What We Left in the Dark

Three

"You're leaving in less than 48 hours, and you thought now was the best time to tell me?" I abandon the comfort of the bed, pacing back and forth with sharp, deliberate steps. Each movement echoes my mounting frustration, the weight of his words sinking deeper into my chest.

"Baby, I wanted us to enjoy tonight. I didn't want this hanging over our heads," Giancarlo replies, his voice strained with regret. "I thought it was better to spend time together before I dropped this on you. I knew it would upset you."

"Upset me?" My voice pitches with disbelief, teetering on the edge of a scream. I press my hands to my temples, trying to soothe the throbbing ache building beneath my skin. "This isn't just upsetting, Gian. It feels like a betrayal."

He rises from the bed, moving toward me with a pleading look. His hands find mine, gently pulling them away from my head. "Please, just try to understand." His voice softens, dropping to that soothing tone he always uses when trying to calm me down. "Would it really have made a difference if I told you right away, or waited until now?"

I pull back from his touch, stepping away to create space, needing air, needing distance. My heart screams for no mercy, but I remain composed, my voice tight with control. "How long have you known?"

A sarcastic chuckle slips past my lips as I brace myself for his answer, already knowing it will be the final straw that snaps me in two.

He takes a step back, creating more space between us as his face shifts into a somber expression. "Two weeks."

Laughter erupts from me—not from humor, but from disbelief. "Two weeks?" I repeat, locking eyes with him, my voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "Fourteen days, and you thought giving me two days' notice was the best plan?"

He hesitates, then lets out a nervous chuckle, as if trying to defuse the tension. "I didn't have time to think it through, Cat. I've been dealing with arrangements—getting things in order with the school, my landlord, shipping my stuff..." He trails off, his explanation falling flat as he realizes how hollow it sounds. "I had to prioritize."

"So, I'm not a priority?" My eyes burn with unshed tears, but I refuse to let them fall. The turmoil inside me swirls like a storm, but I won't let it spill over. Not yet.

"That's not what I meant." He shakes his head slowly, the guilt deepening the lines on his face.

I nod slowly, the realization sinking in. He had left the hardest part for last—telling me. "I see," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I need you to get out of my house."

Shock flickers across his face, but he nods, accepting my decision without protest. He moves toward the door, picking up his backpack in silence.

Our eyes meet one last time before he turns the knob. "I love you," he says firmly, as though willing the words to make a difference. Then, without waiting for a response, he steps out, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

As the latch seals, it feels as though my heart seals itself off in tandem, locking away everything I thought I knew about us.

~ -

I sit at my desk the next morning, staring at my screen, trying to decide how to approach Luca Ricci without revealing too much about my knowledge of his connection to Giancarlo. It's a delicate situation, one that requires careful navigation. I need to keep this inquiry strictly professional—there's too much at stake for me to let personal history interfere.

I begin drafting an email, focusing solely on the legal services he and his startup have requested from our firm:

"Dear Gilded Co.,

Thank you for your inquiry at West and Sullivan, LLP. I'm Catalina Moreno, an attorney specializing in startup ventures, and I'd be happy to discuss how we can assist your company's growth and success.

Could we schedule a meeting to explore your specific requirements and the ways we can support you? Please let me know your availability for an in-person or virtual meeting at your earliest convenience.

Best regards,
Catalina Moreno"

I hit send, leaning back in my chair, feeling a mix of relief and tension settle over me. The message was professional, clean—there's no hint of my past or the shock I felt upon discovering his surname.

In the days following my email, the waiting gnaws at me. Every time my phone pings or my inbox refreshes, my heart skips a beat. But the messages that come through are the usual business correspondences—nothing from Luca Ricci.

The anticipation seeps into every part of my day, though I try to remain composed. I carry on with meetings, prepare case briefs, and keep my professional mask in place. But in the back of my mind, I can't help but wonder what this meeting with Luca will reveal.

Late one afternoon, as the sun begins its early descent, casting a warm golden hue across the city skyline, a familiar ping draws my attention to my phone. It's an email from Luca Ricci. My pulse quickens as I open it.

"Dear Ms. Moreno,

Thank you for your prompt response. I would be happy to discuss how your firm can assist with Gilded's legal needs. Would Thursday at 10 AM work for a coffee meeting? I believe a face-to-face conversation will help us better understand how we can collaborate."

A casual coffee meeting. Normally, that would be ideal for fostering a comfortable, open conversation. But given the personal undercurrents lurking beneath this professional interaction, I know I need to set firmer boundaries. I take a moment to consider my response.

"Dear Mr. Ricci,

Thank you for your response. I agree that a face-to-face meeting would be beneficial, but to ensure we can cover all necessary details, I'd like to invite you to my office at West and Sullivan. Our private meeting rooms offer a professional setting where we can focus fully on your company's needs.

Would Thursday at 10 AM work for you at our office? I look forward to discussing how we can support your business.

Best regards,
Catalina Moreno"

I hit send, feeling a small sense of relief. By suggesting an office setting, I can maintain control over the environment and keep the interaction strictly professional, reducing the likelihood of any personal history seeping into the conversation.

In the days leading up to the meeting, I throw myself into preparation. I familiarize myself with Gilded's background, anticipate potential legal issues they may face, and review strategies for startups like theirs. But no matter how much I prepare for the professional side of things, I can't help but worry about the personal implications. How much does Luca know about my past with Giancarlo?

And more importantly—what will happen when I finally sit across from him?