My father raised his hands in exasperation. “Leanore, you’re being ridiculous,” he said. “Do you have any idea how your accusations makemefeel? Like you don’t trust me.”
“How can I when you’re flirting with every woman in the hotel lobby? And in front of your daughter.”
“Don’t bring Olivia into this,” he said, sticking his finger in her face. “This isyourproblem.Youare ruining our vacation.”
I turned away from the door and grasped the bars until my knuckles whitened. Lifting onto the balls of my feet, I wondered what it might be like to fly. Had anyone ever tried? Perhaps it was possible and nobody knew it. We’d learned about evolution in school. Maybe we had secret wings that would know the difference between flying and falling.
“Olivia.” I jumped at the voice behind me. “Come inside. And fix your hair,” my dad said. “I’ll take you out for a milkshake, but not until you brush those tangles out.”
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. My dad had made a career of handling and redeeming failing businesses and the men who ran them. It took a lot to get under his skin, but that was the power my mom possessed. She knew just how to get the reaction she wanted. Back then, I hadn’t understood why they yelled so much, but that naiveté hadn’t lasted long. In the years following that trip, I became familiar with my mom’s manipulations and came face to face with the dangers—and sometimes violence—of loving someone too much.
The sliding glass door opened behind me, and the hair on the back of my neck prickled, but not from the cold or harrowing memories. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was, but every second I resisted looking, his gaze grew hotter. More persistent. If I’d learned anything about the man from the theater, it was that his presence said more than words could.
He waited. I fought myself. I’d come out here to catch my breath, not to lose it again. To regain control when every glance, every word, felt like a submission to him. To break a spell that could only lead to the kinds of things that destroyed families and turnedtrustinto a dirty word.
And yet I knew, David wasn’t going anywhere. The best way to get rid of him was to tell him to leave me alone. I turned my head over my shoulder. He filled the doorway to the balcony, his hands fixed against the jamb, his head cocked as he watched me.
The smokers had stopped talking to gawk at him. David stepped out onto the terrace. He wore an open, black pea coat over his sweater as if he’d been on his way out. I opened my mouth to tell him to go, but the thought that he’d actually leave, and that I’d never see him again, halted my words. It made me panicky.
As he walked toward me, I turned back to the skyline. My mouth dried, and my heart thumped. I couldn’t let him know how he affected me.
“You’re married,” he said to my back.
I drew a breath and with it, inhaled his spicy aftershave. “Happily.”
When he didn’t respond, I glanced back to find his expression solemn, pensive. Why? It’d been made clear to me that he could—anddid—have any woman he wanted. Foolishly, I’d assumed for a few moments that connection was unique to us. That it was different—special. Thathe and Ihad something special.
And here he was, pretending to be crestfallen over the fact that I was taken. Marveling at the believability of his act, I twisted, facing him as I squared my shoulders. I lifted my hands to the railing behind me, partly to steel myself while attempting to appear casual. “And you’re quite the playboy.”
He drew back at the comment, but then a small smile touched his lips. “You look cold. Take my jacket.”
“I’m fine.” I shook my head as he moved to take it off. Never mind that I was wearing a coat of goose bumps.
He paused before shrugging it back on. “Actually, being a playboy takes a lot of time,” he said, “and with my career, that’s something I don’t have much of. Maybe if I kept more regular hours, I could be a proper womanizer.”
Was he teasing me? I couldn’t tell if his tone was sarcastic, serious, or something else. I lifted a shoulder to show my indifference. “It’s not really my business.”
“I suppose it’s not, but . . .”
From my gut, I wished he’d finish his sentence—tell me why he thought it might be my business. The fact that I wanted him to meant he shouldn’t. “But nothing,” I said. “I don’t even know you.”
He sniffed, looking over the top of my head at the skyline. “I have to get going.”
My heart fell a millimeter before I stopped it. He had to go. Hehadto. Nothing good could come from spending more time with him. The women in the corner had resumed their conversation but kept glancing at us. Almost . . . accusingly? Could they see how badly I wanted this moment to last?
The next time Andrew’s secretary looked over, her eyes trailing David head to toe, I admitted her interest had nothing to do with me.
She wantedhim.
And that was almost worse than feeling like I’d been caught.
“I’d like to see you again,” David said.
I whipped my eyes back to his. “What?”
“I attended the ballet with Andrew’s firm. I’m here tonight by his invitation. I’m not waiting for Andrew to decide when we meet again.”
“We’renotmeeting again,” I said. “There’s no reason to.”
