In my world, wanting something you can’t have is the quickest way to lose everything.
3
MARA
After three days in Boston, I’ve almost managed to convince myself that I imagined the entire encounter.
Almost.
Regardless, I don’t have much time to linger over it. The entire thing has taken on a dreamlike quality in my memory, not least of which because I’ve been kept so busy that the days have passed in a whirlwind, leaving those few short minutes feeling like they took place in a fog.
The first night I spent in Boston, Elio helped me arrange a dinner of Annie’s favorite takeout from a steakhouse, complete with table trays in the bedroom set with china from downstairs instead of the takeout boxes so that it felt like she was eating in the dining room. Afterward, she and I watched our favorite movies until we both fell asleep, and Elio kindly found a guest room to crash in instead of prising me from the bed.
That first evening was the first time I’d ever actually gotten a chance to meet Annie’s childhood sweetheart. I heard stories about him in college—Annie’s ‘one that got away’, or rather, the one who left her when he was ordered to, rather than defy her father. I never liked him on that principle alone. Realistically,of course, I’m pragmatic enough to know that the storybook version where Elio stood up to her father at the tender age of eighteen and convinced him to allow him to marry Annie, or where they gave up everything and ran away together, somehow evading her wealthy father forever, isn’t how real life works. I also know that he was there for her during an extremely traumatic time in her life, after he came home, and I know that he stood up to her brother and fought for their relationship. He learned his lessons.
Still, I’d wondered what I would think of him of person. And honestly, whatever mistakes eighteen-year-old Elio Cattaneo might have made, the man he is now is perfect for Annie. I can see it whenever they’re together, in how they look at each other, and I see how tender and careful he is with her. It almost makes me a little jealous—both that I know I’m no longer the most important adult in Annie’s life, and that I can’t imagine finding a romance of my own like that.
It’s almost enough to restore my faith in men—but not quite.
The third night in Boston, as I’m sitting cross-legged across from Annie going through emails from Claire about the Monet, Annie turns the volume down on the movie we’re half-watching and looks over at me. “So, is there anything new and exciting in your life to fill me in on? Besides the apartment and work? Anythingspicy?” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“Honestly? No.”
“Come on,” she wheedles. “I feel like I’m in a dry spell over here, and my honeymoon was just two weeks ago. Elio’s afraid to even kiss me while I’m on bed rest. I need gossip.”
“Sorry to disappoint.” I fire off the last email and close my laptop, laughing. “There really isn’t anything. It’s been like… six months since I’ve even been on a date? I’ve been so busy with thegallery, and honestly, I’m kind of over it. The last guy I was in a serious relationship with cheated on me. You know that.”
“I still can’t believe it.” Annie scowls. “It’s insane. Look at you! Who the hell would cheat on you?”
“Jake Marino, apparently.” I shrug. The sting of it has long since worn off, but the wariness that came after hasn’t. “That’s my point. It doesn’t matter how fit I am, how much time I spend working out, how intense my skincare routine is, how many keratin treatments and blowouts I get. I can put as much money and time into my appearance as I want, and men are still going to be dogs.”
“You could find a gem!” Annie gestures toward the door. “Look at Elio.”
“I mean, you got a fairy tale, Annie. Not everyone is that lucky.” I flop back against the mound of pillows behind me. “And honestly, I’m fine with it. About eight months ago I was casually seeing someone and I found out he was fuckingfiveother girls while we were figuring out if we wanted to be something.Five! He seemed almost proud of it—he said he was going on a date every day while leaving one day for himself. And yeah, technically he wasn’t doing anything wrong since we weren’t exclusive… but that’s not what I want. I don’t want someone who still wantsfiveother women while he’s seeing me.”
“What do you want?” Annie asks curiously, and I blow out a sharp breath.
“I don’t know. Something unrealistic, I guess. I want someone to be fascinated withme. To be so struck by what we have that he wants to delete every other dating app after our first night together. But everyone has so many options now. Apps, social media, so many ways to find people… especially in a city like New York, everyone is afraid of what they’re missing out on. Commitment is out the door.”
“I’m sorry that’s how it’s been for you,” Annie says sympathetically. “I hated dating, too. Everyone was always weird about my family, my money…”
“See? You get it. You had to have your childhood crush come home in order to find your person.”
“Yeah, I see your point.” Annie laughs, rubbing her stomach gently. “Well, who knows? Maybe you’ll find your Prince Charming in Boston.”
“I donotdo long distance.” I shake my head emphatically and then prop my head on her shoulder. “Now lets find another movie to watch.”
It’s honestly nice, having time to relax. I really don’t think I’ve stopped in six months. I can’t remember the last time I watched TV or just took some time for myself. Even my self-care appointments: haircuts, massages, facials, that kind of thing, have been whirlwinds shoved in between client meetings and things that need to be taken care of at the gallery. Despite still needing to field emails and calls with Claire, I feel rejuvenated from the downtime.
And three days in, I still can’t entirely shake the memory of the man I encountered in front of the brownstone.
It was his eyes, I tell myself. I couldn’t see their color, but I couldfeelthe way they fixed on me. Whatever it was that I felt, it went between us like a live wire, and I could tell he felt it, too.
Or maybe, I tell myself as I get up on my fourth morning in Boston, it was jet lag and the stress of the gallery weighing on me, conjuring up some magical moment that didn’t actually exist.
I had a dream about him last night. Instead of staying frozen on the curb, I’d walked toward him, and he’d reached for me. Somehow, in that way dreams have, we’d ended up against the side of the SUV, my back against the cold metal, head touching the tinted glass as his leather-gloved hand slid up to cup mythroat, his full mouth a half an inch from mine. He’d whispered something, but in the dream, I couldn’t make it out.
All I could feel waswant. Hot, desperate, slippery want that still echoed through me when I woke up a few minutes ago, my body hot and jittery.
