“Shit, Enzo. I knew you weren’t a fan of grade school, but I had no idea.”
There were good teachers too, ones who worked with my mother to find the resources I needed. Too bad it was such an uphill fucking climb for all of them.
“I’m just saying, I get why she’s banging her head against a wall. I don’t think leaving the job would be an issue for her.”
“So why do you think she’s unlikely to leave Bridgewater?”
This isn’t my story to tell, so I gloss over it as best I can. “Chari’s parents are divorced. Her dad just kind of left and never looked back. I think Chari feels like her mom needs her. She doesn’t want to take off like her father did.”
Hayden’s relationship with his parents is . . . complicated. They’ve never been very hands-on, and Hayden hated being sent away to boarding school. But even he winces at that.
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. But the thing is, her mom seems to be doing fine. She has a boyfriend, and according to Chari they’re getting pretty serious. The shop does well.”
I tilt my head and shrug, as if to indicate I’m not sure what to do with that. I can’t tell Chari her mother will be fine without her living there—that’s up to Chari.
“Back to my original question,” Hayden says. “How long are you planning on doing the long-distance thing?”
That’s a great question, and I only wish I could answer it.
“No idea. But I’ll admit, I’m pretty stoked to be going home. I cleared my schedule for the whole day Saturday and Sunday, enough time to see Chari and the family. Aside from the car ride, I promised myself no work for two full days. See? I’m balancing work and life. You should be proud.”
He looks skeptical.
“I am,” he mutters.
“What?” I ask as Hayden makes a face.
“The week is young,” is all he says before turning toward the window. It’s dark, nothing to see out there. Which means . . .
I look up, groaning. Giovanna Faustini, who I haven’t seen in weeks, is sauntering toward us. My good mood sours when I see the look on her face. She’s up to something, and I suspect it doesn’t bode well for either of us, me especially.
33
Chari
“This really sucks.”
Enzo looks at me through the phone. Thank God for video chat.
“It came out of nowhere, too,” he adds.
“It” is a Nor’easter that was supposed to have brought one to three inches but instead dumped more than a foot on us and close to the same in New York City, where they didn’t typically see as much snow as in PA.
I shift positions, wishing I’d used my laptop instead of attempting to prop the phone in my lap.
“Is that ours?” he asks when my glass of red wine flits onto the screen.
“Yep,” I say proudly, as if being a certified red wine drinker were an achievement. Closest to a Pinot Noir, according to Enzo, Angel Red is light to medium body with an aroma reminiscent of black or red cherry—his exact words.
“Impressive.”
He’s had an effect on me in more ways than one. So much so that I sometimes struggle to remember what life was like pre-Enzo. Boring but with a lot fewer tugs on my heartstrings, some not entirely enjoyable. Like the sinking feeling that came with every new weather report on Thursday into Friday, until it became obvious Enzo wouldn’t be able to safely travel home this weekend.
“When we first worked on that,” he says, referring to my wine, “Hayden insisted on that particular formula for the red. He said it was the most romantic of all the wines.”
“How can a wine be romantic?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“He said it packed a powerful punch, kind of like falling in love.”
The word seems to hang over us—me in my home and him in his—maybe because neither of us has said that word to each other. I just can’t be the first to do it. Enzo has to know, given our history, I’m totally in love with him. And if he’s not ready to profess his love to me, there must be a reason.
Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.
“You should know something else.” He looks over his shoulder, as if someone might be watching. Highly unlikely since it’s ten thirty at night and he’s in bed too. I catch a glimpse of his bare chest, my eyes lingering, and I think Enzo notices. The look in his eyes takes a decidedly more intimate turn.
“What should I know?”
His lips part. I swallow, glad I’ve locked my bedroom door. Whatever he was about to say before seems to have changed.
“I’m hard as a rock thinking about you in this bed with me.”
Yep, that’s what I thought.
“Are you now?” I say, my core clenching in anticipation.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this.” His liquid brown eyes pull me in, but it’s Enzo’s voice that clutches me and refuses to let go. The warmth in it wraps around me like a blanket. “But we had reservations for tonight at Chateau LeMonte. Dinner and a room.”
My eyes widen.
“For real?”
Chateau LeMonte is a five-star restaurant in a neighboring town. It’s housed in a historical building, surrounded by luxury cabins. They’re always booked, even in the winter, and though I’ve passed the place a hundred times, I’ve never stayed there. My mom and Devon and I did eat there twice, once for each of our high school graduations, but it’s not the kind of place you just book for a random Saturday night.
Unless you’re Enzo DeLuca.
“How is that possible?”
Enzo’s shoulder dips. Is he . . .
“For the right price, anything is possible.”
Oh yes, he is. I can’t see it, but I can easily imagine him grasping himself while looking at me. I reach my own hand down too, slipping up the hem of the satin nightshirt I really only wear when chatting with Enzo. Usually it’s just an oversized T-shirt for me.
“Is that so?”
We’ve done this before, but there’s something about not talking about it, pretending to carry on a conversation but knowing it’s really only a front . . .
“Well.” His eyes close momentarily. “Most anything. A few things can’t be bought.”
I’ve slipped a finger inside. Normally that wouldn’t do much to get me off, but this is a special circumstance. I’m staring at my gorgeous boyfriend, who’s clearly pumping himself more rigorously now. And the look on his face . . . I just don’t know if I can continue the conversation.
But I try.
“Such as?”
He moans, his shoulder dipping down in a steady rhythm that I match, slick and ready to come even though I’ve only just started.
“Strangely, I can’t think straight at the moment.” His voice is thick with pleasure and an impending release.
“I wonder why?”
My body heat has risen to like a million degrees. As he moves more quickly, I do the same. Until I feel the spasms start to come. Not yet.
“I can’t hold back,” I manage, licking my lips and willing him to finish.
“Enzo,” I fairly beg.
He doesn’t need much more prompting. Enzo cries out, dipping his head back, and I swear I’ve never seen anything sexier in my entire life. Never mind my arm is sore from holding the phone at just the right angle. My spasms come in quick succession, and I withdraw my hand and let the aftereffects claim me.