By Virtue I Fall (Sins of the Fathers #3)(71)

We settled at a small fish restaurant with a view of the small fishing harbor for dinner.

The waiter motioned at Santino’s cell phone on the tabletop. “Do you want me to take a photo of you?”

Santino and I exchanged a look, uncertainty filling the air between us. I wanted to say yes, wanted to capture this moment in a picture so I could look at it in the future and remind myself of the utter happiness I’d felt. But a picture meant proof. Proof that could ruin both our lives. Proof of the thing without a name that was between us.

“No, thank you,” I said, my voice a little rough.

The waiter seemed taken aback and gave Santino an encouraging smile. He probably thought our relationship was in trouble, that we’d had a fight. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Neither had we a relationship, nor had we fought in a while.

The waiter returned with a bottle of white wine that would go well with our meal and filled our glasses very generously.

I thanked him but was glad when he disappeared. “You know what I just realized?”

Santino shook his head with a look that gave me chills.

“We haven’t fought in a while. We’re getting along really well.”

We still exchanged our banter, especially when we were horny because it was our favorite foreplay, but a real fight? That hadn’t happened in many months. We enjoyed being together.

“We’ve become a good team.”

Team. We both knew we were more than that, but couldn’t admit to it because it couldn’t be.

“Especially between the sheets,” I added because this was safer terrain.





I sat in my room and stared down at my luggage. For weeks I’d pretended we still had time, had pretended the end wasn’t near, but now as I stared down at my clothes neatly packed into three pieces of luggage, tears burned in my eyes. On top of my clothes rested my diplôme. I’d really finished my fashion studies in Paris, had lived my dream for three years, had tasted unbridled freedom, had fallen in love.

And tomorrow I’d return to Chicago to take up my duties again. In eight months, I’d marry Clifford. The next months in my life would be filled with wedding planning—of course Mom and Dolora had already started—and social events.

I’d have to figure out a way to find my way back into the more restricted life in Chicago. And I’d have to figure out how to fall out of love with Santino again, had to stop my belly from bustling with butterflies every time he entered a room, which still happened after almost three years of sharing a bed.

I couldn’t imagine letting him go, but the more I thought about how things would be between us once we were back the more I realized I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t end things between us now, I might never be able to do it. And that wasn’t an option. The future of the Outfit rested on my shoulders, and there was no way I’d disappoint my parents like that.

I pushed to my feet and went to Santino’s room. He closed his suitcase when I entered and looked up.

“All done?” I asked. My voice sounded off, almost hesitant.

Santino nodded slowly, his brows drawing together as he regarded my face then a strange smile pulled at his lips. He nodded with a bitter laugh. “It’s time, isn’t it?”

I swallowed, not sure if he really knew what needed to happen. Could he read me this easily?

Of course. We’d spent every day and night together in the last three years. He knew every inch of my skin, had kissed and touched it all, knew every imperfection and all the places that gave me the most pleasure. But as he’d discovered my body, he’d also seen all that lay below. He knew me like no one else did, not even my family.

I searched for the right words, for something that would make this easier. “We can’t keep doing this.”

I couldn’t even put a name on what we had because we’d never defined it. We slept together. We shared a bed and jokes, we bantered and talked seriously. Maybe we were friends with benefits, but Santino and I had never been friends. Not really, and it didn’t feel like we were now. Could we become friends? Could any part of our connection survive in Chicago? Was it clever to even consider it?

“Having sex?” Santino asked in a low voice, walking closer. My body yearned for his touch as if I’d already gone without it for months. “Sharing a bed? Spending time together like a couple?”

Couple. Had he just compared us to a couple?

My heart seemed too heavy for my ribcage as if it might fall and shatter on the floor any moment.

“We always knew it couldn’t last. We knew how it would end.”

“You marrying Clifford.”

“Yes,” I said tonelessly.

He stopped in front of me, touching my cheek. I stared at his chest, afraid to meet his gaze. I knew it would consume me whole.

“Have you ever just for a second considered following your heart? Have you ever allowed yourself to consider canceling your engagement and giving us a real chance?”

I couldn’t believe what he said, couldn’t believe he broke our unspoken agreement to not consider a future together. Why did he have to make this harder than it was?

Had I considered it?

Yes, of course. Every night I fell asleep in Santino’s arms and every morning I woke beside him.

But I’d never allowed the idea to fester, and I wouldn’t allow it now.