“You’ve really grown into this,” I tell her affectionately. “You look like a mafia wife.”
“I think that’s a compliment?” Leila says it teasingly, bumping her shoulder against mine. Like me, she’s smart, with a head for numbers and finances. I’ll admit I had a moment of worry when she married Ronan, worry that I might be replaced, but Leila made sure to let me know that she never wanted that for a moment. Instead, she’s perfectly happy enjoying being Ronan’s wife, preparing for their child, and caring for her mother, who is sick but doing well under the state-of-the-art care that Ronan has made sure she gets. One day, she’s confided in me, she’ll want to go back to doing some kind of work—although legitimate work in finance will be impossible, considering her marriage. But for now, she’s happy to let the future unfold however it pleases.
I wish I felt that kind of peace. My future feels more uncertain than ever. Not my place in the family—that’s always assured—but what else I might want for my life. Love? Marriage? Children of my own? The man I want is impossibly out of reach, and any other man feels like a consolation prize at best, settling at worst.
But would it really be so bad to settle?Marrying someone else would put Elio firmly in my rearview. It would mean having to let go of that childish attachment once and for all. And if things with Desmond go well…
“You look perfect,” Leila says reassuringly, reading my uncertain glance into the mirror as something other than what it is. And from her viewpoint, I’m sure I do.
The woman staring back at me looks composed, elegant, completely in control. She doesn't look like someone whose world tilted off its axis three weeks ago when she walked into her brother's office and found Elio Cattaneo sitting behind the desk like he'd never left.
She doesn't look like someone who's spent every night since then lying awake remembering the way his eyes darkened whenhe looked at her. The way his voice dropped when he said her name. The way her entire body responded to his presence like he was some kind of magnetic force she couldn't resist.
She looks like the kind of woman who doesn’t care about any of that. Who will go downstairs, do her duty, make the rounds necessary, and then vanish into the evening for some peace and quiet.
Elio doesn’t factor into any of that. Hecan’t.
I’ll smile at him. Congratulate him. And ignore him as much as possible.
I’ve been ignoring him all week, actually, since he saw me with Desmond last Wednesday night. I don’t know what he was doing out there—hopefully not following me—but it was the worst possible timing. He saw me kiss Desmond.
The first time I’ve allowed it, and of course, Elio was there.Of course.
The kiss was—fine. I close my eyes briefly, remembering it. His lips were cool and firm. He knew how to kiss, I could tell that. It felt nice.
It wasn’t what I remembered from when Elio kissed me. There was no need. No fire. No desperate ache formore.
But that’s not what I want any longer,I remind myself, opening my eyes and pasting a smile on my face.I want calm. Practical. Sensible.
Desmond is a sensible match. A way of repairing the break between our families. A relationship that would ensure that the bonds that were made by Ronan and Siobhan’s marriage hold. And once I’m sure that it’s what I want, I’ll tell Ronan, and he’ll see that I’m right.
“Are you ready?” Leila asks, and I nod. “Half the eligible bachelors in New England and the Mid-Atlantic are going to be fighting over you,” she says with a teasing smile. “You’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”
I laugh self-consciously. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“Oh it is.” Leila puts her arm around me, giving me a little squeeze. “Okay. Let’s go enjoy the party.”
Enjoyfeels like a strong word, since parties of any kind aren’t really my thing, especially ones that are more business than pleasure. But I don’t want to dim Leila’s joy, so I keep the smile on my face, trying to look as enthusiastic as possible as we head down the stairs and toward the grand ballroom at the back of the house.
When we walk into the room, I feel my breath catch in my chest.
Elio is looking right at me. He’s wearing a tux with a black velvet jacket—a little on the edge of proper style, which is exactly what I’d expect from him—the shape of it hugging his lithely muscled frame. His hair is swept back, curling at the edge of his ears, and the heat in his green eyes when he sees me is enough to make my knees weaken.
He was always handsome. As a teenager, he had that dangerous, brooding appeal that made smart girls do stupid things—including me. But the man standing before me now is so devastatingly attractive that it’s unfair.
Especially since I can’t have him.
There’s a woman standing next to him—Gia Marcelli, I realize. I’ve seen her a handful of times now that we’re older, but she hung around often when we were all kids. She had a crush on Elio, if I recall, but he always ignored her.
He’s not ignoring her now. It appears that she’s his date.
Jealousy, thick and hot and distinctly green-hued, spills through me at an alarming rate. The thought of him touching her, kissing her, whispering anything into her ear makes me want to fly at her and claw her eyes out like a cat.
But he’s not looking at her. It seems like he’s not even really aware that she’s there. He’s looking at me as if I’m the onlywoman in the world, as if no one else in the room even exists. As Leila splits off to go to Ronan, I realize that I need to go, too. I need to be somewhere else, or very soon, everyone who looks in our direction is going to realize that there’s something going on here.
Or, if he keeps looking at me like that, I’m going to do something catastrophically stupid.
Like close the distance between us and find out if his lips are as soft as I remember.
