Cellie's POV
The reception finally ended around sunset, and I'd never been more grateful to escape a place in my entire life. I'd managed to avoid Demetrio for the rest of the afternoon, though I could feel his presence like a storm cloud hovering somewhere in the background. Every time I caught a glimpse of him across the lawn, talking to his men or greeting guests, my stomach did this stupid flip that I absolutely hated.
Marco had kept my wine glass full without judgment, bless him, and by the time Penelope finally released me from my familial duties, I was pleasantly buzzed and ready to go home and never think about the DeLeon family again.
"Remember," Penelope had said as I was leaving, gripping my arm with those sharp nails of hers. "Manuel expects you at the next family gathering. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."
I'd nodded and smiled and said all the right things, but inside I was already planning how to avoid every single DeLeon event for the rest of my natural life.
The ride back to my apartment felt like traveling between two different worlds. From the pristine wealth of the DeLeon estate to my rundown neighborhood with its flickering streetlights and cracked sidewalks. My studio apartment had never looked smaller or more depressing than it did when I walked through the door that night.
I'd taken the longest shower of my life, scrubbing my skin until it was pink, trying to wash away the feeling of Demetrio's eyes on me, the memory of his voice in my ear, the ghost of his touch that still lingered despite everything.
It didn't work.
That night, I'd dreamed of grey eyes and dangerous hands and woken up tangled in my sheets with my heart racing and heat pooling low in my belly. I'd hated myself for it.
The next few days passed in a blur of trying to return to normal. I went to my classes at the community college, took notes, participated in discussions, and pretended like my entire world hadn't shifted on its axis. I worked my shifts at the coffee shop, smiled at customers, made lattes, and acted like everything was fine.
But it wasn't fine. Nothing was fine.
I kept expecting to see him. Every time a black car drove past. Every time the door to the coffee shop opened. Every time my phone buzzed with a notification. My body was on constant high alert, waiting for Demetrio to appear and finish whatever game we'd started in that bathroom.
By the third day, I'd almost convinced myself that it was over. That he'd moved on. That whatever had happened between us was just a moment of insanity that we'd both agreed to forget.
I should have known better.