I freeze. It’s a good question. What exactlyamI doing here? I entered the house clear on my intent to find him, but I hadn’t settled on a mission statement. “I don’t know,” is all I can say.
“If my sister sent you—”
“She didn’t.” I survey the rest of the room. It’s large with vertical windows lining the south-facing wall, butempty. Other than the writing desk, a tiny bookshelf next to it, and an armchair, there’s no other furniture in the room. The walls are blank. “What is this room?”
“My office.”
“It’s empty.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests.” His eyes narrow. “Why are you in here?”
I collapse into the armchair. It’s old-looking with an outdated green paisley-patterned fabric and its cushion’s thinned to the point where I can feel the frame of the chair underneath. “This is not comfortable.”
“Izzy. . .” He turns in his chair to face me, and I have to confront the true reason why I followed him up here.
“You were upset. I wanted to make sure you were ok.” The words leave my lips before I have a chance to double-check that they’re true. The way my stomach settles when his face relaxes into a smile confirms to me that they are.
“I’m fine. I just needed a break,” he says.
“You don’t like to be teased?” I let the corners of my mouth turn upward in his presence for the first time in days.
“No, I like to think I can handle myself in such situations.” The corners turn even more upward. “It’s not that.” He looks down and twiddles with his fingers.
“What is it, then?” I ask, with a sinking feeling it might be something likeI miss my girlfriend terribly and the mere mention of her, the love of my life, makesme fall into a deep depression as I only have eyes for her.Not that it would matter to me.
“Things with Sutton are complicated,” he says.
Complicated because her beauty is beyond that of human comprehensionorcomplicated in that she has had an unfortunate breakdown and rather than get her the help she so needs I have locked her in the attic?“Complicated?”
“We broke up.”
His eyes flit up and lock with mine. I take a sharp inhale to keep myself from reacting outwardly. He smiles, resigned, which releases a flurry of butterflies in my stomach. “What?” is all I can muster.
“When I left London, we said we’d take a break, and I went back three months ago to call it off officially.” He leans back in his chair and rolls up the sleeves of his button-down to his elbows. There’s a flutter somewhere south of my waist at the sight of his forearms, but I try to block it out. The air feels thick suddenly, and I struggle to heave in a breath.
“Why is it a secret?” I ask once I can speak again, my voice coming out as barely a whisper.
He sighs, reaching his hand out toward the door and pushing it closed. Though everyone’s outside, it feels as though we’re truly alone for the first time since Rome. He scoots his chair closer to me, the edges of his knees brushing against mine. “If my mother knew I broke up with her to move here, she’d blame herself.” He lowers his voice as though the solid oak door and the 3,000 square feet between us andhis family is not enough of a barrier. “So I pretend I’m still dating her.”
I’m not a fan of this trend where I find out I misjudged Benito and he’s actually a selfless angel who deserves to be sainted and not a pompous curmudgeon. Or at least, I try to convince myself I don’t like it, when really any evidence that he’s a compassionate, loving human being makes me want to reach out and touch him.
To my own appalment, I place a hand on his knee. Benito looks at my hand and then quickly back to me, his eyebrows arched high. I pull away. “That’s incredibly kind. But it’s been half a year, I’m sure she’d understand.”
Benito leans forward so I get a whiff of that pine and lemon scent, which upon further investigation in our shared bathroom, I’ve learned is his body wash. “She’d never say it in front of company, but she feels terrible that I came back. She thinks I did it for her, not because I wanted to, and it kills her.” He rubs his left forearm with his right hand, and it takes every ounce of mental strength to focus on his words. “I just have to make enough of a life for myself here for her to believe me and then I’ll tell her.”
“Can’t you tell Lucia?” I ask. “It’s not fair that you have to keep up appearances with your entire family.” Iwanthim to tell her, I realize. I want someone else to know that Benito is not in love with Sutton. It’s become as important to me as making sure Benito was ok after he stormed out of lunch, though I don’t know why.
Benito smirks. “I’m sure she would be thrilled, but Lucia cannot keep a secret for more than one glass of wine.”
Benito is not with Sutton. Benito is single. The confounding attraction I felt for him that night in Rome may not have been one-sided after all. I let my eyes fall into his and I wonder if he can see the realization as it dawns over me. The longer we hold eye contact, the more his face softens. I flash a quick smile at him, my guilt for what transpired in Rome assuaged. Benito’s chest heaves and I’m sure if I were to touch a finger to his wrist, I’d feel his quickened pulse, beat-for-beat with mine. A door shuts downstairs, startling us both, but we still remain sitting there, eyes locked. “I’m sure you want to get back to your guest,” Benito says, his voice small.
I look to him, confused.
“Giac,” he clarifies.
My face falls. Giac. “Oh, yes. Of course.” I stand up and he gestures for me to lead the way back downstairs.
Before I exit the room, he grabs my hand to stop me. It’s the smallest of touches and yet my entire body stirs in response.
