“Donotpush me on this, Press.”
And something in my face or tone must’ve convinced him, because he dropped his gaze and remained silent.
Much as I loved Press, I couldn’t tell him everything. I didn’t often lock the gates down, but this was one of those instances. Over twenty years had passed, but the damage to me remained a festering wound. No one need ever know how I’d died that night and reemerged, raw and bitter. Determined to never be hurt again.
“So there. Now you finally know. Does it make you feel better?”
Stricken and pale, Presley stared at me. “No. This isn’t about me. It’s about you…making you whole again. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” I warned in a dull monotone. “I’m happy. Know why? It’s freed me from the bullshit of relationships that are nothing but lies by someone to get you to fuck them.”
A throat cleared, and I jerked my head up to see Torre standing next to our table with plates stacked on his arm.
“You had the chicken and the fettuccini, I believe?” He remained impassive, and I had a split-second, crazy idea to tell him who I was, but then my brain kicked in.
“Yes.” I kept my gaze trained on the tabletop, and once he departed, I picked up my fork and began to eat, concentrating on my food. Presley didn’t move, and I pushed my fork at him. “Eat before it gets cold.” But I couldn’t look him in the face.
“Please don’t be mad at me. I wasn’t saying I was sorry for you. I’m sorry that you had that happen to you. And angry and disgusted by your mother.”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” I pushed the pasta into my mouth and chewed. Even with my stomach twisted in knots, I could taste how good it was.
“It does. I wish—”
“Don’t wish for me. A wish is nothing but a disappointment that hasn’t happened yet. I gave up on wishes a long time ago. Now, what do you think of the meal?” I steered the conversation back to where it belonged. The food.
Once we finished dinner, I sent Presley home in a car, telling him I needed to sit somewhere quiet and write my review while it was still fresh in my mind. Plus, I couldn’t listen to him telling me again how sorry he was.
Since the Wine Bar was the only place I knew in the neighborhood, I ended up there, heading first for the restroom. Lauren, the makeup artist, had assured me the gray in my brows would come off with a quick wipe, and she was right. I took off the wig and tossed it into the trash, and the brown contacts were returned to their case. I blinked, once again recognizable to myself in the mirror. I tossed the shiny, blue, polyester tie into the trash as well, and unbuttoned the collar of my plain white shirt. I’d left my coat at home and wore an ordinary, off-the-rack navy suit. All part of my disguise.
While I wrote my review, I ordered a drink, then had one more as a celebration for submitting the review. Close to midnight, when I figured Torre’s restaurant would have closed, I left the bar and strolled in the quiet night to his house.
To my surprise, I was the lone person on the block. In the city, the streets would be crowded with taxis and Ubers. People would be leaving bars and restaurants, their excited, drunken chatter filling the air, mingling with the sounds of buses and honking horns. Here there was no such hustle and bustle. Only a few cars passed me, likely on their way to the brighter lights of Atlantic Avenue, where the more trendy restaurants resided.
The windows of the townhouse above the stairs were dark, but I spotted a faint light glowing behind the shutters of Torre’s first-floor apartment. I swung open the gate and walked down the few steps. Chimes sounded when I pressed the illuminated button.
Several seconds passed before I heard heavy footsteps. I wondered if I’d gotten him out of bed and if he was alone. Unexpected nerves snaked through me. When Torre pulled aside the curtain and saw me, his brows flew up, and he mouthed,What the fuck?behind the glass.
I folded my arms and leaned against the doorway. He opened the door a bit, and I murmured, “Surprise.”
“What…what’re you doing here? It’s almost midnight.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I let a slow smile tug at the corner of my lips, and my gaze roamed hungrily over his muscular torso in a tight black T-shirt and boxers. Desire pooled in my belly. “I was hoping you’d read me a bedtime story.”
