noname_jup
SURRENDER
Divorce.
His throat closed up even thinking the word. He was twenty-eight years old and had conquered the universe or thought he had.
No! He had.
Then his picture perfect world had shattered with one single word.
Divorce.
He’d been respectable, always treating women with admiration. He hadn’t jumped into marriage at twenty-one, but dated the same woman for three years, cherished her, gave her everything. He thought he’d found perfection, but he was disillusioned.
Raffaello Palazzo sat straight up, his eyes narrowed.
No! He wasn’t this man.
He wouldn’t grovel.
“Goodbye.”
He barely glanced up as Sharron walked past, her five-thousand dollar purse slung over her shoulder, flaunting the smirk on her face as she slammed the door in all its finality.
A few of herplaints against him were that he worked too much and didn’t give her the attention she thought she deserved. With the simple slamming of a door, she was gone.
He was grateful she was. When he’d walked in the week before, carrying roses, attempting to give her more attention, he’d seen that she wasn’t choosy about where her attention came from. She’d been in bed with his business partner.
Rafe’s eyes closed as he momentarily pictured that moment;
“Are you cutting out on us?”
“It’s my anniversary. My wife’s favorite flower is the Hawaiian Flora. I had them express delivered to the floral shop and I’m picking up her bouquet, then taking her on a surprise trip to Paris where we celebrated our honeymoon.”
“You’re the most whipped man I know, Rafe,” his assistant, Mario, said with a smile.
“I’m half Italian. My father taught...
SURRENDER
Divorce.
His throat closed up even thinking the word. He was twenty-eight years old and had conquered the universe or thought he had.
No! He had.
Then his picture perfect world had shattered with one single word.
Divorce.
He’d been respectable, always treating women with admiration. He hadn’t jumped into marriage at twenty-one, but dated the same woman for three years, cherished her, gave her everything. He thought he’d found perfection, but he was disillusioned.
Raffaello Palazzo sat straight up, his eyes narrowed.
No! He wasn’t this man.
He wouldn’t grovel.
“Goodbye.”
He barely glanced up as Sharron walked past, her five-thousand dollar purse slung over her shoulder, flaunting the smirk on her face as she slammed the door in all its finality.
A few of herplaints against him were that he worked too much and didn’t give her the attention she thought she deserved. With the simple slamming of a door, she was gone.
He was grateful she was. When he’d walked in the week before, carrying roses, attempting to give her more attention, he’d seen that she wasn’t choosy about where her attention came from. She’d been in bed with his business partner.
Rafe’s eyes closed as he momentarily pictured that moment;
“Are you cutting out on us?”
“It’s my anniversary. My wife’s favorite flower is the Hawaiian Flora. I had them express delivered to the floral shop and I’m picking up her bouquet, then taking her on a surprise trip to Paris where we celebrated our honeymoon.”
“You’re the most whipped man I know, Rafe,” his assistant, Mario, said with a smile.
“I’m half Italian. My father taught...