“Delilah,” I say, voice firm. “Stop forcing Weston on me. And besides, San Francisco is hundreds of miles away from Seaview anyway. Regardless, it’s done. It’s over. Let it go. I have. I never want to be with him again. Believe me when I say that.”
“Okay, fine.” She sits up straight, arms tight around Noah. “All I’m trying to say is that you loved him once, and he still loves you. Maybe it isn’t over?”
“Trust me, it’s over.” I don’t feel the need to explain to her all the reasons I refuse to play second fiddle or attach my heart to someone whose heart is still attached to someone else.
“For the longest time you weren’t over him.” It’s like she refuses to understand what I’m trying to say, and if she weren’t twenty-four-hours post-partum, I’d be a little less diplomatic with her. “Is there someone else? Oh, my god. Don’t tell me it’s the road trip guy.”
Her gaze flicks over my shoulder and her expression makes my blood run cold.
We’re not alone.
Glancing behind me, I see Weston standing in the doorway, a box of donuts in his arms. My dad and Zane flank his sides.
“Oh, hey guys,” Delilah says, pretending like we weren’t just having a conversation about my non-existent future with Weston. “Come on in.”
Weston studies me as he walks in, and he places the box of donuts on a nearby counter.
“Daphne,” he says. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” I force an awkward smile before shooting my sister a look. If Weston heard our conversation, I would feel horrible. Despite the fact that he hurt me, it wasn’t intentional. And I would never want to hurt him intentionally either. He’s a good man. He’s just not the man for me.
“How’s our boy, huh?” Zane makes a goofy face as he hovers over Delilah.
“Shh,” she says. “Don’t wake him.”
Weston takes a seat in the corner of the room, and when I glance through the side of my eye, I catch him watching me. He rakes his hand along his smooth, angled jaw, and his brows are furrowed.
“I’m going to grab a coffee,” I say, standing up. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
When I round the corner outside of Delilah’s room, I bump into my oldest sister, Demi, and Royal.
“Hey,” she says, wrapping her arms around me. “I feel like we keep missing each other. You came last night after we were gone, and when we came back, you were gone. Where you going now?”
“Just grabbing a coffee,” I say. “I’ll be back.”
She studies my face. “Everything okay?”
I chuckle, though it feels as fake as the smile on my face. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
She pushes a breath through her nostrils and sizes me up. Demi knows me, and she doesn’t buy this for one second.
“We’ll talk later, okay?” I point toward Delilah’s room. “Everyone’s in there. I’ll be back in a bit.”
Royal squeezes my shoulder as he walks past and makes a funny face. Growing up, he was like an honorary big brother to us. He was my brother Derek’s best friend, and he was over at our house all the time. That’s how he and Demi started dating.
He’s still as obnoxious as the day he first showed up at our doorstep, but I still love him just the same.
Heading toward the hospital coffee shop, I find a place in the long line and peruse the menu. A minute later, I grab my phone to pass the time. There’s a white popup on my screen, telling me my voicemail is ninety-five percent full. Going through my messages, I delete some of the old ones. Most of them are Delilah, giving me pregnancy updates. Some are from my mother. I clear them out one-by-one, and when I get to the message I received this morning from that Ashley girl, I pull in a long, hard breath and hover my thumb above the delete button, holding it in limbo as I decide whether or not to listen to it one last time.
“Next,” the barista calls.
Chapter 29
Daphne
“You need anything, babe?” Zane rises from the sofa Monday night. It’s the de la Cruz family’s first night at home. Mom, Dad, Demi, Royal, and Derek were here earlier, but they’ve since gone their separate ways.
“Maybe some more water? Pretty please?” Delilah blows Zane a kiss as baby Noah snuggles into her other arm. All this kid does is sleep, but my sister says that’s what newborns do. I’m counting down the days until this kid is old enough to hold a paintbrush or charcoal pencil.
“I’m starving,” Weston says from his chair on the other side of the living room.
“You guys want to order some pizza?” Delilah offers. “My cupboards are pretty bare. Didn’t buy a ton of groceries since we’re going back to Chicago next week. I’m sorry.”
“I can pick some up,” I offer. I still have that damn rental car and I’m paying a pretty penny for it, so I may as well get some more use out of it. Pulling my phone out, I call Giovanni’s Pizzeria and order some pies.
“You’re the best,” Delilah grabs a bottle of water from Zane when he returns. “Daphne’s going to grab some pizza for us.”
Zane sinks into the seat beside his wife, new-father exhaustion written all over his face. “Thanks, D. What would we do without you?”
Rising, I shove my phone in my back pocket. “They’ll be ready in fifteen, so I’m going to head out now.”
“I’ll go with you,” Weston volunteers.
“You don’t have to . . .” I try to stop him, but the look on his face tells me his mind is made up. And he’s only trying to be nice. In an instant, he’s making his way across the baby-gear-littered living room and passing me, placing his hand on the small of my back as he squeezes between myself and a bassinette. I turn to my sister who winks because for the love of God, she won’t give up this idea that the two of us are still meant to be. “Okay. Guess we’ll be back in a bit.”
It’s snowing again. But it’s a pretty snow; a dusting really. Giant snowflakes swirl and dance as I park my car in Giovanni’s parking lot.
“I hope it’s okay that I tagged along,” Weston says as we climb out. He walks around the back of the car, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans and his eyes on mine. His cologne travels through the crisp January air, filling my lungs with the scent of clean musk and fresh snow.
“It’s fine,” I assure him. He was just trying to be helpful, and he’s been staying at Zane and Delilah’s the last few days, so I’m sure he was wanting some change of scenery. I can’t blame him for that.
Dropping my keys in my purse, I’m startled when I look up. Weston’s standing less than a foot away from me now. He’s so close, the warmth of his presence radiates into my space.
“Oh, hi.” I say, tittering. I’m not nervous – I’m just uncertain of what he’s about to do. This isn’t him. This isn’t typical Weston behavior.
“Daphne.” He says my name as he releases a held breath, and his eyes lock on mine once again. “Seeing you these last couple of days . . . you have no idea how hard it is . . . I look at you, and I just want to . . .”
His hand reaches for my face, cupping the side of my cheek. Weston licks his lips. I purse mine. Within seconds I feel his mouth graze mine, my heart pounding in my ears.
“Please stop,” I say, pressing my hand against his chest and moving away.
“Daphne.”
Placing my palm over my heart, I say, “I can’t. I can’t be with you.”
“Why not?” His face is twisted in a way I’ve never seen before. My normally calm and collected Weston wears hurt and anguish, his features angled and dark.
“You’re just not who I want to be with anymore.” I deliver my line with as much care and gentleness as I can muster.
“I’m over Elle,” he says. “If that’s what this is about. You were right. I wasn’t over her before. It was too soon. You and I happened so fast, and I hadn’t had time to process anything. You knew I was still in love with Elle before I knew it.”
My chest squeezes, and I glance away. I’ll never forget the look on his face the f
irst time he told me he still loved her. He apologized. Said he wished more than anything that he was over her, but he wasn’t, and he couldn’t go on pretending. This gentle giant held me as I wept in his arms. I wept for him, because he was hurting for me. I wept for myself, because I was so certain Weston was going to be that epic love I’d been waiting for. And I wept for us, because we could’ve been great together.
“It’s not about Elle,” I say, lifting my vision in time to watch his expression fall.
“Then what is it? Is it that road trip guy?” he asks, almost laughing because to him, it probably seems implausible.
“No,” I say. “Not directly.”
“Not directly?” He chuffs. “What does that mean?”
“I realized some things about myself this past week.” Snowflakes land on my lashes and cheeks, melting upon contact. First cool, then warm, then gone. It may as well be a metaphor for my romantic life. “If I want love to find me, I have to stop looking for it.”
He scratches the side of his head, and a lock of sandy blond hair falls in his eyes. “I’m not following.”
“I need to do my own thing for a while,” I say. “I need to live my life, chase my dreams, and focus on making myself happy. I have a really bad habit of falling fast for guys I hardly know. I put the cart before the horse. I get my hopes up. And I get hurt. Every. Single. Time.”
“Daphne, I never meant to hurt you. I told you that. It kills me that I hurt you the way I did,” he says, reaching for my hand. “But if you give me another chance – give us another chance – I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”
He cups my face with his hand, though this time I don’t think he’s going to kiss me. It’s a sweet gesture. Loving. If we didn’t have a history, we could be great friends.
Staring into his eyes, I offer a closed-mouth smile and pull myself away. “Pizza’s probably ready.”
He stands, sneakers in the snow, unmoving. The saddest man I’ve ever seen.
“Whoever loves you next,” he says, shoving his hands in his front pockets, brows furrowed. “I hope he treats you the way you deserve to be treated, and I hope he never has to know what it feels like to lose you. It’s a pain like you couldn’t imagine.”
Chapter 30
Cristiano
“Ciao, Tomasso!” I greet my cousin, Tommy, at his apartment in Florence late Monday night. He’s from New York but is staying here on business all month. I called him up last night to reserve his couch for a few nights, and he was nothing short of ecstatic when he heard I was coming.
“Cuz, how’s it going?” He throws his arm around my shoulder and pulls me in. Frank Sinatra’s blasting on his speakers and an uncorked bottle of wine rests next to a plate of half-eaten cured meats and cheeses.
In the corner, a few girls and a couple of guys stop their conversation and turn their attention in my direction. The girls are beautiful, clothed in skintight dresses, their long, sleek hair dripping down their shoulders and reflecting off the city lights outside. Their red lips are slicked with red, glossed, and pulled up at the sides.
“Tommy,” the woman on the left says in her thick Italian accent. She rises from her seat and sways my way, extending her hand after brushing her long, ebony hair off her shoulder. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend or what?”
“Cristiano, this is Luciana. She works with me at the agency.” Tommy lifts his glass when he speaks. “Luci, this is my American cousin.”
“Cristiano,” she says, slipping her hand in mine and letting it linger. “Italian-American?”
I nod, pulling my hand back and moving toward the wine beside me. Pouring myself a glass, I say, “Born in Ohio. Raised in Jersey.”
She lifts her long nails to her lips, giggling slightly. “I don’t know those places. You’ll have to show me on a map sometime.”
“Yeah,” I say to appease her. Sipping my wine, I glance at the rest of the party and turn to my cousin. “You always have people over this late on a work night?”
Tommy shrugs, jutting his bottom lip forward. “We landed a big client today. Thought we’d do some celebrating. We’re going out tonight, by the way. Getting ready to leave soon. Freshen up, pretty boy. You’re coming with.”
I’ve been up since four this morning. I’ve spent hours in airports and almost nine hours in the sky. But I’ll scrape every last piece of me off this wood floor if I have to. I didn’t fly halfway around the world to sleep while the world spins madly on outside these walls.
“Yeah,” I say. “Give me a bit. I’ll be ready.”
Tommy grins wide, his smile reminding me of Matteo’s. Hell, people always thought the two of them were brothers growing up. Tommy, in a lot of ways, is more than a cousin. He’s like a sixth Amato brother.
“So what brings you to Florence?” Luciana asks as we stand around a high top table at a club called Firenze.
“Visiting Tomasso for a couple days,” I say. “then I’m making my way all over.”
“Where are you going to see?” She lifts her brows, taking a sip from her dirty martini. “I apologize if my English is bad.”
“I understand you just fine,” I say. “I’m going everywhere I can. London, Paris, Amsterdam. No itinerary, really. Just going where the wind blows me.”
“That is nice,” she says, offering a smile. She’s clung to me since the first moment she laid eyes on me. “I’m flying to New York next month. Do you live in that area?”
“I don’t really live anywhere.”
Her smile fades. I think she’s confused.
“I travel. I don’t stay anywhere for too long,” I add.
“I see,” she says, taking another sip. Someone pushes past us, bumping into Luciana and subsequently pushing her into me. Her body presses against mine in a flash of a second, and when she lifts her drink, it spills down her arm and onto my shirt. “Dio mio, that was rude.”
She yells a slew of Italian words, flinging her hand into the air as she speaks, but her voice is drowned out by the pumping dance music blasting through the speakers behind us and her intended target is long gone.
“It’s fine.” I grab a cocktail napkin from a nearby table and offer it to her first. She dries her arm and then dabs at the damp spots on my shirt, just above my heart.
I feel nothing, which is strange considering this Italian beauty is all over me, touching me and smiling and acting as if I’m the most interesting creature she’s ever laid eyes on. She’s clearly down to fuck. She wants me. And looking at her and knowing how painfully obvious it is that she’s offering herself to me on a shiny silver platter does absolutely nothing for me.
Yawning, I check my watch. We’ve only been here an hour, and already I wouldn’t mind going back to Tommy’s place and calling it a night. A couple of hours ago, I was all over the idea of going out. Not sure what changed, but for whatever reason, I’m not in the mood anymore.
“I think we’re good here.” I place my hand over Luciana’s, taking the wet napkin from her and stepping back to gain some space.
She steps toward me, clearly not taking the hint, and I glance at Tommy, who’s making his way back from the bar with a tray of limoncello shots. He shoots me a wink, his gaze moving from Luciana to me and back.
No.
I’m not screwing his co-worker tonight. I’m not screwing anyone tonight. I’m far too exhausted anyway, and if I’m being honest, the idea of screwing anyone who isn’t Daphne anytime in the near future holds zero appeal.
Grabbing a shot off Tommy’s tray, I wait for everyone else to take theirs before tossing mine back.
“Did you like?” Luciana asks, placing her palm on my forearm. She smiles, leaning in so close that her powerfully sweet perfume invades my air space.
I nod, but I don’t make eye contact with her, hoping she’ll get the hint. She lingers for a bit, and I feel her watching me, gauging my body language, and after a moment, she turns her attention to another one of Tommy’s co-workers.
In
the far corner of the club, a tall blonde woman stands with a wine glass in her hand, her back toward me. Her silky, flaxen strands are piled on top of her head, and the way her hips curve beneath her narrow waist reminds me of Daphne.
My fingertips burn with the memory of her flesh beneath them. My lips crave hers. There’s a hardness in my cock when I think about how wet she was for me just a few nights ago.
What I wouldn’t give to see her one more time. To have her one more time.
Glancing away from Daphne’s doppelganger, I chuckle to myself. I need to snap the fuck out of this. Earlier today, at Newark airport, I could’ve sworn I saw her. And again on the plane. And at a little café I passed in the taxi on the way here.
So much for flying four thousand miles away to escape. She’s everywhere I go. She’s in everything I see. She occupies every thought I have, every recent memory. I can only hope it’ll all blow over soon because missing someone who wants nothing to do with me is really going to put a cramp in my European tour.
Heading to the bar, I order myself a finger of Glenlivet and make a silent toast.
To Daphne. May she be happy and loved, wherever she is.
Chapter 31
Daphne
One Week Later . . .
“. . . and that’s how I came up with the Feather Touch charcoal technique. I’m working on a trademark now. And a textbook.” Professor Halbrook lifts his wine goblet over our candlelit dinner at a restaurant overlooking the Eiffel Tower. This place is much too romantic for a professional dinner. Then again, so are most of the restaurants he’s been taking me to since I landed last week. Time and again, I’ve insisted on eating alone, grabbing something from a café and having dinner in the privacy of my hotel room, but he insists on spending every waking moment with me during my short tenure in Paris.
“Interesting,” I lie, taking a sip of my water before scanning the room. There’s a little bar in the corner that seems to be filling up by the minute. It’s mostly younger people. They’re laughing and having a good time, at least as far as I can tell. I’d hoped I’d meet some new friends while I was here. Maybe make some new connections. But Halbrook won’t let me out of his sight for two seconds.
Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover) Page 18