I shook off his hand and walked toward my bedroom like a dead woman walking.
He didn't follow. Behind me, I heard Catarina coaxing him: "Tomasso, go check on her, please. I'd hate for her to be upset because of me."
"Let her cool down. She loves me too much to stay angry. She'll come around."
Each word landed like a stone. Every step I took felt like dragging my feet through wet concrete.
And the last five years with Tomasso began replaying in my mind, scene by scene, like a film I couldn't pause.
I'd met him seven years ago.