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Britain may have thought he wasn't putting up a fight, but Priest wasn't about to let her leave this easy. He had fucked up tremendously, and he was remorseful, but he was hoping that he could get her to understand once she calmed down.

She had boiled over her breaking point. She shouted, cursed, and let out every regret about Italy she could think of. Priest wasn't as hurt as she wanted him to be as she tried to make him feel her pain. He expected all the harsh things she had to say about the move simply because living in Italy would have never been her first choice. She was compromising so she and Priest could continue their journey. Her heart wasn't set in Italy like his was.

Priest's dark, hollow eyes shifted back toward the windows of their bedroom. He noticed Britain's pacing had halted. Instead,she was sobbing with her head in her hands. She was going through an array of emotions because she felt betrayed. She wanted to feel angry, sad, disappointed, and regretful all at once, and it was impossible.

After taking another drag from his joint, Priest killed the burning tip. He had seen enough of her crying tonight, and the fact that he was the blame for it wasn't making it any better. Rising from his seat, he headed inside the home. He shut the gliding door, trekking up the spiral staircase to the bedroom. Once he arrived at the bedroom, he applied a light knock on the door.

Since he was allowing her to have her space, he had to ask for entry to the bedroom again. Priest didn't want to overstep. "Gioia," he called her name in a light voice.

"Priest, just give me a minute. I'm almost done here," she called out in response to him. She had quickly wiped away her tears and cleared her throat to mask the fact that she was crying. Unfortunately, Priest had witnessed her sobs from downstairs in the backyard.

"Let me come in,G," he requested in a pleading tone.

"You're going to convince me to stay, and I'm going to fall for it because that's what I always do," her voice cracked in deep sadness.

Priest sighed heavily as he hung his head down. "I just want to talk.”

There was a silence that came over her for a brief moment. Eventually, Priest heard the lock of the bedroom door click before the door was pulled open. She had ridded her face of all the makeup and pulled her hair into a loose hanging ponytail. Redness filled her eyes from crying as she had a look of defeat webbed within them. It pained him to know he was the cause of her sadness.

Quickly, she turned away from Priest, setting her eyes onto the suitcases she had on the floor. Before he exited the bedroom, Britain had successfully managed to fill up three of her suitcases with most of her clothing. Returning to the bedroom, Priest only noticed her carry on open on the bedroom floor and packed nicely with some of her clothing. She returned the clothes she had carelessly tossed into her other two suitcases back to the racks of their shared closet. Despite being so filled with rage and betrayal, she couldn't find it within herself to pick up everything completely and leave him. That alone made her feel so weak, and she hated herself for it.

"Why'd you unpack?" he throated out in his rugged baritone voice.

Britain quickly caught a tear that slipped from her eye, wiping it from her face quickly. Standing behind her, he watched as she shook her head. "I don't- I don't know, Priest," she mumbled despondently. "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I don't want you to gloat."

Priest smacked his lips lightly as he shook his head. "C'mon,Gioia. You think seeing you like this sends me on a power trip? I hate when you cry, especially when I'm the one making you cry," he clarified.

She rendered him no response. He was right. He was nothing like Cameron whose ego was always stroked whenever he saw her fall into shambles over him and his actions. She was dealing with a different man, but she still had the same tendencies.

Priest shoved his hands into his pockets with a deep sigh. He watched as Britain assessed the open carry-on bag that was packed lightly with a few clothes, shoes and day-to-day necessities. She knelt down to the floor, zipping up the carry-on. "What's that for?" Priest pointed down to the carry-on.

Britain’s soft orbs peered up at him. It was evident that she had done a ton of crying. "I need to go back home just for a few days, or for however long it takes," she muttered.

Priest let out a heavy sigh as he took a seat on the nearby couch. With his head in his hands, he raked his mind with the best response for Britain. Of course he was opposed to Britain going back home, but he couldn't prevent her from leaving. He promised to never isolate her to solely himself. Britain was free to come and go as she pleased. He just wished her first trip back home wasn't under these circumstances.

"Okay." Priest accepted her decision, no matter how hard it was for him to do so. He cleared his throat to regroup his emotions before speaking once more. "When do you want to leave?" he asked.

Britain tucked a stray piece of hair from her ponytail behind her ear. "At your earliest convenience to get the jet," she replied.

He nodded his head, making note of that. "So, what? You get on the jet, go back to The States, then come back when?" He tilted his head to the side in question.

She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Priest. I just need time. I can't clarify how long that'll be."

"You gonna answer my calls or should I not even bother to call?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Britain said to him before wheeling the suitcase toward the bedroom door.

Priest ran his hand down his face before leaning back in his seat. "Can we talk?" he asked. "If you have to leave, then I get it, but if I can have you stay, I would like that."

Britain shook her head, declining his request to talk. "No, Priest. You always have some sort of justification for everything you do. This one is unacceptable. I want to get my own clarity of the situation so I can figure out what I want to do next."

Britain was sure that Priest was ready to spill out an elaborate plan of how to divide himself between running Suzette and Matteo's business and him healing himself. What he didn't understand was that he couldn't do both. He couldn’t heal himself if he still had ties to what was hurting him in the first place. There was no compromise or middle ground for this situation.

"Britain, please," he pleaded to her once more, his eyes webbed with remorse and deep sadness.

Britain leaned her head back, her stress evident. She couldn't just shut him out. He never did that to her when she made awful decisions. "Okay," she finally agreed as she began shuffling her feet back toward the couch.

She took a seat next to him, not bothering to give him any eye contact. If her eyes bore into his, she was bound to fall for anything he had to say. "I apologize. Taking that position without consulting you was fucked up and selfish, but I want you to know I'm not going to stop trying to do better just because of it. I know you don't believe it, but honest to God, Britain, this is really just temporary."