Alessandro reaches across me and takes it from her shaking hand. He reads over the first page, then looks at me with a question in his eyes.
“I had to sign one when I gave Henri up for adoption,” I tell him.
He nods slowly then shifts his gaze to Mallory. “Do you have a pen?”
The tension in the room seems to palpably bleed out as Mallory hands him a pen and he signs.
Jeff squeezes Mallory’s hand and pushes up from his chair. “Thank you, Alessandro,” he says, extending his arm.
Alessandro stands and shakes his hand. “Thank you for being there for Hilary when she needed you.”
Jeff gives him a nod. “Dinner is just about ready,” he says, turning for the kitchen, “ . . . if we haven’t killed your appetite,” he adds with a teasing smile over his shoulder at me.
Dinner conversation is lighter. We tell Mallory and Jeff about our Thursdays and Jeff asks Alessandro for information on Pizza for the Masses. Mallory suggests the High Line in the spring if we haven’t seen it and Alessandro adds it to his list.
When we’re through and Mallory packs up a bag of leftovers for Alessandro, I can’t help but smile. He has her stamp of approval. As much as she wants to, even she can’t resist him.
As we’re standing on the subway platform after making the transfer from the PATH, Alessandro scoops me into his arms and kisses me. “I’ve been dying to do that all night,” he says when he pulls away.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What took you so long?”
“I was trying to appear the gentleman for your sister, and I knew if I started, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you.”
“You can’t keep your hands off me?” I say, running a hand seductively over my hip.
He smiles and leans in to kiss me again, his hands gliding over my curves, leaving me gasping for air.
He nips my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs gently. “Take me home with you,” he whispers against my lips.
I trace a finger down his abs to the button of his jeans. “You don’t think maybe we should slow down a little?”
His perfect mouth pulls into a sexy half smile and there’s a wicked spark in his eye. “Oh, I intend to go tortuously slow.”
The muscles in my belly contract as the tingle between my legs becomes a hot, pulsing ache. I grin with the rush and bump him with my hip. “Two can play at that game, mister.”
His hand slips to my ass as the train whooshes into the station, and if he’s not careful, everyone on the E train is going to get a show.
I WALK INTO the 115th-Street library determined not to be scared anymore. And when I look around, I see there’s no reason to be. The gang’s all here, except Mike.
Nathan smiles from across the circle and gives me a little wave.
“Irish! Long time no see!” Quinn shouts. “How’s our resident celebrity?”
“Way to steal her thunder, Quinn,” Nathan says.
I stop in my tracks. “How did you hear?”
He winks. “An old guy like me knows people.”
I step into the circle and Quinn wraps me in a bear hug. “I’m proud of you, Irish,” he says lower, just for me.
“Thanks, Quinn.”
“We’ve got a celebrity in the house!” he announces to the group, clapping me on the back. “Irish is getting ready to take Broadway by storm.”
“Off-Broadway,” I mutter, embarrassed.
“Tell everyone about your role.”
“The production is called Don’t Look Back, and it’s opening at Theatre Row in April. It’s a contemp about two sisters who have . . . issues. I’m Rene, the younger sister. Our mom is kind of psycho and I’m her favorite, which seriously screwed up my older sister. We basically hate each other at the beginning because we’re so different, but then our mom dies and we’re stuck together going through all her stuff, and we figure out that we’re really exactly the same.”
“And she’s comping us all tickets!” Kamara shouts.
“I will if I can,” I say, and it’s true. Being part of this group is what has kept me going for the last two years. They’ve kept me from giving up.
“Nah,” Vee says. “She’ll get all famous and won’t remember we exist.”
“I won’t. As long as you let me, I want to keep coming.”
Quinn smiles. “You’ll always be welcome here. And I think, in celebration, we need a reprisal of one of your most challenging roles.” He looks at Nathan. “You ready, Prince Phillip?”
Nathan smiles and stands as I grumble, “Oh, no.”
Quinn pulls me up by the arm. “Show us what you got, hot shot.”
I meet Nathan in the middle of the circle. “Where’s Mike?” I ask so only he hears.
He leans close to my ear. “I told the asshole to take a hike.”
“Thanks.” I take a breath. “So, you ready?”
He nods and flashes me a wily smile. “You own this prissy little bitch.”
I laugh and launch into Aurora. And I let all my soft spots show.
I always thought being strong meant pushing everyone else out and never showing weakness. What being with Alessandro has taught me is that strength is really putting yourself out there and not hiding who you are. We’ve talked a lot about our time together at the group home. He’s reminded me of the endless conversations we had. I’d forgotten how much I told him, but I’m glad I did. After everything that happened I wanted to forget myself. Talking to him has reminded me of who I really am.
I want to be that person again . . . the person who dares to believe that things might just work out. The person who dares to let people really see her, the good and the bad. The person who dares to live her life without being afraid. Without hiding that fear behind sharp edges that will cut anyone who gets too close.
I think Quinn knew that, when I filed down all the sharp edges and I let the real me show, I wouldn’t be scared anymore. He was right.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
IT’S THE END of April. The first really warm day of the year. I pull out a black-and-white halter dress that I love but haven’t seen since August. They say it’s only supposed to hit seventy today, so it might still be a little cool for it, but I don’t care. I feel like I’m coming out of a long, dark tunnel, and damn if I’m not going to bask in the sun.
I Frizz-Ease my hair and spiral it around my fingers, then brush on mascara and call it good. Alessandro called me at ugly o’clock this morning because he knew, rightfully, that’d I’d oversleep my alarm, so now I’m late.
He’s making breakfast before we go to the youth center, and I promised him I’d be at his apartment by eleven.
Tomorrow is his birthday and I want to think of something truly amazing to do for him, but so far I haven’t been able to come up with anything. On my birthday, last month, he took me on a posh dinner cruise around the harbor. It was beautiful and magical and we danced all night to the jazz band under the New York skyline. There’s nothing I could do for him that would compare.
I hurry to the subway and when I get to Alessandro’s new apartment, I’m only fifteen minutes late, which by my clock is on time. His studio in the West Village got snapped up right after he left for Corsica, but he found a sublet from someone at St. Veronica’s. It’s totally boring compared to his old place.
He buzzes me up and when he opens his apartment door, the breakfast smells wafting into the hall make my mouth water. But the look in his eyes makes me hungry in a whole different way. He pulls me through the door, and before it’s even closed, his mouth is attacking mine. I kiss him back and start on the buttons of his shirt, but he takes my hand and weaves his fingers into mine. “If you were here fifteen minutes ago . . .” he says with a teasing smile and a raised eyebrow.
I roll my eyes and blow out a frustrated breath.
He kisses me again, a soft brush of his lips across mine. “I missed you last night.”
“Me too.”
I’ve been spending a lot of time at Alessandr
o’s apartment over the last two months, but I also really like living with Jess, so I try to split my time. Last night we went out for girls’ night, which meant just the two of us. I took her to Filthy’s because, believe it or not, now that I’m not working there anymore, I kind of miss the place. We hung out and drank and just let loose. I almost fell off my stool laughing when Jerry hit on her.
Alessandro turns for the kitchen and I follow. As he starts scooping some egg dish from a pan onto a plate, I look down and see a wedding invitation on the counter. Next to it is a hand written note.
Dear Alessandro,
It was so good to hear from you, and thanks for sending your address. I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since I saw you last. I think about the time we spent together in Rome often. It seems like just yesterday.
I hope being back in New York is bringing you the peace you deserve. It’s amazing that you were able to find Hilary again after all these years. I’ve prayed everyday you would find contentment in this world and I can’t even tell you how it makes me feel to know how happy she makes you. She sounds amazing. I hope one day I can meet her.
Trent and I were planning to wait until next year to get married, but an amazing opportunity for a paid internship came up at a children’s museum in England. Since we’re not willing to live apart, and our parents don’t want us living in sin, we’ve moved the wedding up to this summer, after graduation. All the information is enclosed. I hope you and Hilary can make it.
I hope your family is well and your mother is continuing to improve. Say hello for me next time you talk to them. Please take care of yourself, and keep in touch. I miss you.
Love,
Lexie
“She misses you,” I say when I look up and find Alessandro watching me.
“And I miss her too.”
“But you don’t still love her.”
He moves the few feet to the table and sets our plates down. “She helped me at a time in my life when I didn’t know I was in need of help. She was the shot of reality that I needed to finally understand the priesthood wasn’t where I belonged.”
“If she had felt differently . . .” I flick the invitation. “If she wasn’t in love with this Trent guy—”
“Who happens to be her stepbrother, by the way,” Alessandro interrupts with half an ironic smile.
“Wow. Seriously?”
He nods.
“Okay . . . so if she hadn’t been in love with her stepbrother, would you still be with her, do you think?”
“Everything that’s happened to me has happened for a reason. It’s all brought me to right here, right now.” He pulls me into his arms and plants a kiss on me that curls my toes. “To you.”
I drape myself over him and kiss him hard. He kisses me back, but then peels me off and sits me at the table. “We’re late.”
We sit and I stare warily at my food. It looks amazing and it smells better, but I find myself dissecting it before I take a bite. When I don’t find any rubber cockroaches, I look up and see Alessandro smirking at me.
“You’re slacking,” I tell him.
He just shrugs and takes a bite.
“I don’t know how you managed to talk me into this,” I lament over my breakfast, which tastes as good as it smells, but it’s a lie. I do know how he talked me into this. He snuck it in while I was feeling all drowsy and sated, basking in post-coital bliss, when he knew I didn’t have the presence of mind to know what I was agreeing to.
The bastard.
“It’s for the kids, Hilary,” he says, catching my glower. “You’ll be amazed how good it feels to know you’re giving them the courage to dream.”
“They’re going to hate me,” I mutter as he reaches for my hand.
“They’re going to love you.” His lips brush my cheek. “Just like I do.”
We’ve both spent some time with the counselor who volunteers at the youth center, and I’ve made some pretty good progress at learning to trust, but I still can’t get used to hearing him tell me he loves me. And I haven’t been able to say it back yet. I’m still afraid of Alessandro leaving. I know there will come a time that he’ll have to go back to Corsica for his grandparents. But, as much as it scares me, I’m beginning to trust that, if he leaves, he’ll come back. It’s a pretty huge leap of faith for me, but he’s worth it.
We clean up after breakfast, then he tows me toward the door. I look for my jacket before remembering that I didn’t bring one. There’s a little pang of disappointment when I realize I’m going to miss having Alessandro help me on with it.
We step outside and I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air. Only in spring does New York smell like this. It makes me feel hopeful, like everything’s starting over fresh, and we can make it whatever we want it to be.
When we emerge from the subway twenty minutes later, and start walking toward the youth center, I’ve decided that no one’s really going to want to sing. I mean, kids like video games where peoples’ heads blow up and spray the screen with blood and gray chunks. Compared to that, how boring is it to stand around a karaoke machine singing?
We walk into the youth center and there’s a group of teenagers shooting hoops on the half court. One of them, a Latino boy who’s probably around fifteen, looks up and whistles through his teeth.
“Padre! That’s a mighty prime piece on your arm,” he says, making an obscene gesture near his crotch with his hand.
“Watch yourself, Christian,” Alessandro warns, placing his hand on my back and guiding me past.
“I’m watching something else right now,” he says with a shit-eating grin, his eyes glued to my ass as we walk by.
The girl next to Christian steals the ball from his hands, shooting it at the hoop and catching nothing but net. She shoves him and says something in Spanish that sounds an awful lot like trash talk.
I like her.
“Why did he call you Padre?” I ask once we’re past them.
“It’s just a nickname I picked up.” He waves a hand at the group of boys at the free weights that we’re approaching. “Alex thought my accent sounded Spanish and started calling me that, and it stuck.”
“But you’re not a priest.”
“I work for the Church.” He shrugs. “To them it’s all the same.”
As we pass, one of the boys on the free weights, a buff black kid with ink up his right arm that I recognize as the kid Alessandro was boxing with last time I was here, knuckle bumps Alessandro and grins.
“Alex,” Alessandro says.
“Looking good, Padre,” he tells Alessandro, but his eyes are on me. Or more accurately, my chest.
“I’ll see you in the ring once I get Ms. McIntyre situated.”
“I’ll situate her,” Alex mutters with a grin.
Alessandro gives him the eye and ushers me past.
“I’m taking you down today, Padre!” he calls to Alessandro’s back.
“Not if you don’t keep your feet moving,” Alessandro jabs without turning around.
“Horny, aren’t they?” I mutter, turning back to see him following me with his eyes.
“Grown men lose their capacity for rational thought around you, Hilary,” he says low in my ear, gliding a finger down the inside of my upper arm and sending goose bumps skittering over my skin. “What else would you expect from hormone-driven teens?”
He guides me past the small boxing ring, with punching bags hanging from stands behind it, to a glass door in a wall of windows in the back of the gym. He pushes it open and we step through into a small room with a round table and several chairs. On the table is a karaoke machine.
“The rental place guaranteed me it’s loaded with a variety of music,” he tells me. “Everything from Rolling Stones to Beyonce to Broadway.” His eyes spark as he says Beyonce’s name. I wasn’t sure if he remembered, but it’s clear from that look that he does.
“I told you,” I say, looking around the empty room. “No one’s going to want to do this.”
He leans close and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he says, “There are still a few minutes, Hilary. I guarantee you there will be interest.”
A little part of me hopes he’s wrong. But a little part of me also hopes he’s right. I don’t really have anything to teach them, but if there are kids who want to sing, I think that would be totally cool.
He moves to the table. “I’m honestly not sure how this thing works,” he says, looking over the karaoke machine, “but one of the kids will be able to help you with it, I’m sure.”
I push the power button and the display screen lights up. “I’ve got it.”
He nods and just looks at me for a second before hiking his duffel higher on his shoulder and backing toward the door. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”
He turns and I watch him through the glass wall as he disappears into the boys’ locker room.
A wiry Latino boy comes in the side door of the gym with his head down and his hands dug deep in his pockets. He slouches toward me and I brace myself for the hormone fest, but he looks up a little shyly at me as approaches my glass room. Christian catcalls him from the half court and he hesitates at the door, looking like he’s thinking of turning back, but then he steps through. “Is this for the singing?” he asks without looking at me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m Hilary. What’s your name?”
“Tony.” He glances up from under long dark lashes, then his eyes flick to the machine. “What you got on that thing?”
I shrug. “Go check it out.”
He saunters past me and pulls up the menu on the machine as three younger girls make their way across the gym. “I remember you from American Idol,” the short, blond one tells me with wide, amazed eyes as they step into the room. A round, dark-haired girl next to her nods.
The taller Latina girl looks me over skeptically. “Padre says you’re in a Broadway show.”
“Off-Broadway,” I clarify.
“Which one?” she asks.
“It’s called Don’t Look Back and it opens in a few weeks.”
“What’s it about?”
It’s about two sisters who go through a bunch of sh—” Damn, I have to be careful. “ . . . who go through a really hard time with some things that happen to them.”
A Little Too Much Page 28