving up after one afternoon.
The drive out of Vegas is quiet except for the wind through the cracked windows. Mia doesn’t ask where we’re going, but I catch her stealing glances at me when she thinks I’m not looking.
I stop for cold drinks, handing her a Diet Coke without asking. She doesn’t question how I know her order anymore. No point in pretending I haven’t memorized every detail about her.
The desert spreads out around us in waves of gold and rust, mountains rising in the distance like ancient guardians.
When we pull up to the ATV rental place, her face transforms.
“Really?” The smile that breaks across her features shuts down every coherent thought I had.
“Have you done this before?”
“Never. Are they hard to control?”
“Not at all.” The voice comes from a kid in a company polo shirt who’s walking out of the building. Early twenties, and his eyes are glued to my wife’s chest like he’s never seen tits before.
I consider how satisfying it would be to rearrange his face. The only thing that stops me is the fact that Mia barely glances at him.
