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“No, it’s okay. I understand.” She turned back to the counter, but I could see the tension in her shoulders. “We got caught up in the moment. It happens when people live in close quarters and share responsibilities. But we can’t lose sight of why we’re doing this.”
“And why are we doing this?”
“For Luca. To keep him safe and stable and with the parent who actually shows up for him.” Her voice was steadier now, but I caught the slight tremor underneath. “That’s what matters. Not whatever we think we feel for each other.”
I wanted to argue with her, to tell her that what I felt was real regardless of how it started. But Lyla’s accusations were still fresh in my mind, along with the uncomfortable truth that I couldn’t definitively separate my feelings from my needs.
“So we go back to the arrangement,” I said.
“We stick to the arrangement. We maintain the facade for any legal issues, and when it’s over, we figure out how to untangle ourselves without hurting Luca.”
The practicality of it should have been reassuring. Instead, it felt like giving up something precious before I’d even fully understood what it was.
“What about the other night? The kiss?”
She was quiet for a long moment, not looking at me. “A mistake. We let our guard down and forgot what this was supposed to be.”
“It didn’t feel like a mistake.”
“That’s what makes it dangerous.” She finally turned around, and I could see the pain in her eyes despite her controlled voice. “We can’t afford to make that kind of mistake again. Too much is at stake.”
Before I could respond, the sound of Luca’s school bus rumbling down our street cut through the tension. In five minutes, he’d come bouncing through the front door full ofstories about his day, expecting the stable family life we’d promised to provide.
“He can’t know about this,” Gianna said quietly. “Whatever confusion there is between us, we can’t let it affect him.”
“Agreed.”
She nodded and went back to making lunch, but the easy domesticity from earlier was gone. Now we moved around each other like strangers, careful not to touch, careful not to meet each other’s eyes for too long.
The front door burst open right on schedule. “Mom! Dad! Guess what happened at school today!”
Luca’s voice carried the uncomplicated joy of a child whose world still made sense. He ran into the kitchen and threw his arms around Gianna’s waist, chattering about a science experiment and a playground argument that had been resolved before recess ended.
She smiled, listened, and asked all the right questions, but I could see the effort it cost her. The careful mask she wore to hide her pain from the child who loved her without reservation.
But watching her pretend everything was fine while my own chest felt like it was caving in, I realized Lyla might be right about one thing: I was using Gianna. Not intentionally, not maliciously, but using her nonetheless. Her love for Luca, her willingness to sacrifice her own emotional safety for his stability, her ability to make our house feel like a home.
The question was whether I was brave enough to figure out what I actually felt for her, or if I’d keep hiding behind the excuse of necessity until it was too late to choose love over convenience.
As I watched her help Luca with his backpack and listened to her genuine laughter at his silly jokes, I knew one thing for certain: losing her was going to hurt far more than losing a convenient arrangement.
It was going to feel like losing everything.
CHAPTER 8
Gianna
Istood in my flower shop at seven in the morning, arranging white roses and eucalyptus for a funeral service, trying to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of stems and wire and careful placement. The work usually calmed me, but today my hands shook as I trimmed the rose stems, and I’d already pricked my finger twice on thorns I should have seen coming.
Three days had passed since my argument with Colby, and the careful distance we’d maintained felt like a chasm neither of us knew how to cross. We spoke only about Luca’s needs: homework, soccer practice, what to pack for lunch. We moved around each other in the kitchen like polite strangers, avoiding touch, and eye contact that lasted too long.
At night, we lay on opposite sides of his king-size bed with an ocean of space between us, both pretending to sleep while the tension crackled like electricity in the dark.
The bell above my shop door chimed, and I looked up to see Summer entering with two cups of coffee and a concerned expression.
“You look terrible,” she said without preamble.
“Good morning to you too.” I accepted the coffee gratefully, inhaling the rich aroma. “Rough night.”