For Angelo (Full-Length Standalone Italian Billionaire Romance) (13 page)

“And the bad?”

He said without hesitation, “You might be crazy, after all.”

She choked and laughed at the same time, not at all expecting someone like Angelo Valencia to make such a joke. But he did, and it worked, the atmosphere in the room easing.
 

When her laughter faded, he asked gently, “Would you like to tell me what made you panic like that? And this time, there were no cars around.”

She winced. “I lied about that. I’m sorry.”

“I figured as much.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

“Are you mad?”
 
The words came out haltingly, and her hands moved restlessly under the covers as she spoke.

“Of course not.” And there it was again, that odd note of reserve, like he was deliberately putting a wall between them. “But I would like to know what happened, if you’re comfortable talking about it.”

She swallowed, realizing that the time had come to lay all of her crazy cards on the table.

And after—

After, it was up to Angelo to decide.

“I h-have a social anxiety disorder.” Cold sweat bathed Lane’s skin as she admitted the truth, and she had a perverse, childish urge to hide under the covers.

If only she could close her eyes and wish they were back to being normal.

If only.

But the pain in her heart – it wasn’t the good kind of pain, not the kind that Angelo made her feel and crave.

This pain…was cruel.

This pain told her what she wanted was impossible.
 

This pain told her she would always be sick.

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “My anxiety is a s-special form of plutophobia—” Lane saw Angelo’s head snap towards her, his gaze incredulous.

“
Are you saying you’re afraid of money?”

She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Not exactly.” The way he stared at her made Lane’s fists clench, but she pressed on doggedly, “I’m more afraid of rich people.”

Silence.

And then it was as if shock had shorn Angelo of his usually unfailing courtesy as he demanded, “Are you fucking serious?”

Lane flinched.

“Rich people? You’re afraid of rich people?”

She gave him a small nod.

“Rich people…
like me
?”

Paling, she nodded again.

“
Dio,
Lane.” Frustration underlined Angelo’s voice. “That’s the
worst
illness you could possibly suffer from in my home. You know that, right?”
 

“Y-yes.” She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.

He raked a hand through his hair. “And what about CU? What the hell did you even think you were doing, enrolling in a school like CU?”

“It w-works like my therapy,” Lane answered stiltedly. “Sort of like confronting your fears until you get used to it.” Her voice trailed off at the way he was looking at her, which told her he might have her certified any moment.

Angelo was staring hard at her. “And that time in the car?” he asked finally, his voice grim.

She could see in his gaze that he had already figured out, and she said tremulously, “I know it’s stupid, but it was only that moment I realized you were rich—”

“Didn’t you even think of looking me up on the Internet?”

“I try not to use the Internet to search for people. It’s just unnecessary…trauma.”

Silence.

And then Angelo asked tautly, “Are you still afraid of me?”

Slowly, she shook her head.

“But you were afraid of me earlier?”

She nodded.

“What changed?”

“You laughed.”

He stared at her. “Is this crazy language?”

A nervous giggle escaped her. “N-no. I mean, your laugh. It reminds me of a fallen angel.”

“Still crazy language?”

She tried to explain. “It was what drew me to you t-that first day. The sound of your laugh, it was refreshingly—” Lane hesitated.

“Say it.”
 

“It was refreshingly bad,” she mumbled.

Angelo’s eyebrows shot up.

Words rushed to her throat, so many of them that she knew if she tried to say all of them she would just end up speaking gibberish.
 

Closing her eyes, she pretended she was hearing his laugh, and as the sound washed over her, so vivid it almost made her want to grasp the sound and never let go, she remembered the other fallen angel in her life.

The words spilled out of her.

“Your laugh, it reminds me of my mother.” Lane’s voice was tight with remembered pain. “She was kind, but she wasn’t perfect.” And without looking at him, she told Angelo everything. Every humiliating, heartbreaking thing that by the time it was over, she could barely breathe from all the wounds it had reopened in her heart.

She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was Angelo’s ashen face.

“I’m sorry, Lane.”

Oh.

Memories of her grandfather were agonizing.

The strangers in the hallway were terrifying.

But none of those things had threatened to break Lane the way her heart started to shatter at hearing Angelo call her…

Lane.

Like she was no one, and her name was just letters stitched together.

No ‘tesoro.’

No ‘my Lane.’

Was she just Lane now because he knew the truth?

****

“I’m sorry.” Angelo felt he had to repeat the words when only silence answered him. He waited for her to say something, but there was none. He raised his gaze to hers—

And that was when he heard it.

Lane’s cry of pain, silent, broken, and coming not from her lips but her heart.

His chest clenched at the soundless tangible cry, but he told himself he couldn’t let it get to him.

And then Lane started to speak in a painful rush.

“Y-you may not believe me, but I’m usually b-better at controlling t-these things. It’s been
years
since the last time I fainted. I’m not lying. I just need to be mentally prepared, and normally I am—” She had to stop because she could no longer breathe, the fear was just too great. She was afraid of losing him, of having him turn his back on her without giving this – them – a chance.

But Angelo didn’t say a thing, only stared at her, and terror threatened to eclipse her world.

“I’m usually better, Angelo, please believe me, I don’t faint every day. It’s just that your wealth took me by surprise, and then I saw your house—” She knew she should stop to sort herself out, but the words just kept coming, like they were the only way to stop the tears. “It was one thing after another, and then when those men came—”

Angelo flinched. “Lane—”

Don’t call me that,
she wanted to scream, and a sob caught in her throat.

Fuck. The despair in her gaze seared him.

“I’m better now,” Lane insisted. “I won’t be taken by surprise again, I promise.
I mean it,
Angelo.”
 

And then she tried to smile, and it was like seeing an invisible wound—

A wound he alone could see, a wound he alone could stop from bleeding.

And because he knew this, Angelo hardened his heart.

He said nothing.

He did nothing.

He only gazed impassively at her, telling himself that the only way to give her a quick, clean break was to let her…bleed.

Seconds ticked by, and the continued silence tore at Lane.
 

Was he truly not going to say anything?

Was he truly going to let things between them end just like that?

“Please say something,” she choked out.

But there was only silence, tearing her apart, again and again, and she blurted out, “Is this your w-well-mannered way of telling me that it’s been fun while it lasted—” Hysteria tinged Lane’s voice. “Or m-maybe you’re going to say other clichéd thing?
It’s not you, it’s me, and all that bull?”

But Angelo’s lips only tightened at her words.

She shook her head furiously. “N-no. I get it. You’re just pulling my leg again. You’re being s-sadistic…
right?”

Slowly, he shook his head, and then he said simply, “No.”

Lane whitened.

No?

More sobs tried to claw out of her throat as she tried to digest it in.
 

No, he was not being sadistic.

No, he was not pulling her leg.
 

No, he wasn’t pretending, but he simply wanted to send her away.

So go,
Lane’s mind begged her.
 

Leave now before you completely lose what little pride you have left.

Do it with dignity.

And Lane wanted to do it.

Her pride demanded it.

But then she remembered Laura’s words, remembered how Laura didn’t regret taking the risks she took because she had wanted to seize every new day in her life, and Lane knew she owed it to herself not to give up.

She whispered, “Please don’t send me away.”

Angelo stiffened.
 

“I p-promise I won’t cause you any trouble again.”

But still he remained unmoving and silent.

She bit her lip hard as she looked at him. He had his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, and his gaze focused on the windows –
away from her.

Her fallen angel
, she thought painfully.

And he wanted to go.
 

“Please.”
She couldn’t stop trying one last time even though she knew she shouldn’t, knew someone like her wasn’t really for someone like him.

But all he said was her name.

“Lane.”

She wanted to weep.
 

Lane.
 

She was just Lane now.

And she just couldn’t take it, she just couldn’t make herself give up—

“Look at me, please!” She took hold of his face with both hands and forced him to look at her.
 

Angelo’s gaze clashed with hers.

“Please—” Pain engulfed her, and she could no longer speak. Her hands fell, and she could only plead to him with her eyes, and it was those eyes that stopped Angelo from speaking.

She had been right when she thought he was going to send her away.

He had.

But he could no longer do it.

How could he when she was looking at him like she believed that in the end, she deserved to be thrown away?

“Okay.”

She stared at him, as if unable to believe what she was hearing.

“I’m saying,” Angelo said tensely, “I’m not sending you away.”

But Lane continued to stare at him, and Angelo let her, realizing that it was her way of convincing herself.

“You can touch me if you think it would help you believe this is real.”

Oh.
Lane started, recognizing the words. They were the very same thing he had spoken at the bus stop. Her eyes flew to him. This was real then?

And almost as if he heard her question, he took hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth.