---- Chapter 16 Amira Osborne POV: "Whether he is or not has absolutely nothing to do with you," | said, my voice as cold and sharp as ice. | looked at him, at the man | had once loved with every fiber of my being, and felt nothing. Not a flicker of affection, not a twinge of pity. He was a stranger. "We are done, Carter. There is no possibility of us ever getting back together." To punctuate the finality of my words, | reached out and took Arjun' s hand. His fingers laced with mine, warm and steady. A small, surprised smile touched his lips. He recovered quickly, scooping a now-giggling Chloe into his arms. "So, little bug," he said, his voice loud enough for Carter to hear clearly, "where should we go for our celebration dinner tonight? That pizza place you love?" "Pizza! Pizza!" Chloe chanted, clapping her hands and calling him "Daddy" again. | saw Carter flinch as if he' d been physically struck. He swayed on his feet, his face pale, a dark, wounded look in his eyes. He bit down on his lip so hard | was sure he drew blood. The sight of the three of us, a perfect little family, was a dagger in his heart. ---- We walked away, leaving him standing there, a solitary, broken figure on the bustling Italian piazza. Later that evening, after we had tucked Chloe into bed, Arjun and | sat on the hotel balcony, a comfortable silence between us. Professor Albright, who had traveled with us for the awards ceremony, had explained Chloe' s tendency to call us Mom and Dad. "The child needs parents," he' d said with a shrug. "You two seem to fit the bill." | had already decided to formally adopt her. Arjun, to my surprise, had immediately offered to be her legal guardian as well, a move Professor Albright had teased him mercilessly about. | turned to Arjun, a knot of guilt tightening in my stomach. "Arjun, about today... I'm sorry. | used you to get rid of Carter. And all the time you' ve spent helping me with Chloe... | know it' s just because you feel sorry for me, but you shouldn' t waste your time. Your parents have been trying to set you up on dates back home. You deserve to have your own life." He looked at me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He opened his mouth to say something, but just then my phone rang with a call from the conference organizer. | had to excuse myself. As | walked away, | heard him sigh, a soft, melancholy sound. | didn' t know then what he had been trying to say. That it wasn't pity. It was love. The next night, | found myself in a loud, smoky bar on the ---- outskirts of Florence, my head throbbing. The hotel manager had called, insisting | come down. One of my "relatives" was causing a scene and refusing to leave. | knew before | even saw him. Carter was slumped over the bar, a row of empty shot glasses in front of him. He was a complete wreck. His hair was greasy, his clothes were stained, and the self-inflicted scars on his arms were a stark, white lattice of old pain. A part of me, a small, foolish part, felt a twinge of something. But | stamped it out. He was a stranger with a problem, and | was not a charity. "Next time you pull a stunt like this," | said, my voice hard, "you could be dying in a gutter and | wouldn' t so much as glance your way." He didn' t look up, just kept staring into his glass. A single tear traced a path through the grime on his cheek. "Amira," he whispered, his voice thick with alcohol and despair. The pathetic, lovesick act was laughable. | remembered his absolute resolve when he forced me to drink champagne, when he sided with Francine over my mother' s life. This drunken sentimentality was an insult. | grabbed his arm and yanked him off the barstool. He stumbled, his head cracking against the corner of the bar. A trickle of blood ran down his temple. ---- The bartender gasped. | didn' t flinch. "You' re not drunk," | said, my voice low and contemptuous. "I' ve seen you drink a bottle of whiskey and walk a straight line. Stop this pathetic act." | remembered all the times he' d boasted about his high tolerance, the times he' d used it as an excuse to drive when he shouldn' t have. The times he' d promised me he' d never be that guy. He had broken every promise he' d ever made. | turned to leave. He scrambled up from the floor, his eyes wild with a desperate, sober clarity. He blocked my path, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. "You came," he whispered, a hopeful, broken smile on his face. "You still care. You wouldn' t have come if you didn't still care."