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Had Giselle been mine in the first place? Or had I made it all up in my fucking head?
Had.
She.
Ever.
Been.
Mine?
Could the answer be—that simple?
Francesca gazed over at me casually. “Well? You didn't answer me.” Her spoon dug into the depths of the orange macaroni again.
But before she could lift the spoon from her bowl, I slipped my hand around the back of her head and guided her head to me. “I'm beginning to think you're right.” My eyes darted from one eye to the other. And then I kissed her. She tasted like cheesy orange macaroni. And hot dogs. And a hint of cucumber.
I couldn't remember a better kiss.
Part of me was scared she'd push me away. And I didn't know if I could handle that.
But just then she—smiled against my lips. “Sometimes when we lose something that we wanted,” she kissed me and pulled back a bit, “something better comes along to replace it.” She kissed me one more time. “Wait for your something better, Stefan. It'll be worth it.” Then she sat back and drew her legs up and crossed them while she ate.
And I thought she was likely correct, except for one thing.
Something better had already come along. I didn't have to wait.
After a sandwich, two bowls of cheesy macaroni and hot dogs, a bowl of limpy salad, and a few handfuls of microwave popcorn—she'd eaten the rest—we were in bed.
I'd managed a shower. Thank God. Francesca set one of the kitchen chairs in there and I was able to wash myself without too much assistance.
To be honest, I felt like a new man. It was amazing what a shower could do for your spirit.
It was also amazing what a full belly could do. I didn't feel nearly as angry as I normally did.
I wondered if part of it wasn't Francesca's words still bouncing around in my head.
“Maybe it was never yours in the first place,” she'd said.
I loved Giselle. I'd love her until the day I died. But she was with Carlo. They had kids together. She wasn't coming back to me. Not ever. I knew that. And I'd known that months ago when he'd essentially taken her from me.
But was she ever really mine? I'd blown my shot with Giselle. I'd made the fatal error of waiting to show her my hand. Instead, I spent fucking months being the good guy. Bringing her and Dani groceries and whatever else they needed. I hung out at their shitty rental house, cooking and playing. And helping.
But I didn't make the first move until my brother was already in the picture.
Not that I knew that at the time.
And now that I look back on it—Giselle was always his. Daniella had called him Dada, for Christ's sake.
And when Carlo and I'd eventually agreed to share Giselle—well, that was a shitty idea right from day fucking one.
I mean, it was fun. A lot of fun at times.
But I think I knew deep down inside that it wasn't a real solution.
I think I knew I'd already lost Giselle. Even then.
I was only holding onto the smallest vestiges of her.