“No,” I whisper, my heartbreak exploding. I can’t allow him to think that. “Zane,” I say, standing. I toss my sunglasses aside and rush to be by his side. “Please, hear me out.”
“I heard you out,” he grunts, picking up his towel to dry himself. “If this is all some game to you, I won’t be a part of it. I won’t fight for someone who seemingly has other intentions. I won’t put my heart out for you to destroy it. I guess it’s what I deserve, but I thought we were past that.”
“We are,” I tell him. I want nothing more than to reach out and shake him.
“We aren’t,” Zane states, putting a hand up to stop me. “If we were, Amelia, you wouldn’t have chosen to keep Daddy sweet. You proved again that it will always be your family over me, and I won’t be some pawn for you to get your own way.”
“It’s not like that,” I argue, but I can see this is going to be a terrible fight to win. Zane seems set on the betrayal I presented him with and that’s on me.
“Then what is it?” Zane barks his questions. “From where I’m looking at, it seems that everyone is just some step into you finding that fucking absolution you always wanted. Well, guess what, Amelia? I won’t be the one offering you it anymore.” He throws the towel aside to put his hands into his hair, tearing at it with the frustration I’ve caused. “And the worst part is that I really thought I had gotten through to you, really made you see why I am here. I should have known that crap about wanting me to dominate you and claim you were all part of some bigger, elaborate plan.”
“It’s not some plan!” I bellow so harshly my eyes water. I see the delicate tapestry of our story becoming a chaotic mess. It’s gone from this beautifully woven tale with heart wrenching moments to utter destruction. It’s as if mine and Zane’s love story is forever set to repeat itself and I’m not sure I’ll be able to survive the repetition of loving him and losing him because of my buried and deep loyalties. “It’s not,” I say, my voice shrinking because that performance last night was part of a plan, one I never gave him insight to.
“Bella!” Lorenzo’s voice bursts into the tension and immediately, the thunderous look on Zane’s face darkens furthermore.
“Just fucking great. Lover boy number one’s on his way down for some attention,” Zane mutters and goes over to the sun lounger where he threw his towel and throws himself down on it. He relaxes, putting his hands behind his head. “Go pet him, Amelia. Wouldn’t want him to feel fucking neglected. Maybe you can have a do-over of what I did to you yesterday. See if he fills the gap better than me.”
“Zane,” I try, ignoring Lorenzo advancing closer and closer.
“Don’t,” he stops me with a cold tone. “You do what you need to. I’d hate to see you disappoint any other people now.”
Giving up, I retreat to my bed across the pool from Zane and as I sit on it, my sunlight – and view of Zane – disappears from sight as Lorenzo stands before me. I look up only to find him smiling brightly at me. I don’t say a word, push myself onto the bed more and lounge out. Lorenzo takes this as an invite and sits on the bed with me, grabbing my hand in his. He goes to speak only to be disrupted by a horde of annoying giggles. When I look, Giovanni’s coming down to the pool surrounded by three giggling girls. I roll my eyes, especially as Zane’s interest piques and his angry demeanor disperses.
I now know I have to do some damage control and that starts with Lorenzo.
But when I look back, he’s teetering forward, his pupils swollen with pleasure and his lips beginning to purse. I’m invariably trapped beneath him as he towers over me, and I can see Zane now looking over at us. I can feel his gaze burn into me, and I know how it must seem to him – me wanting Lorenzo, not pushing away on his advances, but if only he could hear what I am about to say. Maybe it would save us all a lot of heartbreak.
“I think it’s best you went back to Italy,” I begin to tell Lorenzo, and I feel bad as his happy expression shatters. “This, what we had, wasn’t meant to last. I don’t want you, Lorenzo.”
“Is this because of last night?” he asks, his voice dropping lower than it was when he called out for me. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m good at sex. I can do that until you love me.” He runs a hand up my leg, leaning forward more, creating some sort of intimate moment, but my discomfort is exceeding normal levels.
“No,” I say, pushing him away enough to break the intimacy. “This has nothing to do with that, and everything to do with me. You aren’t who I want. You came here believing I could love you, but I won’t ever feel what you do.”