“Are you threatening me, Tris?”
“I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Get the lady a drink, Matteo, and while you’re at it, grab me one. This time, stirred, not shaken.”
Tris breaks eye contact and smirks at him.
“I win.”
She looks back at me. “Oh no, you didn’t.”
Turning around to grab beverages, I mumble, “I most certainly did.”
Returning to the table, I set the bottles of water down then open hers. “I won’t break your heart.”
“It’s Steel.” She takes the bottle and holds it up. “Thank you.”
“What happened to you at home?” I ask, because I’m completely bewildered by her sudden change.
“I did some healing. But, rest assure, Matteo Arias, she’ll return, and I expect you to be there to hold her together when needs be.”
“I cannot make you any promises, Tris.”
“Then tell me no lies,” she says in a quiet demand then looks back at Carlos.
“Proceed.”
After giving him a nod, I turn toward the mess I have made, to clean it up, knowing the wreckage was caused by my loss of control.
“Matteo is in stage B of congenital heart failure.”
She quickly asks, “How many stages are there?”
“Four.”
“How can we fix it?”
“There is no cure for his condition.”
After several minutes of her looking out the window, she gets up. “Please excuse me. I need a moment.”
“Of course,” Carlos says, standing with her.
Clearing her throat, she walks back the way she entered.
When the storefront door shuts, I begin to walk in that direction, for fear she is going to leave without saying goodbye.
“Where are you going?” Carlos calls after me.
I don’t stop, nor do I answer. I rush to the sidewalk and look left then right, afraid her car will whisk her away again like it did from the restaurant.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I yell out to the busy, pedestrian-filled street, gaining me dastardly looks of parents who obviously don’t expect a madman to be spewing profanities in such an affluent area, just steps from the Trevi fountain.
“Matteo,” Tris calls out from behind me.
I turn as she hurries toward me. When she’s near enough, she lunges into my arms, and I hold her as I walk us back to my studio, a place I one day hope to open a gallery.
Once inside, I ask the question burning inside me, “Why did you go? Do you not wish to be my friend?”
She cups the sides of my face. “Of course. Yes, of course I do. I am. I will always be. I just needed to breathe.”
I want to kiss her—I want so badly to—but I’m not sure I can do just that any longer.
Every Beat
Tris
I should not be wishing he would kiss me right now. I should not need that from him.
He needs me to quiet his worries and, for some reason, unbeknownst to me at this time, yet I’m sure I will overthink the hell out of it later, his supersede mine.
Scowling down at me, he pushes my hair from my face and looks into my eyes with great intensity and even greater concern.
“I’m fine, but you—”
“I’m fine, as well.”
“I know you’ve probably looked into every option available, but my aunt Carly and Momma Joe’s husband, Thomas, run the medical research department at Steel Incorporated. They can—”
“I have an unfortunate condition. That is incurable and—”
“So is hers. It’s called Long QT syndrome, and Kiki, um, my cousin, Katherine Falcon, has an irregular heart rhythm, and … and … and … Why do you take drugs in a name that’s not yours? Are you even seeing real doctors, Matteo?”
The lawyer sighs, and I spin on my heels to look at him. He’s seriously good-looking, but in the kind of way that you know he knows it and makes them less so.
“Have fuck-boy hair and thousand-dollar shoes.”
And here I go … There are stages to grief. Go figure I would hit them all at once.
“She’s who you choose to spill your secrets to?” He laughs and sits back.
“Carlos,” Matteo scolds him.
“No, by all means, proceed. I’ll just sit back and revise the plan already established until the American popstar with the foul mouth has had her say.”
“Fuck you,” I snap. “He needs a doctor, not a—”
“He’s an intelligent man. He’s had several opinions. He’s lived with this for a years and didn’t even know it. And, against many odds, his disease hasn’t progressed.”
“Then why?” I turn back and scowl at him.
“Let’s have a seat,” he says, taking my hand and leading me back to the table.
“The NDA, Matteo,” Carlos insists.
“I’ll sign whatever.” I glower at his smug face. “But you do know I’m seventeen and technically—”
“I trust Tris.” Matteo pulls out a chair for me. “As she has trusted me.”
Carlos smiles fondly at him. “After all these years, you finally trust someone other than me?”
Matteo runs his hand through his hair as he sits in the chair beside me as Carlos slides the NDA across the table then holds out his pen.
After taking his pen, I look down at the small stack of papers and see the name Gabrielle.
My mouth has the decency not to unleash the tirade it would love to go on as I push it back. “Wrong name.”
I look at Matteo. “You will not marry that … that … pussy. She stood there like one of your sculptures when you nearly passed out. There is no way in hell she can take care of you.”
“It’s in name only. She won’t be privy to what you already know, and she will ensure his legacy, make sure his art lives on and is profitable, to ensure those he feels responsible for are taken care of,” Carlos explains.
“Yeah, no.” I look back at Matteo. “No. Do you hear me?”
His eyes soften, and he speaks just as softly. “I do hear you, Tris.”
Carlos scribbles my name then pushes the papers forward, with my name handwritten on it.
I sign.
“I grew up in a place where love wasn’t fostered but built on lies. A place where riches and luxury replaced love, and the desire to gain power to control everything around was bred. I didn’t know I was missing anything, but every day, I was made aware I was different. Sports and socializing didn’t appeal to me as much as books and art. Reflecting back, it was probably because I was often tired and preferred to partake in quiet activities. In hindsight, I realize that was because of my condition.” He sits back and takes a sip of his water. I can tell he’s thinking about what to say and how to say it next.
“Do you want to use the app?”
“No, Tris. I want to be able to speak to you without the possibility of my words getting lost in translation.”
He sets the water down. “My father passed when I was young. I didn’t know him well, I was but five years old. What I remember is his obsession with the estate.”