His smile deepened. “That’s allowed. The second you realise it’s allowed, you’ll stop playing hard to get.”
“I’m not,” I snapped.
He lifted that brow again.
“You’re playing hard to get rid of.”
He laughed, a deep chuckle that came so naturally I wanted to bottle the soundup and remind myself of this softer side of him whenever that glimmer of hatred started to shine.
“That’s the thing,” he said, the laughter still etched in his expression.“You can’t get rid of me now. Family and all that.”
I groaned, throwing my head into my palms.
He laughed again and gently peeled my hands from my face to show me his sweet smile.
I hated how much I liked the warmth of his hand on mine—and how bare my wrists felt when he let go, even with my Apple Watch and bracelets still on.
“I could cut out Imre again,” I threatened. “He did it to me for fifteen years. I did it to him when I was sixteen. It would be easy.”
When I’d reached out, I’d thought I was adult enough to look past the betrayal of no-contact for years. Our contact had lasted a month before he’d let me down again, avoiding locking in a date to see each other again. And when we did, he stood me up.
Zolt’s eyes flickered over my face, all joy leaving his expression. “You could. But it wouldn’t be easy. Something’s stopping you.”
Logically, my job. Emotionally, Nagyi. But deep down, the scariest reason…might be him.
“I have two passports,” I admitted. “With Brexit, I got a Hungarian passport too, but… I feel like a fraud. I don’t use it.”
His hand landed on my knee. “Why?”
“Press and day-to-day stuff I can translate, even when you try and play stupid games with what you say,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. He didn’t admit it or let me derail our topic, so I soldiered on. “But your brother gave me your medical report and… I’m reading the same sentence three or four times. The legal and medical jargon goes right over my head. I’m embarrassed to bebehind with it and to struggle so badly.”
He went to speak, but the words were tumbling now. “And this is after doing my last placement in a hospital. If I can’t do it after that, how am I ever going—”
“Breathe,” he ordered.
I did, grateful for the reminder. He stroked my shoulder as I inhaled and exhaled. “What I’m trying to say is… sometimes there is a disconnect between me and who I wanted—who IthoughtI would be.”
“Who did you want to be?”
“The best I can be.”
He stopped stroking my shoulder and squeezed. “You already are.”
“Sometimes you scare me.”
His face fell. A silent storm threatened in his eyes, like he wanted to go to war with himself.
“Not—not like that. The way you talk about me… You think I’m perfect, and it feels like… there’s a lot of pressure.”
He withdrew, his back straightening. “No,” he said in English, before reverting to his mother tongue, a screeching car on the street making me second-guess if he’d said it at all. “Never. No pressure. I only tell you what I see.” A light blinded us as a car came to park in the space before us, but it didn’t stop him. “What I’ll make you see eventually.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Everly shouted and slammed her car door. The full beams went out, and I had to blink out the brightness before I could see her.
“So this is what Luca meant when he said family drama,” she groaned and hoisted me up. “Get away, Zoltán.”
My vision was still distorted, but I nodded because he was getting carried away again, thinking there was anypossibility between us.
I didn’t turn to see his reaction, just followed her lead.
