By the time the ceremony was over and we had returned to my parents’ house for a private post-graduation celebration, I was physically sick of my own thoughts. Day after day of running on the hamster wheel, and I was no closer to knowing how to handle Nico. I would see him at my party the next night and desperately needed a strategy.

My parents and sisters toasted to my accomplishments with champagne, and we all wore smiles and talked about the upcoming party. I tried my best to participate, but the moment the opportunity arose, I slipped out onto the patio overlooking the bay where the crisp evening air could clear my head.

You don’t just cross my mind; you live in it.

What the hell was he thinking to say that to me? Nico had no right to show up out of the blue and drop a bomb like that. Each time my mind replayed his sultry voice saying those words, my blood warmed me from the inside out like the heated fibers in an electric blanket.

I told myself the heat he stirred was purely anger, but I knew deep down it was more. It made me wish I had one more glass of champagne to drown out the thoughts—the ones that whispered what a hypocrite I was. Because as much as I hated liars, I knew I was lying to myself. The heat was somewhat born out of anger, but there was also a much more problematic source. More instinctual. Visceral.

I still craved Antonico Conti.

How could you move on from someone who was your everything? You didn’t. That person lived inside you whether they were standing next to you or a thousand miles away. The fact that I still wore his necklace, the one he bought for me, wasn’t just evidence that I still cared for him. It was proof that I’d never even tried to move on.

It was no wonder I’d had no other boyfriends. I’d told myself I wasn’t interested or that my studies were my priority, rather than boys. But now, I was having to face that it was all a bunch of bullshit. I had turned my back on that part of my life, hoping it would fix itself and was surprised to check in seven years later and discover the abandoned attic of my love life was the same as I’d left it. A few more cobwebs and a layer of dust, but otherwise no different.

I could have tried to meet someone new, or at least removed the reminders of Nico from my life. And in the alternative, if I wasn’t going to pull the weed out by the roots, then I should have owned my feelings and fought for what my heart wanted.

But now, it wasn’t so simple.

Now, things had changed.

I had changed, and there was no way I could tell him my secrets.

As I stared at the water’s edge, shivering in the cold, I realized that, either way, it had to stop. I couldn’t keep holding a torch for him. It was time to let him go or open myself up to him and risk being devastated all over again. Just the thought made my stomach churn violently. Was that my theoretical “gut” speaking, telling me I should walk away? That thought was almost equally as upsetting.