Chapter 75 – Choice

Chapter 75 – Choice
I didn't sleep that night.
Which, honestly, was starting to become a terrible habit.
At some point in my life, I needed to go back to being a normal person.
Sleep eight hours.
Wake up rested.
Have coffee.
Complain about life.
Pretend I had control over something.
But apparently my life had decided to take the most dramatic path possible.
Because instead of sleeping, I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling and replaying Romeu's voice in my head.
"I'd rather hear an honest no than a yes driven by fear."
That sentence haunted me.
In an infuriating way.
In a beautiful way.
In a way that was completely Romeu.
Because of course that man couldn't just suffer in silence and leave me alone.
No.
He had to be mature.
Understanding.
Intense.
Infuriatingly perfect when I needed him to be an idiot to make things easier.
I rolled onto my side and pulled the blanket up to my chin.
My heart still hurt.
Saying no to Romeu had been one of the hardest things I'd ever done.
And I'd been kidnapped.
I'd found out my father was a mafia boss.
I'd found out my mother had abandoned a son.
I'd found out that Fercondiny, the man who kidnapped me, was my half-brother on my mother's side.
So, let's be honest, my level of family tragedy was already pretty high.
Even so, nothing had hurt as much as watching Romeu's smile disappear when I said no.
That smile.
My God.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No.
I couldn't think about that.
Because if I did, I'd grab my phone, call him, and tell him yes.
Yes to everything.
Yes to marriage.
Yes to life.
Yes to children.
Yes to the future.
I'd even say yes to sharing a closet with that insufferable man.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Because I didn't want to say yes out of fear of losing him.
I wanted to say yes because I was ready.
Because I believed.
Because I was certain our love wouldn't become a repeat of my parents' tragedy.
The big question was:
How does anyone ever become certain of something like that?
The next morning, I was sitting in Betina's kitchen with an untouched cup of coffee in front of me.
Betina had been watching me for ten minutes.
Ten.
Minutes.
Without properly blinking.
It was disturbing.
"If you keep staring at me like that, I'm going to start charging admission."
She rested her chin on her hand.
"I'm analyzing."
"Stop."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can."
"No."
"Betina."
"Mikaella."
I rolled my eyes.
"What do you want?"
She pointed at me.
"I want to know what happened yesterday."
"Nothing."
Betina burst into laughter so loudly she almost knocked over her own mug.
"Nothing?"
"That's right."
"My friend, for the love of God. I saw your face when you got home."
"What face?"
"The face of a woman who said no to the love of her life and now wants to die dramatically while staring out a window."
I stayed silent.
Because it was an offensively accurate description.
"I don't want to die dramatically while staring out a window."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do."
"I just want to exist in peace."
"Liar. You want Romeu to storm into this kitchen, pin you against the wall, and say something unbelievably cocky and romantic at the same time."
I choked on my coffee.
"Betina!"
"What?"
"You can't say things like that at eight in the morning!"
"Sure I can. Besides, that was a pretty great mental image."
"You're sick."
"I'm your best friend. That's practically the same thing."
I tried to stay serious.
I really did.
But I ended up laughing.
And laughing hurt.
Not physically.
It hurt because it had been so long since I'd laughed without guilt.
Without fear.
Without waiting for some bomb to explode in the next second.
Betina smiled, softer this time.
"You're hurting."
I lowered my eyes to my cup.
"I am."
"Because you said no?"
"Because I wanted to say yes."
She fell silent.
And that surprised me.
Betina wasn't exactly known for respecting silence.
"Then why didn't you?"
I took a deep breath.
"Because I'm afraid."
"Of Romeu?"
"No."
The answer came quickly.
Firmly.
Truthfully.
"Then of what?"
I looked at her.
"Myself."
Betina frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm afraid of giving myself so completely that if it ever ends, I'll become another version of my mother."
Her expression changed.
The teasing disappeared from her face.
"Mika..."
"She chose my father.
She walked away from an entire life.
She abandoned a son.
She believed in love.
And afterward, all she had left was guilt, sadness, and regret."
My voice faltered.
"What if I make the wrong choice?"
Betina stood up.
Walked around the table.
And sat down beside me.
"You're not your mother."
"I know."
"Do you really?"
I didn't answer.
Because maybe I didn't.
Not truly.
Betina took my hand.
"Your mother made her choices while hiding the truth, running from the consequences, leaving open wounds behind. You're doing the opposite. You're facing your fear head-on. You're trying to understand it before you promise anyone anything. That's not weakness, Mikaella. It's maturity."
I looked at her.
"Since when do you say beautiful things?"
"Since always. You're just too distracted to notice."
I smiled.
She squeezed my hand.
"And let me tell you one more thing."
"Here it comes."
"Romeu Petráglia is insufferable."
"I agree."
"Arrogant."
"Very."
"Conceited."
"Extremely."
"He has the face of a man who knows he's handsome."
"Unfortunately, he does."
"But that man loves you in a way that's honestly infuriating."
My heart tightened.
"Betina..."
"I'm not telling you to marry him tomorrow."
She raised both hands.
"For the love of God, don't drag me into that responsibility. I can barely decide what to have for dinner."
I let out a laugh.
"I'm just saying that maybe you're treating love like it's a life sentence."
I stayed silent.
"And maybe it's just a choice."
The very same words Romeu had used.
Choice.
My heart tightened again.
But this time...
It didn't hurt quite as much.