“Shesaidicanthaveitbothways,” I grumbled, not making eye contact with the traitor named Sunny.
“What was that now?”
I mumbled it again, just a bit louder.
“Still can’t hear you!” Sunny said in a singsong voice.
“She said I can’t have it both ways!” I said fussily. “There. Happy?”
Sunny smiled beatifically before turning back to the horse track fucking and bookmarking something. “You know what, I am happy.”
I groaned and slumped in the chair. “Vanya said I couldn’t spend months wishing that Angel would have asked me for more, then get cranky and defensive when he does ask for more. She also said that she’s un-burn-noticed Angel and that I should eat at her favorite trattoria in Milan when I get there.”
Sunny clicked a few more times and then pulled up a fresh scene. Blake and Mackenzie in a bubble bath.
And instead of tea-bagging or salad-tossing or wheel-barrowing, Mackenzie was sitting in Blake’s lap, her arms looped around his neck, bubbles up to their chests. Their foreheads were pressed together as they slowly, lingeringly kissed, and Sunny had managed to capture every pause, every hitched breath. The wet curl of Mackenzie’s hair on her neck, the way Blake’s eyelashes fluttered between kisses. It was shockingly romantic.
And abruptly, all I could think of was my own bathtub, of Angel’s thighs under mine, of his gorgeous throat, his dark, pupil-blown eyes.
Of how safe I felt curled in his arms as the bubbles fizzed around us.
And that was it, wasn’t it? I felt safe with him. Alive, yes, horny, yes—but safe too. If I got to Milan and had to leave, or if we ever decided to break up . . . it would be okay. It would suck and I’d cry and I’d have to watch so much bad reality TV, but it would be okay.
I would be okay, because I was strong and he was safe.
It came in bits and pieces, the epiphany, and then like a fashion sketch, it all came together in one singular idea.
Yes, it was okay that I needed time to think about such a big change. But it was also okay for Angel to ask. And it was definitely time that I stopped living like heartbreak was just around the corner.
Sunny was right—I had stopped taking big steps, had decided at some point that every leap of faith was actually a plummet right into a terrifying abyss, and what had all that wariness gotten me? Was I happier for playing it safe? For thinking bravery and vulnerability were the emotional equivalents of feeding yourself to carnivorous mushrooms?
No. I wasn’t. And I was about to lose the one person who was worth being slowly digested by every man-eating mushroom in the world if I didn’t do something.
I jumped to my feet. “Oh my God,” I breathed, staggered by the enormity of what I could lose. Ecstatic that I might still have a chance to keep it.
Sunny hummed at the laptop. “I know, it’s great, right? I had no idea Blake could smolder like that—”
“Where’s Angel?” I demanded. “Is he here at the mansion?”
Sunny looked at me with an expression of dawning glee. “He’s at my apartment getting it ready for the fire escape scene. Are you going to do a grand gesture at him?”
“The grandest gesture,” I said, and Sunny clapped her hands and squealed.
“We are most amused!” She clapped and skipped her way over to a nearby tote and then presented me with a bundle of fake red roses she’d dug from it. It was cinched shut with a thin bondage cuff. “Here, you need this more than Blake will. And take the Uncle Ray-Ray’s Jeep!” She fished a key with a miniature dildo on the ring from her pocket and pressed it into my palm. “Go make Julia Roberts proud, Luca.”
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I told her sincerely and then practically ran toward the door.
I didn’t have time to touch up my makeup or change into not-heartbreak clothes, and the roof to the Jeep was off, meaning that by the time I rounded the corner to Sunny’s apartment complex, my luscious hair was more wind-ravaged than wind-tousled. Plus, I had no opera music anywhere on my Spotify playlists, and so I had to improvise as I started rolling up the block. “Grace Kelly” by Mika it was. That could be a grand gesture song, right?
I honked as I got close, knowing Sunny’s unit was on the side closest to the road and hoping against hope Angel would hear me, because Sunny’s building manager had finally fixed the broken front door and I had no way of getting up there on my own. I parked, honked some more. Mika was singing about being purple and hurtful, and cars behind me were honking now too, because strictly speaking I was parking on a six-lane street where it was—strictly speaking—illegal to park.
Just as I was about to pull around and try again, the sash to Sunny’s window flew up, and there was Angel wearing a white T-shirt dotted with paint stains, a black blazer, and jeans. He squinted down at me, his face creased in the most adorable confusion.
“Luca?” he shouted down. “What the actual hell are you doing?”
“Don’t go anywhere!” I yelled and frantically turned off the Jeep, accidentally dropped the keys under the seat, and fumbled with the roses desperately enough that fabric petals were dropping everywhere as I scrambled out of the vehicle. “Wait! Wait!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he called down. “But you can’t park there.”
“Watch me!” I said, with the courage of someone driving his boyfriend’s dad’s porn car, and then jogged over to the fire escape. When I dressed in my long-sleeved T-shirt and my kilt today, I had not expected physical exertion. I was already glistening like a Christina Aguilera music video extra by the time I reached the bottom.
“Luca,” Angel said, and when I looked up, I saw something almost like a smile playing on his mouth. “That metal ladder is going to be scorching hot. Please go move the Jeep and then I’ll let you in the front.”
I wasn’t going to give him a chance to chicken out when it came to talking to me. I pulled down the metal ladder, squeaked when it indeed cooked the insides of my palms, and then stuck the fake roses in my teeth, determined to see this through.
“Luca!” Angel exclaimed, and then I heard the window opening above me, followed by the clatter of his shoes on the metal landing.
I whimpered as I climbed the rest of the way up. The theme for the summer definitely seemed to be fuck Luca’s hands. And also the plastic stems of the roses did not taste good.
But somehow I made it to the top of the ladder, only having to climb up one flight of steps to meet Angel, who was clambering down, concern all over his face.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” he asked, grabbing my hands and raising my palms to his lips.
The soft kiss felt so good on the stinging skin that I sighed—which meant the bouquet fell right out of my mouth and then tumbled onto the metal railing of the fire escape. It bounced on a nearby tree branch and then exploded into a shower of green plastic sticks and fake rose petals, raining down onto the half-dead bushes below.
“Well,” I said. “Shit.”
Angel laughed, sending warm air dancing across my palms. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m more of a hyacinth guy anyway. What are you doing here?”
Luca, do not fuck this up! This is your freeskate quadruple axel with gold on the line!