REINA

I shoved him so hard my wrists ached.

My palms slammed into his chest with every ounce of anger and fear I could muster. For one brief, satisfying second, I felt the solid wall of muscle shift backward.

But Domenico barely moved.

He absorbed the push like it was nothing, his dark eyes never leaving mine. Calm. Steady. Almost amused by my resistance.

"What the hell are you doing?!" I snapped, wiping my mouth aggressively with the back of my hand as if I could scrub away the memory of his lips.

"You kissed me back," he said, voice low and certain.

"I did not!"

"You didn’t stop it either," he replied smoothly. "Not right away."

My stomach churned. "That’s not the same thing. I was shocked. I—"

He tilted his head slightly, studying me like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. "You’re alone right now, Reina. On your anniversary night."

The words hit harder than the kiss had.

"He left because he had something important to handle," I said sharply, trying to convince both him and myself. "He’ll be back soon."

Domenico exhaled slowly, a sound laced with something that felt dangerously close to pity.

"Or he won’t."

My chest tightened painfully. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I’ve known men like Paolo my whole life," he continued, voice soft but relentless. "Men who leave when it becomes inconvenient. When the night grows long and something — or someone — more exciting appears on the horizon. They always have a reason. Until one day the reasons stop mattering."

"That’s not Paolo," I whispered, but my voice wavered.

Domenico noticed the crack immediately.

He stepped closer. I backed up until my spine pressed against the cold stone pillar in the garden.

"And yet," he murmured, "here you are. Alone. Calling a man who isn’t answering. On the one night he should be worshiping you."

Tears stung my eyes. I hated how right the silence in the house felt now. Paolo’s phone had gone straight to voicemail for the third time.

"You don’t know anything about my marriage," I said, but the words came out weaker than I intended.

"I know enough," Domenico replied quietly. "I know he left you tonight. I know you’ve been sitting here waiting like a forgotten wife. Tell me something, Reina..." His voice dropped even lower. "Did he even hesitate before walking out that door? Did he try to hold you? Kiss you properly? Or did he just... leave?"

The question sliced through me.

My mind betrayed me instantly.

Yesterday...

The memory flashed unbidden — Paolo rushing out of my apartment the day before, barely looking at me after our kiss. The way he pulled away so quickly, almost like my touch had burned him. The hurried excuse: "I have to meet someone." He hadn’t even waited for me to respond before disappearing.

What if he couldn’t stand kissing me?

What if being close to a woman disgusted him?

What if the person he had to meet so urgently was... a man?

His lover?

The thoughts came fast and ugly, twisting like knives in my gut. Maybe that’s why he never really touches me anymore. Maybe that’s why he always seems distant. Maybe Paolo is gay and has been hiding it all this time.

I shook my head hard, trying to push the poisonous thoughts away.

Domenico watched every micro-expression on my face with frightening patience.

"You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?" he said softly. "Wondering where he really is tonight. Who he’s really with."

"Stop," I breathed, my hands curling into fists at my sides. "You’re twisting everything."

"I’m not twisting anything. I’m just saying what you already feel." He took another slow step forward. "You deserve to be seen, Reina. You deserve to be wanted. Not left behind like an afterthought while he chases whatever — or whoever — is calling him away."

My breathing grew shallow. The night air felt colder now, wrapping around my bare arms like an accusation.

"I shouldn’t be listening to this," I muttered, more to myself than to him. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"But you are," Domenico said gently. He was close enough now that I could smell his cologne — dark, expensive, intoxicating. "Because deep down, you know something is wrong. A man who truly loves his wife doesn’t leave her alone on their anniversary. Not without a fight. Not without making sure she feels cherished."

I pressed my lips together, fighting the lump rising in my throat.

He continued, voice like velvet over steel:

"Men like that get pulled away. They get distracted. Sometimes by work. Sometimes by secrets. Sometimes by desires they’ve buried for years..."

Desires for men.

The thought wouldn’t leave me alone now. I kept picturing Paolo yesterday — the tension in his shoulders when I tried to pull him closer, the speed with which he left, the vague "someone" he had to meet. What if that someone was his homosexual lover? What if all this time he had been living a lie?

My silence stretched too long.

Domenico’s eyes softened with something that looked like sympathy but felt like victory.

"You don’t deserve to spend tonight waiting and hurting," he whispered. "You don’t deserve to wonder if the man you married would rather be somewhere else — with someone else."

"Stop getting inside my head," I snapped, but my voice cracked miserably.

"I’m not inside your head, Reina. I’m just saying out loud what you’re already thinking." He lifted his hand slowly, giving me every chance to pull away, and gently brushed his knuckles along my jaw. "Just one night. Stay with me. No expectations. No pressure. Just company. Just someone who actually wants to be here with you."

I turned my face away, heart hammering.

"I can’t. I’m married."

"You’re married to a man who left you tonight," he countered softly. "Who left you yesterday too, didn’t he? Rushing off like he couldn’t wait to get away from you."

The words hit like ice water.

Yesterday... rushing out after barely kissing me back... telling me he had to meet someone...

Tears finally spilled over.

"What if..." My voice was barely a whisper. "What if he doesn’t want me because... because I’m a woman?"

Domenico didn’t answer right away. He let the question hang there, let it poison me further.

I kept going, the suspicion pouring out in a broken rush. "What if he’s gay? What if the person he rushed to meet yesterday is his lover? A man. Maybe that’s why he pulls away every time I try to get close. Maybe that’s why he never really wants me..."

My chest heaved with silent sobs.

Domenico stepped even closer, his body heat wrapping around me. His hand finally cupped my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear with terrifying tenderness.

"You’re beautiful. Desirable. Any real man would kill to have you," he murmured, voice thick with intent. "If Paolo can’t see that... if he’s chasing something else... then he doesn’t deserve you tonight."

I closed my eyes, drowning.

Paolo still hadn’t called back.

The house was still empty.

And Domenico was here — warm, insistent, telling me everything I was terrified was true.

"I... I don’t know anymore," I whispered, voice shaking violently.

Domenico leaned in until his forehead almost touched mine.

"Then don’t be alone tonight," he breathed. "Stay with me. Just one night. Let me show you what it feels like to be wanted. Really wanted."

The fight drained out of me slowly, painfully.

My resistance had been worn down to almost nothing.

"...Just one night?" I whispered, the words tasting like betrayal.

Domenico’s eyes flashed with dark, hungry satisfaction.

"Just one night," he promised, though we both knew it was a lie.

Before I could change my mind, he closed the remaining distance and kissed me again — deeper this time, slower, more possessive. His arms slid around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

When he finally broke the kiss, he didn’t speak.

He simply bent down, scooped me up into his arms as if I weighed nothing, and began carrying me toward his building with long, confident strides.

His lips found mine again as he walked, kissing me like a man who had waited far too long for this victory.

And I let him.

Because the silence from Paolo hurt too much.

Because the doubts he planted had taken root too deep.

Because in that moment, being wanted — even by the wrong man — felt better than being forgotten.