“See you,” I mutter.
I touch my fingers to my lips. It’s not like it’s the first time a girl’s kissed me. I’ve kissed girls before, real kisses, not just little pecks. But I didn’t see that coming.
And, honestly? I never really noticed Dalila before. She always seemed too... preppy. Spoiled. Not my type.
But the way she talked to me just now... it didn’t feel fake. It felt sincere.
I shake my head hard. No. Not going there. I don’t have room for that right now.
I shove my headphones back on and hit play, A Beautiful Lie blasting through my ears and drowning out everything else.
Alexander
The moment the door opens, she throws her arms around my neck. I wrap her in a tight embrace, closing the door with my foot without letting go.
When she finally pulls back, I meet her deep olive-green eyes and say, in a teasing tone, “Hugging me like that, it’s hard to believe we spent an entire weekend together in Belgium less than a month ago.”
Aurélie rolls her eyes, turns her back on me, and heads toward the living room where there’s an open bottle of wine and two glasses already waiting.
“I know you missed me too,scemo[VII].” She hands me a glass, and I sit next to her on the couch.
It’s a Château Margaux 2015. Aurélie never misses a chance to pick something excellent. I take a sip. The fruit hits first: dark, clean, balanced. It’s good in a way that comes from time and care.
“You need to spend more time with me in Italy,sorella mia[VIII]. Your accent is starting to slip into something very... American,” I say, taking another sip.
As predicted, she stretches out her foot and kicks me. Only five years younger than me, but sometimes she acts like she’s ten.
“So, tell me,” she says, excitement bubbling through her voice. “How did the lunch go last week? You barely gave me any details on the phone.”
I told her about meeting Cecilia in the Hamptons the moment we met up the following week, back in September. And, like me, she’d been disappointed to hear Cecilia was married.
When I told her about that first moment—our hands touching, how speaking to Cecilia felt like talking to someone I’d known for years—Aurélie said without a doubt we were soulmates.
Which made me laugh, because my sister is a paradox. She talks about soulmates and karma... yet she’s commitment-phobic down to her bones. She’s thirty-five, and I’ve never met a single boyfriend. Because they don’t exist.
She presses me again, and I eventually give her the short version of the lunch.
“So when are you asking her out again?” she asks, refilling both our glasses.
“I don’t know. We talked several times this week. She even called me the next day to tell me something that happened with her son.”
The way Cecilia talks about Ethan and Alicia... the love is unconditional. She worries about every detail. She wants to be present for everything. It makes me admire her even more.
“How do you not know? You’re here for just one more week.”
Her wide-eyed stare is almost comical, if not for the frustration behind it.
“I’ve told you, I’m not rushing. Cecilia’s not ready, and this isn’t one of your favorite movies.” I raise my brow. “If I come on too strong, I’ll scare her off. And I’d rather keep her in my life as a friend for now than risk losing her before I even have her.”
“And does she know you think of her as Cecilia—your Cecilia—and not Cecily?” she asks, grinning mischievously.
“No.”
Aurélie deflates dramatically into the couch.
“Life in your little bubble is exhausting, Alex. At this pace, you’ll manage a peck on the cheek after she has her first grandkid.”
I don’t tell her that a peck on Cecilia’s cheek has already happened, and before I can think of a reply, the intercom rings. Aurélie gets up to answer it, assuming it’s our dinner.
