“Pardon?” Panic swept me with brutal force.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t send me away.
“You need to heal and move on from Sofia. But with me here, looking so much like her . . .” Chiara stared ahead for a second and then swung her eyes back to mine. “For the record, Jack. I amnotSofia.” Her voice was firm.
I laughed. It was a bitter, angry sound. “I amwellaware that you are not Sofia, Chiara.”
Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, every line of her expressing disbelief. But I had spoken truth.
Yes, Sofia’s betrayal still raged within me. But I saw Chiara clearly. She was light and hope.
Me? I was utterly adrift. A ship-wrecked sailor who knew his homeland was forever lost.
A tightness clutched the back of my throat. It wasn’t tears—I was incapable of crying—but rather a clenching sort of emotion. A painful fracturing.
Light and hope were two things I desperately clung to at this point. Did Chiara not see how badly I needed her?
Anger flooded in, washing over the pain of losing Sofia. I lashed out, as I was unfortunately prone to do when upset.
“What about you?” I asked.
“What about me?” Suspicion clouded her beautiful face.
“When will you acknowledge that your somewhat erratic behaviors contribute to your string of unsuccessful courtships?”
“Excuse me?”
“You only step out with men who are emotionally immature and are unlikely to want a more permanent relationship.”
“That . . .” She spluttered, floundering. “Th-that is not true.”
It was absolutely true.
She had started this pissing match between us. I had no intention of backing down.
“Do you trulyprefermen who treat you poorly?” I asked. “Or is it that your own personal idiosyncrasies repulse more emotionally stable gentlemen? And you sayIhave issues.”
Ah. If looks couldkill. . .
“I am done with this conversation. This has nothing to do with researching a solution to your ghostliness. My personal life is irrelevant.” She pushed off the couch, heading for the hallway and her bedroom. “I still stand by what I said. I think some space would be good for both of us. I’m trying to help, Jack, not get a lecture.”
“No. You don’t get to dodge or run away from this, Chiara. What has you in such a panic? Can’t handle the thought of building a truly adult relationship?”
She whirled on me. “I am not panicking.”
“Rapid breathing. Accelerated heart rate. Dilated pupils. You present every sign of panic. Why do you avoid emotional intimacy?”
“We’ve known each other for three weeks, Jack! You’re hardly an expert on my emotions. Again, my personal life is none of your business.”
“Hah! You don’t deny it.”
“I’m done with this conversation, Jack. We can talk about it when we both cool down.” She slammed her bedroom door.
As if that could stop me.
“Don’t even think about it.” She popped her head out. “You know the rules.”
She tapped the piece of paper tacked to her door. It featured a Ghostbusters logo with the words:No ghosts allowed in personal spaces. She glared at me and slammed her door shut again.
