Chapter 57
Amber lay still, staring at the ceiling, her body still and her mind in chaos. The air between them was thick, suffocating. They were on opposite sides of the bed now, a chasm of silence stretching between them, their skin still bare but covered by the distance of unspoken words. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him. She felt the heat of his frustration, anger rolling off him in waves, palpable and heavy.
Inside, she was unraveling. Her breaths were shallow, almost a quiet pant, as if the silence in the room was pressing the air out of her lungs. Panic clawed at her chest, but she forced herself to stay still, not trusting her own voice or the emotions that threatened to spill out.
She didn’t know what to say to him. How could she explain what felt impossible to put into words? That once trust had been shattered, she couldn’t imagine rebuilding it—not for anyone, not even for him. Something fundamental had been broken the day she left his home with their weeks-old baby, something fragile and irreplaceable. She had built walls around herself, walls she didn’t know how to tear down, even if she wanted to.
Five minutes passed. Or was it longer? Time felt elastic, stretching endlessly as she lay there, hearing nothing but the sound of her own shallow breathing and the faint rustle of fabric as Luca shifted beside her.
Then, she heard him move. The creak of the bed frame as he sat up, the muted scrape of his feet against the floor. She didn’t turn to look, but she could feel him moving, gathering his clothes from where they were scattered—at the foot of the bed, across the floor. Each sound was a sharp reminder of the gulf between them.
When he spoke, his voice was cold, clipped, each word deliberate. “You can relax now. I’ll take my unwanted presence elsewhere.”
Amber’s heart clenched at the bitterness in his tone, but she stayed silent, her throat tight with the weight of everything she couldn’t bring herself to say.
He dressed quickly, his movements curt and deliberate, and when he walked to the door, he didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing in the room like a final punctuation mark.
Only then did she exhale, a shaky breath that she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. Relief flooded her, but it was fleeting, like a gasp of air before the weight of her thoughts pulled her under again.
She needed this space, this quiet, to think. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion, regret, and self-doubt. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if it could shield her from the storm inside her.
The next morning, everything seemed to slip back into routine, like a well-rehearsed play. Breakfast was simple: cereal and toast, a quiet affair punctuated only by Nico’s cheerful chatter. Luca’s frosty smile barely masked the tension simmering beneath the surface, but he made no mention of the night before. He didn’t have to.
Amber busied herself cleaning the house after breakfast—a habit she fell into whenever she felt nervous or restless. Luca, ever attentive to Nico, had taken him to the park, leaving her alone with her thoughts. As she scrubbed counters and folded laundry, Amber’s mind raced. Perhaps Luca had come to the same conclusion she had: revisiting the idea of marriage was a mistake.
By the time evening rolled around, the house was spotless, but Amber’s nerves were frayed. After dinner, once Nico had been fed, bathed, and tucked into bed, she found Luca in the living room. He was lounging on the couch, remote in hand, absently flipping through channels.
Amber took a deep breath, gathering her courage as she approached him. Her pulse quickened, but she steadied herself.
“Luca, can I talk to you for a second?”
He didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the television. “Go ahead,” he said, his tone casual but cold.
The dismissiveness in his voice irritated her, but she pressed on. She moved to sit across from him, perching on the edge of a chair.
“You might have realized it too,” she began, her voice carefully even. “About what you said last night—that it wouldn’t be a good idea, Luca. We tried marriage once, and it broke us both. We were miserable in those few months—”
His head snapped toward her then, his eyes narrowing. “Fine. I was miserable,” she amended sharply, meeting his glare with one of her own. “And I don’t want to go back to that.”
Luca’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Why bother, right? Why go through vows or any of it when you can get into my pants every night anyway?”