“Luca.” My whole body flushes, crown to sole, and I’m rewarded with a flare of his eyes.
His voice sounds an octave lower as he says, “Elise,” and all my fury and bravado fades into one raspy whisper. “Why are you here?”
It’s a lame question. A placeholder for real words. All the things I want to say, but I’ve got doors closed. I can’t seem to get them open.
I watch as he fists his hand at his side, fingers flexing and then curling again.
His whole face—the blessed hardness of it—remind me that I hate him. I feel my lips curl as new me—the actress who stars in my life every day—takes over, sounding derisive as I ask him, “Did you think you might run into me?”
He looks helpless—like he doesn’t know why I would ask—and my heart gives a hard throb, pumping black pain through me. His mouth does the little thing—it’s just this tiny tell I couldn’t describe to a stranger, but it’s like he’s wavering. He’s unsure.
“I know what you’re into now. And I saw you the other times. You were standing near the bushes outside of my residence hall. Last year. I knew it was you—” I fumble, swallowing so I don’t say because I’d recognize you anywhere. I drag air into my burning lungs. “I saw you at a restaurant, too. I was on a date and you came in. And then you left.”
Unhappy. That’s what his face says. Nothing more, though. He looks tense and closed off, maybe even angry. I’m breathing in desperate gulps; it’s all I can do. His hand stills, clenched in a fist.
“Oh, I know it’s inconvenient when you see an ex. Don’t worry. I’m another guy’s date tonight.”
Such a rush of satisfaction as his jaw tics, as those blue eyes narrow. He looks like he’d love to hunt the guy down. I square my shoulders, and his face twists in concern.
“Did someone hurt you?” Just his voice turns my limbs weak and heavy.
“What do you mean?” I blink twice, quickly, as if that will fix my ruined mascara.
He touches his cheek, frowning as if I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. I realize maybe my cheek is dark from the smeared makeup.
“I’m just fine.” I smile for him. “Heading upstairs.” I take a step back, into the corner opposite his, because he’s feeling way too close now. “Why are you here?”
I inhale deeply but discreetly, smelling liquor more strongly. His eyes on mine are hard, impassive, but I notice that his shoulders are rising and falling quickly, like he’s struggling with his breathing.
“You don’t want to tell me?” I lean in slightly, still keeping a careful distance. “Are you doing something scary?”
“What—does that mean?” He looks stricken. As if I’m the villain. His twisting mouth is so soft.
What would he do if I bit it?
I look at that perfect full lip, and I wish that I could grab him by the nape and bite his mouth so hard it bleeds. Instead, I laugh, playing my part. “Oh, I think you know exactly what it means.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re in the mafia, Luca. Everybody knows now. Everybody.”
Troubled…for a moment. Then there’s fury in his features. He’s clenching his jaw and fisting his hands, and his chest is rising on a deep and desperate breath.
“Are you going to deny it? That’s what mob guys do, right? Deny, deny, deny. When you deny something, then it frees you up and you just walk away.”
“I never meant to hurt you.” His soft voice sounds rough, and now his face is filled with everything I used to want—that desperate love that made me weak and stupid, unafraid and trusting. That’s how he looks right now.
My palm strikes his cheek so hard it echoes.* * *LucaCalm moves through me as my lungs lock and my head goes light and dizzy. I hold my face, clinging onto everything I’ve learned from anyone I’ve sought out for help.
“What did you mean to do, Luca?”
The elevator feels too small, but I can’t move my body out of it. I can see and even sort of feel the rhythm of my fist smashing a man’s face. If anybody else had hit me, that’s what would be happening right now.
I blink at her. “Sorry,” I say, turning toward the doors.
“Are you, though?”
The elevator shudders as it stops on some floor. My shaking finger finds the stay-shut button.
Jesus…my heart’s racing. I can’t even speak. My whole body’s fucking shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut. “It was my fault.”
I see younger me in a wing-backed chair pulled into a hallway in this very building, watching as the others bustle about with towels, blankets, mops that drip red. I remember myself lying in a strange bed sometime later. A blonde girl stroked my hair, but I couldn’t see her because I had my eyes closed so I could pretend she was another girl—the one I thought I’d never see again.