“Annie.” He breathes my name like a prayer, lifting his hand to touch my cheek. His fingers hover over my cheekbone, and I can see how much he wants me. How close he is to kissing me. I hear my own indrawn breath, and I know he’s going to do it. That in another second?—
“Elio?”
Gia’s voice comes down the hallway, echoed by the clicking of her heels. Elio drops his hand abruptly, backing away, and hurtslices through me. As much as I know we can’t get caught like this, how quickly he backed down when another woman called his name feels like my heart is being wrenched out of my chest.
I step back quickly. Elio looks at me, that same intensity still burning in his eyes. “This isn’t over,” he murmurs, and I feel that pain again—a pain I barely survived the first time, and can’t imagine living through again.
“Yes, it is,” I whisper. “It has to be, Elio.”
And then I turn and walk away, leaving him there in the darkness.
10
ANNIE
Three days after the party, I’m still thinking about Elio standing so close to me that I could touch him, his hand hovering above my cheek, looking at me as if he’s been dying to kiss me for the last eleven years. I can’tstopthinking about it. He’s in my dreams, in my waking thoughts, in every moment that I’m not occupied—which means I’ve thrown myself into work more than usual, trying to be as occupied as possible so that I can get him out of my head.
Him and the sound of Gia calling his name. The way he reacted to it. Every time I rememberthat, it feels like a piece of my heart being carved out of my chest.
I know I don’t have any ground to stand on. Not when I’m seeing someone, too. But it hurts all the same.
As if I summoned him with that last thought, my phone buzzes, and I see a text from Desmond. I open it, hoping that plans with him will help distract me from my merry-go-round spiraling about Elio.
Desmond:I was thinking we should take our relationship to the next level.
I frown at my phone,unsure what that means, exactly. I type back quickly:Want to clarify???
Desmond:Dinner at Sorellina. Dancing at The Grand. And then maybe a nightcap at my place?
I bite my lip,staring at the message. Sorellina sounds perfect—it’s a restaurant I haven’t been to yet but always wanted to try. The Grand, I’m less sure about. I’m not really a nightclub kind of girl. I’d rather dance at a jazz club or do some ballroom dancing somewhere, even though I’m not great at either. It's definitely not the type of venue for innocent dancing. My stomach does a little flip at the implication.
But maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe losing myself in Desmond's arms will finally burn Elio out of my system once and for all.
Sounds perfect,I text back, surprising myself with how quickly I respond.When?
Desmond:Tonight? Let’s meet at seven. Wear something that will make every man in the room jealous they're not me.
The possessivenessin his message sends a shiver through me—part anticipation, part something that gives me a little pause. I probably shouldn’t accept his offer of a nightcap at his place, either. I can just imagine what Leon would say about that, especially since I wouldn’t want it to get back to Ronan. Not yet, anyway.
I can worry about that later,I tell myself. I’ll see how the night goes and how I feel, and go from there. If I don’t want to gohome with Desmond, I’ll just head back to my place after we’re tired out from dancing.
I glance at the clock on my computer screen. It's already four-thirty, which gives me just enough time to get home, shower, and find something appropriately seductive to wear. I’m not sure what that would be, exactly—my closet isn’t exactly filled with nightclub-wear.I should borrow something from Leila,I think idly. I’m working at my office at the mansion today, I could go find her and ask. But then she’d have all kinds of questions, and Leila isn’t the type to let go of what seems like good gossip between girlfriends easily. As soon as I gave the slightest inclination that I wanted to keep it a secret, she’d dig in even harder.
See you at seven,I reply, then immediately start packing up my desk.
The drive home passes in a blur of traffic. By the time I'm standing in front of my walk-in closet, I'm already questioning again whether or not the date Desmond has planned is really my speed. There’s an uneasy feeling in my gut, one that suggests that if he really wantsme, he should be trying to find out what kind of dates I’d prefer. Not just trying to impress me with the fanciest restaurants and the clubs with the most expensive bottle service.
At the same time—he’s probably just doing what he thinks I expect. What other girls would want or have wanted in the past. And we have time to get to know each other better, for him to figure out that I’d rather go browse through a museum and get a fancy lunch or go out to dinner and a show than what he planned tonight.
And if this ishisidea of a fun night out—shouldn’t I want to find that out, too?
I need a distraction. I know that. And this is as good of a way to distract myself as any. If I want to know if this relationshiphas potential, I’ve got to explore it. Not sit at home, running myself ragged trying not to think about Elio and failing.
I need to stop wanting something I can't have and focus on what's right in front of me.
I spend nearly an hour choosing the perfect outfit, trying on and discarding dress after dress until I find the one that I think will suit what Desmond has planned this evening. It's a deep emerald silk that fits me like a glove, with a plunging neckline that comes down to the middle of my scant cleavage and a hem that barely skims my mid-thigh. The color makes my eyes pop and complements my copper hair perfectly. I pair it with strappy black, red-bottomed heels that add four inches to my height and make my legs look impossibly long.
My makeup is more dramatic than usual—smoky eyes in deep brown shades that bring out the blue, and a few of those individual false lashes that make my eyes look much bigger. I add a nude lip and run some texture wax through my curls, giving them a more edgy style than what I normally wear.
