For what? My heart skipped a beat at the answer in my head. At the possibilities or most likely impossibilities.
I sipped on my water and did my job as the eye candy I was supposed to be, while she just sat there next to me, silent, every breath a swirling thought probably taking over both our minds.
It was only when they called her name to receive the Best Indie Press for the year award that she finally spoke.
“Thank you for choosing Brighton for this award. Jack Brighton was a great man, and he’d have been very pleased to have received it himself. I wouldn’t have been here if it hadn’t been for him. I hope that I can continue his legacy and provide you with the best literary works you’ve always expected from us.”
People clapped, and I cheered for her with enthusiasm I never thought I’d have for a woman I barely knew and an award I couldn’t care less about. From that speech, she didn’t seem to care about it either. It was all about her husband. It was all about what he did and what he wanted.
Where was she in all this?
She held the glass award and posed for a smileless photo before she returned to her seat. I rose and gave her a kiss on the back of her hand. Then I leaned forward and surprised her with a kiss on the cheek. “Congratulazioni.”
The heat in her cheek and the loud swallow satisfied my naughty side that wanted to tease her on repeat. “Thanks,” she said, her eyes twitching in a covert glare she couldn’t give because people were watching.
More congratulations peppered on her from the nice people at the table and later from other guests after they’d announced all the awards.
“Looks like our table is going to be the busiest in here tonight,” she mumbled as more glamorous dresses came our way. “I’ve never had so many people coming to congratulate me on anything.”
I laughed. “Enjoy it, babe. You’re an award-winning editor.”
“Your cocky self knows that’s not the reason there is a swarm of women making a beeline to our table.”
“I’m not cocky. Just confident.”
“Pu-lease,” she snorted, turning her head toward a lady in a bedazzled red gown taking off her mask.
“Congrats, Gabi. You deserve it, girl,” the lady said.
“Thanks, Nora. How’s your new collection coming?”
Nora sighed. “It’s hard to stay inspired with all that’s going on in the world right now, and you know my publisher and I got into a disagreement after the last collection didn’t do as well as the one before.” She sighed again. “Oh, Gabi, why don’t you just publish poetry and put me out of my misery? I’ll sign with you in a heartbeat.”
“I’d have been honored. You’d have been a great addition to Brighton’s list, if only…”
Nora batted her lashes at me. “Could this lovely gentleman have any influence on you and convince you to reconsider?”
“For such a gorgeous poet as you, I’d love to try.” I interlaced my fingers with Gabi’s. “Would you, babe? For me? You know it’s my favorite thing to read.”
“I know,babe, and I wish I could. Maybe in the future.” Gabi shot a loving glance at me, so real I’d have believed it if she hadn’t been squeezing my fingers painfully. “Just for you.”
“Wonderful,” Nora cooed. “You read poetry? Do you have a favorite,…? I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”
“It’s Fabio. My lady’s mind must have been with the well-deserved award and forgot to introduce us properly. And I do have a favorite poem. Would you like to hear it?”
“Please,” Nora said, excitement in her eyes, and in the eyes of the other women at the table. As much as I loved their attention, I hated it wasn’t matched in Gabriella’s.
I took her hand in both mine so she’d stop trying to break my fingers and smiled, focusing only on her deep pools of blue. “Sacra Parola, misteriosa essenza, terra della straniera che girovaga. Tocca la figlia che cammina tra luci e ombra, coraggio e paura. Suona melodie che danno forma al mondo a cui appartiene. Parla parole ce emanano profumo e portano l’animo nel tempo e nello spazio.”
In my peripheral vision, Nora was fanning herself, and flirtatious, admiring grins were stretching on the faces of the women surrounding us. But the only expression I cared for was the slight twitch at Gabriella’s mouth as what could be a ghost of smile forming.
That was what would get her to smile? A modern poem about the mystery of women nobody here understood but her?
I wished I could have grabbed my phone and took a picture.
I wished I could have pressed my mouth to hers and tasted that smile like I’d tasted her lips.
“Fabulous!” Nora clapped.
