Текст книги "A Little Too Much"

Автор книги: Lisa Desrochers

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Chapter Seventeen

I CALL JESS on the way to Alessandro’s the next morning. “Hey, sweetie,” I say when she picks up. “You’ve got an admirer.”

“If it’s that guy you were dancing with at Sixty-nine, I might be interested,” she sings.

“You’re gay, Jess.”

“Yeah, well . . . so who?”

“Remember Hailey, from my audition?”

“Oh, my God! Did you get the part?”

“Um . . . no.”

There’s a long silence. “You’re joking, right?”

“Tragically, no. Bambi got it.”

“Bambi!”

I have to pull the phone away from my ear at her screech. “That’s what Hailey said . . . which is really why I called.”

There’s a pause, then a confused, “What?”

“You know the girl I read with at that audition?”

“Oh, yeah. The cute blonde. What about her?”

“I think she’s crushing on you, Jess. She wanted your number.”

“Seriously?” The curious lilt to her voice tells me she’s not disgusted by the idea, which is good.

“Yeah. So if you’re okay with calling her, I’ll text you her number.”

“Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“And she’s setting me up with an agent, Jess, so try not to break her heart right away, ’kay?” She laughs and I can’t help but smile. “Texting you now. Tell me how it goes.”

“Great. Oh! If you hear of anyone who needs a roommate, mine’s moving out on the first.”

“I’ll keep my ears open, sweetie,” I tell her. “Talk soon.”

When I get to Alessandro’s apartment at 11:15, I ring the bell, and when he buzzes the door to let me in, I tell him to meet me downstairs.

I’m in warm-ups and a T-shirt under my jacket, and when the elevator door opens, and Alessandro steps out, I see he’s in the same.

“You didn’t want to come up for tea first?” he asks.

“No. Thanks.” I know I should just tell him now, but he’s planned something and I know how excited he gets about it. I’d feel worse than I already do if I ruined it for him.

He nods. “We only have a few minutes before we should go anyway. Can’t hurt to be a little early.”

I keep my distance as we walk to the subway, staying far enough away that he doesn’t try to put his arm around me.

“How has your week been?” he asks, and I can tell by the caution in his voice that he knows something’s up.

“Fine.”

I feel the weight of his gaze grow heavier. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“Fine,” he repeats slowly, as if turning the word over in his mind and examining it from all angles.

“Fine,” I say, and try to sound light.

We turn the corner and start down the subway stairs.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

I shoot him an annoyed glance. “No, Alessandro. It’s nothing you’ve done.”

“Then it is something.” It’s not a question.

I spin on him where we stand at the bottom of the stairs. “Why do you want to do this now?”

He gazes into my eyes for a long heartbeat before answering. “Because the fact there’s something to ‘do’ means you’re upset. If you’re upset, I want to know why. Especially if it’s me who’s upset you.”

I take a deep breath and try to remember that I’m the problem here, not Alessandro. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

I wave a hand in a circle between us. “Whatever we’re doing. I can’t spend time with you anymore.”

His lips press into a line and he nods. “I know.”

That is so not the answer I was expecting. “What do you mean, you know?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and twitches a grimace. “I’ve always known you and I spending time together was a bad idea. I just . . .” The misery in those amazing charcoal eyes as he trails off is almost enough to make me change my mind. “I’m so glad you’ve let me know you for these past few months. It’s helped me more than you can ever know to see how well you’re doing. You’re an incredibly strong woman—beautiful and intelligent . . . you’re everything I hoped I’d find when I came looking for you.” He lowers his gaze. “But you’re right. You shouldn’t . . .” He shakes his head. “You’re right.”

“Good . . . so, yeah.” It was just guilt. That’s all this was to him—just a big pity parade. I was stupid to think he might be feeling any of the things I was feeling—that he’d be upset when I told him we can’t spend time together. He came, he saw, and I’m sure he’s been ready to bail for a while. He’s probably relieved.

“Come on,” he says, taking my elbow and guiding me toward the northbound platform. “I’ll see you to your train.”

We get to the platform just as a train is pulling in. The doors open and I step through. When I turn, Alessandro is still on the platform. “Where were we going, anyway?”

But the doors whoosh shut before he can answer.

We stare at each other through the glass for another beat of my dying heart, then the train glides out of the station. As soon as it hits the tunnel, tears are tracking down my face, but I choke them back. This is how it has to happen. It’s the only way to keep my secrets safe.

WHEN I FINALLY pull myself out of bed at noon, I realize it’s Thursday. I’ve survived a week without Alessandro, but today is our day. I drag myself through the shower and get dressed. Then, to stop myself from missing him, I call Jess.

“Hey!” she says when she picks up.

“Hey. I was thinking of doing a little Christmas shopping. You in?”

“Def! When?”

“Now, if you’re ready.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

I think about who I have to buy for. “I don’t know. Macy’s maybe?”

“We’ll get better deals at Century Twenty-one. Meet me there in an hour?”

Century 21 is just a few blocks from the World Trade Center memorial. I’ve avoided it for no reason in particular, but suddenly, I feel the overwhelming urge to see it. “Have you ever been to the WTC memorial?”

“Sure. A couple of times.”

“Do you mind going back? I’d like to see it.”

“You’ve never been?” she says, surprised.

“No, but I’m feeling like I should go, you know?” I haven’t seen Alessandro since I left him standing on the subway platform a week ago. I can’t see him again. I don’t know if that’s what’s behind the sudden compulsion—that it’s a way to feel connected to him without actually being with him—but I feel drawn to see it.

“Yeah, sure. We can do that first, if you want. I’ll meet you at the corner of Church and Vesey? We can walk over.”

“Thanks, Jess. See you in an hour.”

JESS IS ALREADY there, leaning on the wall near the post-office entrance of the Federal Building, when I walk up to the corner. She takes one look at me and the smile falls off her face. “What happened?” she asks, pulling me into a hug.

I hug her back, way longer than I normally would. “What didn’t happen would be easier to answer.”

“Is it the part? It sucks, Hil, but you’ll get the next one. I just know it.”

I let her go and start toward where the throngs of people are disappearing around the corner toward the site of the old World Trade Center buildings. The sidewalk is lined on the left with chain-link fencing hung with blue tarps, and behind it, the endless construction continues. “It’s the part, but other stuff too.”

“So start with the big stuff and we’ll work our way down,” she says, looping her arm through mine.

“My mom has cancer.”

“Holy shit, Hilary. You weren’t kidding.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“How is she?”

“I have no clue because she won’t talk to me. I’ve called every day since I found out three weeks ago and she won’t take my calls. They tell me not to bother making the trip again because she’s refusing to see me.” I shake my head. “I don’t know what I did to piss her off.”

“Jesus,” she says, hanging her head. “That’s rough.”

Some asshole walking backward with a camera slams into me, nearly knocking me over. When I get my balance, I shove him back. “Watch it.”

He glares over his shoulder at me. “Screw you.”

“Back at ya, asshole.”

Jess tugs me away before I take a swing at the guy. “Karma will take care of people like that,” she tells me.

And then I look up and see where we are.

In front of me is the block where the World Trade Center buildings stood before the attack. It’s now a cobbled park with two giant reflecting pools where the bases of the buildings use to be. We move closer and it becomes noticeably more hushed, the cacophony of chattering tourists dropping to a rustling of whispers. The reverence is clear in the face of everyone around us. Inside me, everything shifts, and I feel the sudden urge to go back and apologize to the guy with the camera.

“Can you feel the energy here?” Jess whispers. “It’s different than anywhere else in the city.”

And for once, I think I kind of get her, because it does feel different.

Out of the total blue, a huge knot of grief forms in my chest and tears spring up behind my eyes. And the image that accompanies those feelings is a beautiful sixteen-year-old boy without a father.

I heard the sirens. I felt the city scream. What happened that day changed everyone. But Alessandro’s father died here, and his life changed in ways I can’t even imagine.

I move to the edge of the enormous pool where the north tower used to be and walk around the edge, scanning each name engraved into the side and looking for one with the last name Moretti. I find it halfway around the second side. Lorenzo Moretti. So, Lorenzo was a junior. I lean into the edge and trace my fingers over his engraved name, sniffling into the sleeve of my jacket.

He was assistant chef at Windows on the World, at the top of the north tower. He walked with Lorenzo and me to the subway when we left for school that morning, and that was the last we ever saw of him.

Tears come harder at the memory of Alessandro’s words—at the memory of the haunted look in his eyes as he said them. I imagine him here, standing just where I am as an adult, finally grieving his dead father.

Ghosts.

Jess steps up next to me and lays a hand on my back. We just stand here for what feels like a really long time as I imagine Alessandro’s family before. Two parents. Lorenzo, the troublemaker. And Alessandro, the adoring little brother.

I remember how he was when I knew him . . . always trying to sort through his feelings. Trying to make sense of the world and all the shitty things that happen in it—trying to make sense of why his father died, and why his mother left him.

That was his way of trying to stay sane in an insane world.

Finally, when I feel the knot in my chest start to ease, I scrub my sleeve across my face and back away from the pool.

“You okay?” Jess asks.

I nod and we head back the way we came.

I come away from the Century 21 two hours later with a bottle of Brett’s aftershave, a scarf and some gloves for Mallory, a graphic T-shirt for Jeff, a new Lego set for Henri, and finger paints for Max, because Mallory mentioned his physical therapist said tactile things would help his sensory integration, what ever that means. I couldn’t find anything that I thought they’d let Mom have in prison.

“So, we only got to number one on your list earlier,” Jess says as we trudge back to the subway. “What else?”

We start down the stairs into the subway. “There’s a guy.”

She glances at me as we reach the bottom. “Other than Brett?”

I nod.

“The one you were dancing with at Club Sixty-nine? Because I’ve gotta tell you, that guy made me question my sexual preference.”

“I don’t really know what’s going on with us. I mean, I’m with Brett, and I’m not looking for anyone else, but . . .” I hang my head.

“You just met him, right? He’s got that dark, mysterious thing happening. It’s hotter than hell, but as soon as you get to know him, you’ll find out he wets the bed and still lives with his mommy or something. Not that I’m a big fan of Brett’s, but the grass is always greener, Hil.”

We slide our MetroCards and walk through the gates.

“I didn’t just meet him. I’ve known him forever.”

She shoots me a glance as we weave through the crowd to the platform. “How long is forever?”

“We were in a group home together when I was fourteen.”

We find a spot on the platform and I can feel her eyes boring into me. “There’s more to that story.”

I hang my head and grab a handful of my kinks. “I was in love with him back then.” And maybe still am. “We kind of had a thing.”

“A thing?” She leans closer and asks, “Did you hand him your V card?”

“No. I handed it to his brother.”

She doesn’t say anything, and when I look up at her, she’s just staring at me. “Please tell me you didn’t sleep with both of them.”

“I slept with both of them.”

She breathes deep. “And now?”

“We do things together, and . . .” I shake my head. “I just like spending time with him, you know? He’s interesting and different and . . .” I shake my head again. “I don’t know.”

She tucks her bags behind her legs and leans back into the wall. “So this guy just showed back up out of nowhere.”

I nod. “But I told him I can’t see him anymore.”

“Because of Brett?”

My stomach knots. I really want to tell her everything—the real reason I can’t be with Alessandro, but I made a promise. “Because of a lot of things.”

She looks at me for a few seconds, like she’s going to push for details, but then she shakes her head. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Tell me about it.”

When I get back to the apartment, I go to the bedroom and wrap all my Christmas gifts. Then, since we have no tree to put them under, I stuff everything back in the bag and stick it in the closet. The gift I already bought for Alessandro is there, in the corner. I pull it out and turn it in my hand. The tube is wrapped in green paper and has a red bow tied around it. And in the middle of the bow is my cockroach.

I put it back and close the door. Brett will be home in a few days. Things will be easier then. Maybe I haven’t given him enough credit—taken our relationship seriously enough. Maybe we can be more than just roommates with benefits.

He’s uncomplicated. He’s predictable. He’s easy. And he’s not Alessandro.

He’s everything I need.

He’s all I need.

Chapter Eighteen

IT’S CHRISTMAS EVE and I’m working. So ho, ho, fucking ho. And the cherry on top is that the only person in the bar is Bill-Bob, so I’m probably looking at five bucks in tips.

Brett will be there when I get home from the bar tonight. His flight got into Newark at six. He texted me from the airport to ask if I wanted to come to the cast party. I lied and told him I wanted to, but I was working. The working part wasn’t the lie.

It’s been six weeks, and I know I should be dying to see him. I’m not. But the thing is, I have to stop thinking about Alessandro, and the quickest way I can think to do that is to drown myself in Brett.

I’ve spent the two and a half weeks since I last saw Alessandro working and walking. I’ve got a five-mile loop I do around Central Park every morning now—avoiding Bethesda Fountain. I don’t know if it’s the exercise, or the fresh air, but it’s the only time my mind clears enough that I can think straight. When I’m walking, I know what’s what. I know who’s who. The rest of the time, I find myself pining over things I can’t change. Things I can’t have.

Bill-Bob staggers off his stool and leaves a little before eleven, and when I clear his spot, I see I’m indeed clairvoyant. A wrinkled five is tucked under his empty mug, like he thought it might blow away or someone might steal it.

When the phone rings ten minutes later, I’m leaning on the bar, half asleep. I flip the phone—one of those old jobs stuck to the wall with an actual cord—to my ear.

“Hey, Hilary! How’s it hanging?” Jerry says.

“Low as your Christmas balls, Jerry. And fuck you very much for making me work tonight.” I was so pissed I had to work that I’m actually out of uniform. I’m in my most comfortable jeans instead of my ass shorts.

“Slow?” he asks.

I point the receiver into the empty room. “I can’t hear you over the roar of the crowd, Jerry, what did you say?”

“If it’s slow,” he’s saying when I stick the phone back to my ear, “you can lock up and go home.”

“Do I still get paid for the last three hours of my shift? Because I’m bringing home a whole five bucks in tips.”

He blows a laugh into the phone. “Call it your Christmas bonus.”

That’s all I have to hear. “ ’Night, Jerry.”

“Merry Christmas,” he’s saying, but I don’t wait for him to finish before I slam the phone back into the cradle.

By the time I get home, I’m tired and cranky and I just want to forget the whole freaking day. I twist my key and push open our apartment door, and when it opens, Brett is there on the couch, buck naked and totally ready, waiting for me. When I hear a long moan and a series of grunts from the TV, I know why. He’s got the porn channel on.

He stands and has me pinned against the back of the door in a heartbeat, tugging my coat off. “Miss me?” he asks, a wicked smile on his face and a bleary look in his eyes. That, coupled with the whisky on his breath, tells me he’s totally drunk.

“Yeah. How was the party?”

“You should have been there, babe,” he slurs, tugging at the zipper of my jeans.

He yanks them down, and I keep telling myself I should want this. It’s been a month since we’ve been together.

I want this.

But instead, as he gets my jeans somewhere around my knees, I shove him away and pull them up. “Stop, Brett. I had a shitty night at work and I’m way too tired for this.”

A drunken smile tugs at his lips. “Excellent. We haven’t played this one in a while.” He pins me against the door again and kisses me hard.

I cringe thinking of all our sex games when we first got together . . . his favorite of which was the “reluctant virgin.” I hate myself for ever thinking that was fun.

His hand massages my breast as he nips at my ear. “You’re so fresh, baby. So young. You feel so fucking amazing,” he slurs, starting his role-play.

“Stop, Brett,” I say, shoving him away again. “It’s not a game. I’m just not into it tonight.”

He pulls away and scans me with hooded eyes. “You’re serious.” He grabs himself as his eyes narrow into a glare. “After a month, you’re going to leave me standing here like this.”

A stone sinks in my stomach. But I can’t do it. The thought of sex with Brett makes me physically ill. “I don’t think this is working anymore, Brett.”

He pushes back from the door, his glare sharpening at my words. “What the fuck are you saying?”

“I . . . I’m moving out. As soon as I find a place.”

His face twists. “Fuck that! If you’re moving out, you’re doing it now. You can take your sorry ass and sleep on the street for all I care.” He spins a circle and throws his arms up when he swings around to face me again. “Do you have any clue how many girls I could have fucked on tour, Hilary? Do you? It was a lot. Every night. But you know what? I didn’t do it.” He turns and drops onto the couch. “This is just fucking unbelievable. You breaking up with me,” he adds with a bitter laugh. “Un-fucking-believable.”

“I’m sorry, Brett. I just—”

“Get the fuck out!”

I start to move toward the bedroom for my clothes, but he whips out of the couch and charges me, pushing me hard into the door.

“I said, get the fuck out! Now!”

I scoop my jacket off the floor and pull the door open. When I turn back from the hall, it slams in my face.

“Shit,” I say to the peephole. I turn for the elevator and stumble onto the sidewalk without a clue where I’m going. When I somehow end up on Broadway, I dig for my MetroCard and jump on at Seventy-ninth. I just need to be somewhere else. Jupiter sounds good. I drop into an open seat and fold myself in half, so my forehead is on my knees, lacing my fingers behind my head.

Breathe.

Slowly, my heart rate drops into the non-coronary-inducing range and my head clears a little. When I can finally think, I sit up and look around. Prettily dressed couples are getting on at Lincoln Center. Not every show is dark on Christmas Eve. The ones that are running tonight are just getting out.

Shit.

There goes Broadway.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? All my stuff is at Brett’s apartment, so I’ll have to go back to get it, but then what? I can’t afford a place of my own. Maybe I could bunk with Mallory for a week or two, until I figure out what I’m going to do.

I drop my head into my hands again and try to shut off my mind.

When the whirring stops and I look up, we’re just pulling into Sheridan Square, and all of a sudden, I know where I’m going. I know why I got on this train. I collect my bag and climb the stairs out of the subway onto the street before I lose my nerve. I bump into at least five people as I weave my way quickly up Bleecker Street toward Perry. When I get where I’m going, I punch the button on the intercom at the door and wait. All my nerves feel short-circuited, making me twitchy. After a minute, I hit the button again, holding it an extra few seconds.

No answer.

Story of my freaking life.

I turn and sink onto the stoop, resting my aching head in my hands, trying to pull my shit together and figure out what to do.

“Hilary?”

I look up and find myself staring into Alessandro’s charcoal eyes. All I can do is sit here staring. But the next second, he’s pulled me up by the hand and I’m pressed against his black wool jacket.

“What happened?” he asks low in my ear. “Did someone hurt you?” His accent is soft and soothing, like silk, but there’s an edge of panic to his voice that’s barely concealed.

I shake my head as I try to think. “It’s just . . . nothing.” I push away from him, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “I don’t know why I came here. It was stupid.” I step off the stoop, but he grasps my arm gently before I can get away.

“Come. I’ll find us something warm to drink.” He unlocks the door and ushers me through, then tows me into the elevator and up to his apartment.

His apartment. I’m at Alessandro’s apartment. With Alessandro.

We step into the hallway and my stomach tightens. I told him I couldn’t see him anymore for a reason. I can’t be here. I spin back toward the elevator. “I really should—”

“Hilary,” he warns, and I turn and look at him. “You are obviously upset. Please. Come into my apartment where we can talk.”

His locks me in his sure gaze as he takes my still gloved hand, and I find my feet moving up the hall without my permission. He slides his key in the lock and draws me through the door, closing it behind us. He turns back to face me . . . and I have no freaking clue what to say. What the hell was I thinking, coming here?

We stand here, like, three feet apart, staring at each other for what feels like the rest of my life.

“Can I take your coat?” he finally asks, shrugging out of his.

“Yeah . . . sure.” I peel off my gloves and shove them in my jacket pocket, then slip off my jacket and untwist my scarf from my neck. “Where were you so late?” I ask, handing everything to him.

“I got the director of Teen Services job at the youth center. We worked serving Christmas dinner at the local shelter. Cleanup took a while,” he answers, hanging both our coats on the hall tree just inside the door. He starts toward the kitchen. “I’ve got Coke or—”

“Any rum to go with it?” I ask, following him toward the kitchen.

“Sorry, no.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a half empty bottle of white wine, cocking an eyebrow at me. “This is the best I can do in that department.”

“Sold,” I say, leaning against the counter on the other side of the fridge. I watch as he pulls two glasses down and drains what’s left of the bottle into them. He scoops them off the counter and hands one to me on his way to the couch, where he turns and waits for me.

I follow and lower myself onto the cushions. Alessandro sits at the other end, setting his glass on his coffee table . . . which, I now notice, is modern: glass in a heavy metal frame.

“That’s great about your job,” I say. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he says, swirling his wine. His eyes drop away from mine. “It gives me an outlet.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I coordinate programs to keep kids off the street.”

“What sort of programs?”

He settles deeper into the cushions. “Anything I can think of that a kid would need or want, from tutoring to boxing to computer programming. We have dozens of people from the community who volunteer their time to help the kids.”

My heart pounds as I open my mouth to ask, “So, does this mean you’re staying for a while?”

His holds me in his dark gaze. “That all depends.”

I swallow hard and force air into my lungs. “On what?”

Finally, he lowers his intense charcoal eyes, releasing me. “What happened tonight? Why are you here?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s just . . .” I feel unexpected tears spring up. I shake my head at the words I feel forming in my throat, but I can’t stop them. “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was to act, you know? Ever since my grandpa took me to see Annie before he died, that’s all I’ve wanted . . . to stand up on the stage where I had everyone’s attention and just belt something out.”

The depth of the blade slicing through my insides as I say this surprises me and I suddenly realize that, even after everything, I really thought I could make it happen. I really thought I could have this. The death of my dream kills my soul a little too.

Alessandro leans in and wipes the tears off my face with his fingertips. “Then you should.”

With his touch, a sizzling electric current sweeps over me, raising goose bumps everywhere, and I realize that, other than slapping him outside Argo Tea, and dirty dancing at Club 69, which hardly count, this is the first time in eight years he’s touched me, skin on skin, no clothes or gloves between us. The feeling scares me. Without Brett as an obstacle, it’s dangerous for me to be here. I brush his hand away more brusquely than I mean to. I take a long swallow of wine, feeling the coolness and tartness of it roll over my tongue and slip down my throat, grounding me.

“When every third person in Manhattan is auditioning for the same three spots, it’s not that easy. You gotta know someone . . . have an in.” I feel my insides collapse at the knowledge that I just left my “in” standing naked in my apartment.

He tips his head toward me. “Surely it can’t be that simple. Talent has to count for something.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m not as talented as I thought I was.”

I feel that zing again as he picks my hand up off my knee and holds it in both of his. “But you are.”

My reflex is to pull my hand away, but I don’t. “How would you know?”

“Google and YouTube are all kinds of useful,” he says with an impish little smile that stirs something deep inside my belly.

Shit. He’s been cyberstalking me again. “You did not  . . .”

He nods and the smile spreads. “I did. Some of your American Idol clips are really quite impressive.”

I shake my head. “Not impressive enough. I didn’t make it far enough to matter.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Did it matter to you?”

“Well . . .” I shrug. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, it’s gotten me into auditions I wouldn’t have gotten otherwise.”

“So, use it to its fullest advantage,” he says, his thumb tracing circles over the back of my hand. “Will it continue to get you auditions?”

“I guess . . . for a while. But it doesn’t matter. I never get the callback.”

“So, what needs to happen for you to get the callback?”

“A lot of things, but mostly, I need to learn to dance.”

His thumb stops, mid-stroke. “What kind of dance?”

I breathe deeply. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford lessons.”

“What kind of dance?” he repeats with all the patience of a saint.

“Classical . . . modern . . . anything really. I just need to learn to move my body in a way that’s not totally spastic.”

“Are you free Thursday?” he asks, and there’s something in the way he says it that makes me squint a question at him.

“Why?”

He smirks a little, and it’s a totally hot look on that perfect face. “You are bound and determined to make me ask everything twice, aren’t you?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m free.”

“Can you be at the youth center by ten?”

“In the morning?” I ask, hoping I’ve misunderstood.

His smirk is back. “In the morning.”

“Yeah . . . sure, I guess.” I’m not even sure where I’m sleeping tonight. It sure as hell isn’t going to be at home. Who knows where I’ll be in two days.

He settles deeper into the cushions. “So, what happened tonight?”

It’s like he read my mind. I take a breath, setting my resolve. I can’t tell him. As long as he thinks Brett is still an obstacle between us, I’m safe.

He leans closer. “Talk to me, Hilary.”

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” Damn. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut around him?

He stiffens and something in his gaze shifts . . . becomes more hooded. He lowers my hand and reaches for his glass, taking a sip of wine.

I stand and move to the window, looking out over Perry Street. It’s got to be almost one, but there are still people milling about. A group of guys passes two girls on the sidewalk across the street and both groups slow down and check each other out—the traditional NYC mating dance. Alessandro comes up behind me. I can feel the heat of his body, but he’s not touching me. I turn to face him, and he’s so close.

I feel tears rise and pinch my face against them. “It’s just so stupid. I mean, it’s not like I loved him or anything. I didn’t really even like him most of the time. But it was comfortable . . . easy.”

He hesitates before reaching for me and pulling me to his shoulder. I try to find the strength to push him away. But I can’t. I’ve wanted to be right here, in Alessandro’s arms, for so long. I dreamed of these arms after he left. I dreamed he’d come back and hold me and everything would be okay.

And now he’s here.

As the tears start, I suddenly know this is about more than just Brett. It’s about everything. It’s about Mom and Mallory. It’s about butterflies in the park. And it’s about Lorenzo and Alessandro and everything that came after. It’s about all the pain and loneliness that I’ve stuffed down and denied all my life because it made me weak.

Alessandro’s breath in my hair is warm and soothing. He doesn’t say a word, but he hugs me close and kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair and rocking me gently. When I’ve cried myself out, I peel myself off his chest and look up at him.

“Better?” he asks, brushing the tears off my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

His thumb slows in its movement across my cheek, then traces my lips as his warm gaze locks on mine. He’s so close. My heart pounds at the image of closing the short distance between us and pressing my lips against his. There’s a long second where neither of us moves, and I’m sure I see the same thought flare in his eyes.