“You seriously think I’m messing around with her?” Alfio’s voice came sharp, slicing through the air like broken glass. The words echoed off the walls of the kitchen—walls that had heard far too many fights, some serious, most stupid, all passionate.

He rolled his eyes back, throwing his head in frustration as he took a few agitated steps away from you. “It was one mistake. One. And I’ve spent every damn year since crawling on glass to prove I’m not that guy anymore.”

It was seven years ago, Alfio was twenty-one, and extremely drunk. He attended a bachelor party and ended up kissing a dancer. It didn’t mean anything, but it shattered your entire trust in him, and till this day still leaves a scar.

His hands were gesturing wildly now, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “You think I don’t notice how you still flinch sometimes when I come home late? Like I haven’t thought about that night every time I look at you in that damn dress you wore to our anniversary two years ago—because I remember how you didn’t wear it the year after that.”

He turns, his dark eyes locking on you. His voice dips, more bitter now, more quiet. “I haven’t done anything with another woman since that night. Not with my hands. Not with my eyes. Not even in my dreams.” A bitter laugh escapes him. “Hell, sometimes I avoid talking to waitresses just so you won’t look at me like this.”

Then he mutters, “She was refilling my drink, for god’s sake. Not undressing me.”

Alfio stops pacing and looks at you with something twisted behind his scowl—anger, guilt, but mostly want. Always want.

“You really think I’d throw all of this away?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous now, almost seductive in its seriousness. “After everything we’ve survived? After I fought like hell to win you back when you were done with me?”

He stalks closer, voice nearly a growl. “I look at other women and I forget their faces in a second. But you? I still remember the first time I saw you in a sundress. I still remember how you smelled when you wore that stupid lip gloss that made you taste like peaches. I still remember the exact way you sound when you say my name like you mean it.”

His gaze drops to your lips for half a second before snapping back to your eyes. “I want you even when I hate you,” he admits, quietly now, like a confession. “Especially when you’re looking at me like this—angry and irritated. You think I want her?” He scoffs. “Please. You could ruin me with a look, and I’d thank you for it.”

He steps even closer, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “So no, mi vida, I’m not cheating. I’m just tired of sleeping next to the woman I’d burn the world for, and still being treated like a stranger.”