Or maybe I have misunderstood.
There were so many clues, so many hopes, but never anything definite.
“Fallen for Fran?” I say, arm stretched out as Callum leads me through this crowd. “Fallen for Fran?” We trudge through a sea of people, near Kristina’s fountain, in the heart of this party. “Callum,” I say, my voice strong and loud.
I tug his hand right back, and finally he comes to a stop.
“Is that true? What you said back there?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, his jaw clenching and his blue eyes peering into mine.
“Is that true?” I say again, this time slow and deliberate.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t want to fall for anyone.”
“I know. I didn’t. But I have.”
My heart pounds in my chest, and while logic tells me we have an audience, I don’t see anyone. There’s Callum before me and a blur of colors around us.
“You don’t have to reciprocate,” he says—like such an idiot.
I laugh or hiccup—maybe both at the same time. “But I do.”
“You do?” he says, as if it isn’t so very obvious.
A not-so-pretty choking laugh falls from my mouth. I slap my hand over my lips as tears fill my eyes. Well… this isn’t how I imagined this moment going. No, I’m supposed to be composed and beautiful and say all the right things.
Shifting right in front of me, Callum brushes back a strand of my hair. Tears leak from my eyes, and my lips quiver behind my hand. He peers down at the mess I’m becoming right before his eyes.
Cupping my cheek, he traces the skin just below my right eye. “I don’t want a lucky charm, Fran.”
My brows pinch, and I shake my head in question, too afraid to speak.
“I just want you.”
“You want me?” I squeak behind the shield of my palm.
Reaching for my hand, Callum pulls my fingers away from my face. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”
“Maybe.” I swallow, my throat tightening with tears I’m attempting—and failing—to hold back.
“How am I doing?” he says, his blue eyes sparkling down at me. “Does this remind you of a movie?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I can’t think—not one movie scene enters my mind.
His left brow quirks upward. “Sorry about that.”
Another choking laugh slips from my lips, my chest heaving. Man, I do not cry pretty. Not even with good news—the best news.
Callum wants me.
I swallow and coil my arms around his back. Through tears, hiccups, and this ache in my throat, I attempt to speak. “Do you know what I want?”
His eyes crease as he studies me, waiting for an answer.
“I want you.” Finally—a sentence without a hiccup, without choking, without a bout of tears.
