The front door slams, and I'm suddenly against it, Giovanni's hand pushed into my chest, now drifting up to clasp the back of my neck. I can hear his keys clatter against the ground faintly due to the heightened volume of our hoarse gasps.

I thought maybe the ride home would settle us both into a depressive state that would be more than understandable after such a failure, but instead, I found a bubbling anger boiling my blood, making the minutes seem like hours.

My head pounds as he slams me back into the door when I reach for him, and in return, as his mouth takes my own, I gather two fistfuls of his hair and pull, which send his head back with a moan. I take to his throat, biting down on the skin, soothing the burn with my tongue. Pain and pleasure.

His fingers tighten on the nape of my neck before suddenly releasing me, and it happens so fast. His hands, far stronger than my own, spin me like a rag doll, pinning me to the door, which buckles under our force. No foreplay. No dirty words. No coaxing touches.

He lifts the skirt of my dress roughly as I kick off my shoes, which slam into the door before scattering onto the ground. I hear his belt unbuckle, the soft rustling of clothing before he covers my hand against the door with his own, pressing his body up against mine, skin on skin.

He surges upward, penetrating me with a brutal thrust and a groan that sets fire to my insides. My toes strain as I feel his fingers painfully dig into my hip, setting an aching rhythm, guiding me back and forth onto his steely girth.

"Tell me if this is too much," he breathes against my shoulder. Dizzy, I settle my mouth over his hand, his wrist, his arm, sinking my teeth into the flesh, and I hear his moan.

"It's not enough." I want more.

And he gives it to me. He grabs onto my hair and pulls, and a keening sound leaves my lips as I'm suddenly immobilized, subject to his sweet torture.

"Yes," I breathe to myself, tensing every single time his cock nudges my cervix. My fingers curl into the crooks in the door, my knees buckling as my entire body shakes, overwhelmed by my own pleasure and fury. His driving hips never falter, building me to the brink, his tongue against the salty dampness that coats the skin of my back nearly throwing me over the edge.

We both begin to moan. His grip tightens on my hair, and I grimace at the pain of it, but am unwilling to tell him to let go. I want the roughness; I want to hurt.

"Fuck me. God, yes, Giovanni."

He gasps against me. "I'm close."

When his teeth graze and sink into my shoulder, my insides twist and explode with the cry I release. A few more pumps into my clenching sex, and he's spilling into me, pressing his forehead into my back with a sigh. His thrusts slow until we're both completely still and gasping.

When he lets my hair go, I feel the blood rush back to my skull. We both sink to the floor in exhaustion, our raging adrenaline leaving us abruptly. His floor is cold against my back as I suck in gulps of breath, eyes fixated on the ceiling, which is still spinning.

The longer I lie there, the easier it becomes to feel what my anger wasn't letting me before. It's then that I feel that my cheeks are wet. My eyes close, releasing a surge of tears that were at bay, and I press my fists to them, my chest expanding as I try to control whatever the hell is going on with me. The moment I feel his hands, now gentle and overly cautious, pulling me towards him, I feel inconsolable.

"Oh, fuck, Giovanni," I whisper agonizingly as he strokes my hair, my back, pulling me closer until our limbs are messily tangled. His mother's words are here, sunk deep into my skin, and I want to be sick.

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

My hands clutch the material of his suit, my face pressed into the soft silky feel of his shirt. His lips press to my temple, but they don't do the job they normally would.

I don't feel any better.

...

Staring in the mirror with swollen features, I run my fingers over the darkened flesh on my shoulder absentmindedly. There isn't a reason to be upset by it. I gave Giovanni quite a few more in my blind lust, some in visible places.

I pull the white nightgown over my body, limbs sore enough that I wince. Rough sex is worth it, but damn, it can hurt. I go through the motions of taking my birth control, brushing my teeth, combing out my wet hair, intent on spending as much time in here as I can. Giovanni's out in the room, and for some reason, I don't want to go out there with him.

Maybe it's because I don't want to talk about what happened.

Maybe it's because until now, if something wounded me as this has, I'd be able to recover on my own. I don't want him to see me this way.

Maybe if I sit in here long enough, he'll be asleep when I come out.

It's then that I hear him speaking on the phone in the bedroom, his tone low. I step up to the door, trying to hear what he's saying but can't. I open the door in a rush. Giovanni is sitting on the side of the bed, dressed in only dark pajama pants. I notice the dark spots on his arms, his throat as I pass and have the grace to blush with shame.

"I'm not going to see him... I don't care what he says."

I grab my phone, which I turned on earlier, and find a reply to the message I sent to Connor.

Connor: Come by my office in the afternoon. I heard this morning you quit Norman White PR. I'm intrigued to hear the details. See you soon.

There are also texts from Carlos and Ed.

Carlos: I just heard you quit. Okay, what the hell is going on? You've never kept me in the dark this long. I want to see you, ASAP.

I write him a quick reply telling him I'm in California and will see him when I get to New York tomorrow before opening Ed's message.

Ed: I've called multiple times and haven't heard from you yet. I saw you went to Italy... every station is saying you're engaged to Martinelli? What is happening here? Please call me.

I lay the phone down, unable to handle compiling a message to Ed about Giovanni right now. Intent on making this day disappear, I climb into bed, hugging the pillow tightly when I hear Giovanni sigh on the other side of the mattress.

"I will be at your house at seven. Be ready, I've already informed them we're coming... I'm hanging up now."

I hear a high angry voice counter back at his words through the phone and know it's his mother. When the voice disappears, I know he's hung up.

"I'm catching a flight to New York tomorrow."

His reply is noticeably delayed. "Why?"

"I need to hire a moving company. I need to pack. I need see my friends, tell them that I'm moving."

"And that's the only reason you're going?"

"No," I utter truthfully. "You and I have spent nearly every second of every day together in the weeks since we got back together. A lot has happened, changed, and I'd like to prepare myself for what's to come, because your mother isn't going to be the only one that doesn't want this."

"She said a lot of really nasty things. And I am sorry. If I'd have known, I never would have brought you there–"

"But you did know."

"What?"

I begin to sit up. When I turn to look at him, he's regarding me closely, his brows furrowed.

"I heard the argument you and your mother had when we first got there. You knew she didn't want to see me from the start."

He runs a hand through his hair. "I spoke to her the day before and she made it clear she would try."

"She called me a degenerate. A whore. She made it perfectly clear she has no intention on accepting me. She wants Lola for you."

He shrugs, shaking his head. "Well, I don't."

"She's been coming around, telling your mom that she still loves you, wants you. She's convinced her that she's not even the one in the wrong with the whole cheating fiasco."

"I don't fucking care about Lola, Scarlett. She can do and say whatever the hell she likes to my mother. It won't matter." He scoots closer to me on the mattress, and reaches out, grabbing my hand on the bed. "I will talk to my mother, make her see the truth."

"I don't want to wear that ring. Not after what she said."

"I understand, of course. We'll get another, whatever one you want." He lifts my hand to his lips. "She was abominably rude to you today and I'm sick even remembering some of the things you heard. I'm so sorry."

He moves towards me apologetically. There's a wariness in his touch, a cautious restraint as he runs his hand up my arm up to the nape of my neck.

"Just tell me you're going to come back. Tell me you're moving in with me. That you're still going to marry me."

He presses his mouth to my shoulder gently, over the bruise he made in his passion. I force my gaze from the comforter to his face, teeth glued tightly together.

His eyes darken considerably at my silence. "Scarlett, please."

"I will come back," I utter softly, sighing at his exhale of relief.

He pulls me into him, cheek against cheek.

...

My eyes slowly part as I find Giovanni leaning over me. I can still feel his lips against my forehead even though they aren't there anymore. He's dressed in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, complete with a blazer.

"What time is it?"

"6:30. Go back to sleep."

I blink tiredly. "My flight is at five. And um, I'm seeing at two."

"I'll come back and drive you to the airport."

"It'll be a madhouse if you show up. It's okay. I'll just go." I sit up enough to press my lips to his softly and my eyes catch sight of the hickey on his neck.

"Oh my god."

He realizes what I'm looking at and grins.

"War wounds. You've got 'em too."

"Your mother is going to see them."

"I'm planning on telling her you ravished me in the driveway out of spite." I glare at him and he smirks. "Joke... Too soon?"

With a scrunched nose, I nod, but my anger from last night has dulled. "Just a bit."

He leans in, clasping my face. "I'll be here before you go, alright?"

I nod, smiling softly. He kisses me, deeply, in no hurry to let me go.

...

Connor's smile slowly widens, staring at me entering the room from his desk. I step into his office, and it's as large and showy as I expected it to be.

"Scarlett. How are you?"

I smile, reaching across the desk to shake his hand. "I'm doing pleasantly well. You?"

"Not as good as you it seems. You're with Martinelli again?"

"Yes."

"Are the rumors true? You two getting hitched?"

"We've talked about it," I reply vaguely, sitting down. "Right now, we're just getting to know one another again."

"Norman called. Told me you resigned. Wouldn't tell me why, though."

"I thought about what you said," I utter, breathing in. "I've actually thought about it a great deal."

His lips purse, and he leans forward, intrigued. "I've got fifteen minutes before my next meeting. Pitch me."

...

"Excuse me," I mutter, hurrying past the few paparazzi waiting outside of Connor's office. "Move, please."

My phone begins to ring.

"Scarlett, are you engaged? Can you give us a confirmation?"

"Why don't you have a ring on?"

I see Ed's name and pick up the call, bringing it to my ear.

"Ed, I may need to call you back."

"Scarlett!"

I smile at the horrendous people, hurrying to a taxi parked on the side of the road.

"I'm being chased down," I mumble into the phone and I hear Ed laugh on the other end.

"You asked for this, you know."

"I know." I slam the door shut, sliding into the leather. I tell the driver Giovanni's address and devote my attention finally to Ed.

"Okay, I'm safe... I'm sorry. I fell off the face of the earth these past weeks."

"I'm more than a little surprised to hear you're back with Martinelli... I mean, you fucking hated the guy."

"It was a love-hate, you know that. Besides, I found out a lot of things, about him, about me."

"Things you can tell me?"

"Not really."

"Ah, I see. Want to get drinks tonight? Carol has been asking about you."

"Tonight, um, sure. It will be late, though. Could I bring Carlos? He's pissed at me too."

He chuckles. "Sure, we'll make it a party."

...

I zip up my bag, feeling Giovanni's gaze on me from the door. I look at him, smiling at the sight of his troubled expression, his arms crossed over his body.

"It's a few days. And then I'll be back for good."

"Days are going to feel like weeks."

I place the strap of my bag on my shoulder, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, wanting to be comfortable on the flight. He looks down at me when I stop in front of him. The taxi honks outside.

"We have the rest of our lives to be together, Giovanni," I tell him, surprised when he closes his eyes and gathers me into his arms, squeezing tightly. I respond to his affection, kissing his jaw sweetly.

"You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that."

I stroke his hair, lovingly. "It's just a few days."

His lips search and find mine.

...

"You fucking bitch!" Carlos hollers as I cross the busy city sidewalk, finding him waiting outside the bar. New York City is at its prime; the sun has just gone down. I'm running on fumes, having dropped off my bag at the apartment to get here on time. I laugh as he pulls me in, crushing me in a hug. "You had me scared out of my damn mind."

He pulls back, taking a good look at me.

"You look damn good."

I nod, flushed. "I'm happy."

"With Martinelli? It's about damn time. I just heard you quit on Norman? What's that about?"

"Quit? What?"

I turn, finding Ed and a blonde beside him. His girlfriend, Carol, who is at least ten years older than him, smiles, leaning in to hug me, noticeably hesitant.

"You have been all I've heard of on the news for weeks!" she gasps, mouth gaped. Ed leans in, kissing my cheek briefly.

"You quit?" he repeats. I smile, overwhelmed as Carlos wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in.

"Let's go inside... I'll tell you guys the news."

...

I walk into the building, dead tired, noticing Rog setting down his bag by the desk.

"You just get in?" I ask, walking up to the desk. He nods, sighing.

"Another day job, another night."

"I don't know how you do it."

"Neither do I. You've been MIA for a while."

"Giovanni and I are together again," I utter, pride unmistakable in my voice.

He smiles. "Good. The boy cares about you."

I tap on the desk with a nod, dragging myself towards the stairs. I fish my keys out of my purse and stick them into the door, twisting the lock. I step into the apartment with a sigh, flicking on the light to the room.

My luggage is still on the couch, wide open, clothes thrown about from my hasty attempt to change for the dinner tonight. I walk to the kitchen, needing water as a result of the three scotches Carlos peer-pressured me into drinking.

I grab a glass on the counter and run it under the sink. The water tastes cool and slick, quenching my thirst as it goes down my throat.

Within seconds of standing still, I begin to feel it. My eyes suddenly zone in on the tile as my skin prickles, hairs rising up in alarm. Tense, I bring the glass down, hearing the thud against the countertop.

I can't move.

Someone's watching me.

"Well, it's about time you showed up," Dixon utters behind me.