He looks like he fits right in here. My legs stop moving. I suck air into my lungs, my gaze still locked onto him. Older Luca. My eyes keep getting caught on the crisp white collar of his dress shirt. It’s peeking out from beneath his black coat. I think about my fingers on buttons—
No.
The way his neck and shoulders—
Don’t look at his shoulders.
I watch someone fall in step behind him. It’s a shorter guy with curling blond hair, wearing a dress shirt and charcoal pants. Luca turns, angling himself toward the new guy, and I catch a glimpse of his profile as his lips curve into a smile.
His jaw looks stronger now, more chiseled.
In an alcove to my right, I spot a table with a candle and champagne flutes. I take a cool glass in my hot hand, watching as his form shrinks with the distance spreading out between us, watching as the dark hall swallows him.
He’s walking away, walking like I’m not behind him. Like he wasn’t ever mine.
I start walking, too. I’m moving toward him, each stride longer than the last as blood booms in my ears. My heart is racing, and I’m hot. So hot, I feel like my body’s flickering, growing brighter with each step.
I can see him. I can see him, and I want him to see me, too. I want him to know I’m here, to put his eyes on me and see me.
I want him to care. And if he doesn’t care, I want to make him care. I want to shove him up against a wall and bite his lip. I want to hurt him.
That’s not even true. I just need to be seen.
I can barely breathe, can barely coordinate my body’s movements, for the fear that grips me. If he doesn’t know me. If his eyes don’t flare with…something.
My heels clack against the hardwood floor. They sound so loud. I’m surprised he can’t hear them.
Someone I know catches my eye but I give her a smile and keep moving. He’s almost to the short hall that this one runs into. He’ll veer left, toward the elevators.
I watch as he disappears around the corner. I can feel the air move in the fabric of my gown as I rush, almost sprinting past some old men, talking in a semi-circle. I smell seafood and flowers as I turn into the small hall, aiming my gaze at the elevators.
I missed him.
I cover my mouth with my hand, my breath coming in these shallow little pants. I close my eyes as tears threaten.
Oh God.
It’s okay, though. This wasn’t a good idea.
My eyes burn, blurring out the elevator’s small, round buttons. My chest aches like someone’s tugging on my ribcage.
Why do you do this to yourself? You should have left the second that you saw him.
Twice, since that night, I’ve seen him. Both times, I thought maybe he had followed me. Was there because I was.
Two times you were crazy, Elise.
I hit the elevator’s up arrow as a sob swells in my throat and tears start spilling. I’ll ride it to any floor but this one, fall apart privately, and then go home. I take deep, slow breaths, finding my composure as the elevator opens for me.
And there he is.
For a too-long heartbeat, I stare. He’s frowning, his dark eyebrows drawn. I can see the moment he processes me. His blue eyes widen, and his lips part, just enough to draw a breath.
The door starts to shut. There’s a millisecond where I make the choice. If it’s a choice. But my arm knows the way. My hand pushes the door, which pauses mid-close, leaving just enough space for me to step in with him.
Luca, and his eyes are holding onto mine like he remembers. He looks dumbstruck.
Good.
I rip my gaze away from his and let it lap all up and down him. God but he’s so perfect. The tux is tailored—for sure—and he looks taller, broader, muscled in it. His cheekbones are marked with slight pink, like he’s warm or he’s been drinking. I inhale the elevator’s air and take in smells of cleaner, cologne, and…yes, I think he smells like liquor.
The elevator starts to move. I notice its light reflecting off one of his cufflinks. His arm is down at his side, his fist clenching and unclenching.
For a second, as my eyes search his face, the shutters open, all his feeling spilling out, and he looks unsure, almost afraid. Sorrowful. And in another blink, he locks it all up.
“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.”