Once Bones told me what the problem was, it all made sense.

I hadn’t even thought about the painting hanging up in the living room. I bought it from Antonio eight weeks ago, and since I hadn’t been at the apartment alone since Bones and I got back together, I hadn’t taken it down.

I never thought he would figure out Antonio painted it.

And if he did, I didn’t think it would bother him this much.

He wasn’t the jealous type, but he was definitely the possessive kind.

I didn’t blame him for being upset. If something another woman made for him were in his apartment, I wouldn’t like looking at it either.

I considered throwing the painting in the dumpster like he wanted, but that seemed wrong. Antonio had made such a beautiful painting, and it would be a disgrace to his talent to throw it away. Someone else could enjoy it. Someone else could love it as much as I did.

I carried the painting up the street toward his gallery. My heart pounded with the thought of coming face-to-face with him. Ending things over the phone was hard enough when I couldn’t even see his expression. If I looked at him now, I would probably feel worse.

But he wasn’t ever there, so I might get lucky and drop it off without interacting with him.

I stepped inside and spotted his assistant behind the counter. I actually smiled in relief, glad I wouldn’t have to deal with him.

“Back again?” She smiled before she looked at the painting in my arms. “Oh no. Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem at all.” I walked up to the counter and carefully set it down on the surface. “It’s a beautiful painting, and I still love it. But I wanted to give it back…it just didn’t work out.”

“Well, we have a strict return policy here. We don’t accept returns.”

“I don’t want my money back. I just want to give it back.”

She examined the image for scratches and damage. “Just give it back?” she asked, completely confused by what I said. “I don’t understand.”

I didn’t want to tell her my life story. It would be inappropriate since Antonio was her boss. “I’m moving, and I don’t have room for it at my new place. I couldn’t bear the idea of throwing it away, so I thought if I gave it back, you could find a better home for it.”

The front door opened, and since I was the unluckiest woman on the planet, Antonio walked inside.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He halted when he recognized me at the counter. Wearing a blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up and dark jeans, he looked exactly as I remembered. With a hard jawline, sprinkled fuzz along his mouth, and deep brown eyes, he was a handsome Italian who mirrored my own appearance. Looking at him reminded me that he was exactly what I wanted before I met Bones, exactly what I imagined in a husband.

But then I met the man I couldn’t live without, even if he wasn’t right for me.

The gallery turned quiet.

Tense.

A bit awkward.

He recovered from his surprise quickly and came to the counter. He spotted the painting and deduced what was transpiring. “Give us a moment.”

His assistant grabbed her purse and walked out, probably taking her early morning break a little sooner than she’d planned. But she didn’t challenge him about it.

Antonio looked down at the painting again, admiring his own work. “I’m hurt you don’t want this anymore, but I suppose I understand.” He picked up the painting and placed it in the back on a larger surface. His back was turned to me, so I couldn’t see his expression. He took a moment to look at it before he came back to me. “But don’t expect me to give you back the painting I bought from you.” His eyes weren’t kind the way they used to be. He was slightly hostile, like looking at me made me him angry. It’d been a little over a week since we last spoke, and that obviously wasn’t enough time for him to come to terms with what happened. I didn’t blame him. I took off without telling him what happened, and then I got back together with my ex without even telling him about it. After how patient and kind he was to me, I hadn’t treated him right. If I weren’t so happy with Bones, I would feel worse about it.

“I don’t want you to give it back.” My hands rested on the edge of the counter, my heart heavy from his sadness. I felt terrible that I’d hurt him, and I felt terrible for making Bones jealous. I never suspected he would figure out the painting before I had a chance to get rid of it. He was too observant. “Antonio…I’m so sorry about everything. I really am.”

He broke eye contact, looking out the window instead of at me.

I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. He shouldn’t absolve me of my guilt, not when I was entirely at fault.

He turned his gaze back to me, but it was still full of the same melancholy.

“I was hoping I could give this back without running into you.”

“I wish I didn’t have to see you either.”

Now I broke eye contact, feeling the sting of his words. “I don’t want my money back. I just want someone else to have it, someone who will love it. This deserves to go up in someone’s home. I couldn’t throw it out…I just couldn’t.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered by that?” He rolled up his sleeves more.

This conversation wasn’t going anywhere. The longer I stood there, the worse the situation became. Antonio didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t even want to look at me. I should just leave him in peace. “I’m sorry that I bothered you…” I turned to the door, eager to get away from him. I hated the cold way he treated me, but I hated deserving it even more.

He sighed loudly from behind me. “Wait.”

I stopped by the window and listened to his footsteps behind me. When I turned around, he was in front of me, rubbing the back of his neck with remorse in his eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting to run into you…caught me off guard. I didn’t mean to be such an ass.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

He slid his hands into his pockets and tilted his head slightly as he looked at me. “I guess I need more time to get over this. It was unexpected, and I was blindsided. The conversation was short and over the phone—”

“You have every right to be upset, Antonio. You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

He sighed again. “I’ve never wanted a woman so much. And then when I find one I really want…I can’t have her.”

His intense gaze made me uncomfortable, like listening to it was a betrayal to Bones. I lowered my gaze, unable to look him in the eye.

“I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. I’ve always been honest with you.”

Still unsure what to say, I said nothing.

He continued to stand there, like the conversation wasn’t over. “Are you going to keep the gallery?”

I nodded.

“Are you going to keep living there too?”

“Not forever, but for the time being.” I lifted my head, looking at him now that the awkward part of the conversation was over.

He clenched his jaw before he asked his next question. “Is he here with you?”

“Yes.”

He gave a slight nod, accepting the answer, but only barely. “That’s why you don’t want the painting anymore…because of him.”

“It makes him uncomfortable.” That wasn’t an accurate description of the way Bones felt. He’d flipped out, told me off, and then stormed out. I couldn’t remember a time when Bones walked out on me. This was the first time, our first real fight. “And I understand why. He told me to throw it away…but I couldn’t do that. I didn’t want to. It’s too beautiful of a piece…I’m not just saying that.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “And thank you.”

Now that he was being civil, I remembered why I liked him in the first place. He was kind and easy to talk to.

“Do you still have feelings for me?” he asked, a hint of hope in his voice.

I didn’t want to tell him the blunt truth, not when it would crush him. He shouldn’t have asked the question at all. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the man I want to spend my life with. I was honest about that in the beginning, that he was the love of my life. The only reason I wasn’t with him was because I couldn’t be with him. But now I can. Please don’t waste another moment hoping I’ll change my mind. I can live without you…I can’t live without him.” I didn’t want to hurt Antonio even more, but he needed a firm reason to move on. He needed a reason to forget about me, to dislike me.

He didn’t react at all. His eyes remained on mine, unblinking. “He’s a lucky man.”

“Thank you…”

“Maybe we can be friends.”

Bones would never allow that, not after the way he reacted to the painting. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ll always say hello when I see you. I’ll never ignore you. I’ll ask how your artwork is going…you can ask about mine. But no, I don’t think we can be friends.”

If he was hurt, he hid the expression deep down inside. “I guess that makes sense.”

“You’re a wonderful man, Antonio. You’re handsome, successful, interesting, and kind…you can have any woman you want. Someone just as special is out there. When you find her, you’ll forget about me. When you find someone you love the way I love Griffin…you won’t even remember my name. And that’s a promise.”

Bones didn’t come back to the apartment until the late afternoon.

I unpacked all our things and cleaned up the place. Antonio had never come inside my apartment, so I didn’t have to hide any other trace of him. I was eager for Bones to come home, but I was also dreading it at the same time. Knowing him, he would be just as furious as when he left.

I covered the nail on the wall with a new painting, one I’d painted after he left that no one had bought. It was an image of him in my bed, the sheets around his waist. His face wasn’t visible, but his hard body and tattoos were detailed. I didn’t remember every single tattoo he had, but I’d remembered a lot of them. Maybe when he saw that, he would remember that Antonio didn’t matter…that he never compared.

He finally walked inside after three in the afternoon, and like I expected, he looked just as pissed as when he left. He wore a permanent scowl of displeasure, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes two balls of burning fire. All the individual muscles in his arms were tight because he was flexing his entire body at one time.

His gaze landed on me first, still potently hostile. It seemed like he’d walked out five minutes ago, not five hours ago. He must have walked around Florence with that expression, terrifying everyone he passed on the sidewalk. People probably crossed to the other side of the road just to avoid him.

He turned his head toward the wall, to make sure the painting was gone like he ordered. He stopped for a moment to stare at the replacement, to see the painting I created from memory. He paused to look at it, to see the details I’d memorized after he was gone. He must have recognized his tattoos, the exact replica of his strong body. I didn’t need his picture to recreate his image. Like the back of my hand, I knew every single detail, every dot of ink, every scar.

He turned back to me, less angry but still hostile.

I knew this fight wasn’t over. It was only beginning. I stood up with my arms across my chest, the couch between us.

He stood rigidly, his arms still tensed by his sides. His muscular shoulders stretched the cotton of his t-shirt. Even when he was covered in his clothing, the strength of his body couldn’t be denied. He stretched everything, from his jeans to the back of his shirt. He showed the same look he used to give me when we met, a look that suggested he hated me and wanted me at the same time.

I waited for him to say something, to figure out exactly what his mood was. But of course, he could handle endless silence since there was no level of intensity that made him uncomfortable. He could hold this intimacy for hours, refusing to say anything until I spoke first.

“I didn’t have a chance to take it down,” I said. “And I wasn’t thinking about him or his painting, so the thought didn’t even cross my mind. It’s gone now, so let’s move on.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his eyebrows furrowing at the same time. The second he cocked his head slightly, I knew he didn’t like what I’d said. “Let’s move on? Are you fucking kidding me?” He pronounced every syllable coldly, as if he was disgusted by what I’d just said.

I’d never seen him so jealous before. He was always so confident about himself, but one painting drove him mad. “You didn’t care about him before. I tried to explain the relationship to you, and you said you didn’t care. You didn’t even ask if I slept with him. It’s just a painting, Griffin. What is the big deal?” I never kissed Antonio, hardly touched him. Bones had no reason to feel threatened by him.

“What’s the big deal?” His voice turned quiet, making it far more menacing. He walked toward me slowly, circling around the couch like a predator about to pounce on his prey. His eyes stayed on me, his threatening arms by his sides. “It’s a huge fucking deal. He’s a painter, Vanessa. A damn painter.”

“What does that matter?”

He stopped ten feet away from me, his gaze becoming even more terrifying. “If you fucked the guy because you were depressed and lonely, it wouldn’t have mattered to me. That doesn’t mean he ever meant anything to you. For all my life, sex has been meaningless. I don’t even remember the women who have been in my bed. I don’t remember their faces because the only face I care about is yours. But this guy makes art that reminds you of your childhood to put on your wall. The two of you have a connection. He doesn’t just paint, he’s good at it. I knew it wasn’t one of your pieces the second I looked at it. It’s not your brushwork and it’s not your color scheme, but it also reminded me of you the second I saw it.”

I listened to everything he said, following his train of thought with surprise. Since Bones didn’t ask anything about Antonio, I never told him about the relationship. I didn’t mention how we met or what our relationship was like. It didn’t seem important to him. But now that he knew Antonio was also an artist, he was threatened. I never told him about the connection the two of us had. That’s what made him angry, that I’d connected with another man even if I’d never slept with him. It was more emotional and intimate than sex ever could be. I could see the way it ate him from the inside out.

He stepped closer to me but kept several feet in between us. “Did he paint that for you?”

I didn’t want to answer this question. I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Griffin, I picked you. I only want you. Let’s forget about him and be happy.”

As if he didn’t hear my answer, he repeated his question. “Did he paint that for you?”

I tightened my arms over my chest. “I told him I was still in love with you and I wasn’t ready for a relationship. So we just spent time together as friends. There was nothing else there, Griffin.”

He took another step closer to me, his eyes hardening. “Don’t make me ask again.”

The last thing I wanted to do was tell him the truth. I didn’t want to hurt him, and I didn’t want to think about the past when it had nothing to do with our future. “No, he didn’t paint it for me.”

His right eyebrow rose, and instead of being satisfied with that answer, he pressed for more. “Then why was it in your apartment?”

“Griffin—”

“I have the right to know.”

“Forget about him. I have.”

He ignored those words. “Vanessa.”

“Why does it matter?” I demanded. “Whether he meant anything to me or not, you mean more. You’re the man I love. I never loved him. Let this go.”

He clenched his jaw tightly, as if he was struggling with his own emotions. His eyes shifted back and forth as he looked into mine, deciding how he would proceed next. He knew he should drop this, that getting worked up over some guy didn’t matter. But looking at that painting ignited his insanity. “It matters to me.”

“I never asked about what you did in the three months we were apart—”

“I jerked off and slept alone. Every night. End of story.”

“And I did the same thing. End of story.”

“No,” he snapped. “You were going on dates, talking about artwork, sharing your passion.”

This was a nightmare that would never end. “I never went on a date with him. When he asked me out, I told him I wasn’t ready.”

“Tell me how that painting got there.”

He was never going to let this go, was he? “Fine.” I threw my arms down. “He came by my gallery as a customer. Took a look around and bought one of my paintings. Then he left. I had no idea who he was or that he was a painter himself. Then about a week later, I was out with Carmen when I noticed a painting in the window. I loved it, so I walked inside and bought it. Later, I learned that he was the artist. When he realized we bought each other’s paintings without realizing it, he asked me out. I said no. That’s the story, Griffin.”

As he soaked in the story word for word, his appearance began to change. No longer angry, his entire body began to soften, but not in relief. Anguish moved into his eyes, and he wore an expression similar to the one he wore the day he left me. His breathing picked up, and his nostrils flared slightly. It was the first time he broke eye contact with me, like looking at me only caused him pain. He stepped back, his eyes shifting back and forth as he processed what I’d said. “You bought each other’s paintings…”

“It doesn’t matter, Griffin. The second you were back in my life, I forgot he existed.”

He didn’t listen to a word I said. He ran his hand through his short hair and down the back of his scalp. Overwhelmed with misery, he didn’t know what to say. His spine wasn’t straight anymore, and his shoulders weren’t rounded. His posture turned weak.

“Griffin…”

He turned to the door, dismissing the conversation.

“Griffin.” I followed him to the entryway. “Do not walk out on me—”

He walked out the front door and slammed it in my face.

He left me—again.