Page 47 of Please, Forgive Me
How long had I been holding back? How long had I been pretending this wasn’t more than a fleeting whim? Months? Years?
I’d always prided myself on my self-control—my ability to keep work and everything else separate. But with her, it was becoming impossible.
Every word she spoke seemed to pull me in deeper. Every casual glance left me more intrigued. I couldn’t pretend anymore that this was just physical.
I wanted her—in a way I’d never wanted another woman.
“Maria Gabriela.” My voice came out deeper than I expected, and she looked up, startled by the interruption.
“Yes?” She looked confused, maybe even a little wary.
I studied her for a moment, searching for the right words.
But how do you put into words something you’ve barely managed to admit to yourself? That you wanted more than her efficiency, more than her professionalism—that you wanted her entirely?
“I need you more than you think.” The words slipped out before I could come up with something softer.
She froze, like the gears in her mind had locked up. She blinked a few times, trying to process what she’d just heard. In her eyes I could see shock, confusion… and something else.
Something she was trying to hide.
“What…?” she started, but the words fell apart on her tongue.
I knew it would catch her off guard. I’d always kept everything under control.
Cold. Calculated. But not now. Not with her.
I moved closer, closing the space between us, my eyes locked on hers. I knew I was crossing a dangerous line, but it didn’t matter anymore.
“Don’t run from this.” My voice dropped to a near whisper. “I know you feel it too. I know you’re trying to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. Not with you.”
She’d gone pale, stunned, like the ground had just shifted beneath her. Her eyes were wide, unsettled.
“Diego… I…” She couldn’t finish.
I was used to controlling situations, but with her, everything was different.
The silence that followed was unbearable. Suddenly, I saw her body tilt slightly back, the color draining from her face.
In a swift movement, she stood and practically bolted for the bathroom without looking back.
MARIA GABRIELA
I didn’t even realize how fast I’d run until I reached the bathroom—and then it happened. I leaned over the sink and threw up, my whole body trembling.
It felt like everything inside me was rebelling, a turmoil that wasn’t just physical but emotional. Diego’s words echoed in my head as my stomach tightened again.
I want you.
That sentence still vibrated in my ears.
He wanted me.
Diego Bittencourt—the most controlled, impenetrable man I’d ever known—had just opened up to me in a way I never expected.
When my stomach finally began to settle, I braced myself against the sink, taking slow, shaky breaths. But the nausea lingered, a bitter taste I couldn’t shake.
I looked at myself in the mirror—red eyes, pale face.
