“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I shake yet another hand, give yet another smile. Fucking hell, I’ve only been at the reception for nearly an hour, and I’ve met more people than I can count. But I can’t locate the one woman I need to find.
I know I should be grateful my speech apparently touched a lot of attendees, and I’ll even go so far as to admit I feel a weight off my shoulders having my secret out in the open. It’s gratifying, having people come up to me and sharing how GaitSync changed their lives. It feels good to see my work in action and hear from others I’ve helped.
Yet, I’m starting to feel impatient.
I need to find Isla. I need to explain myself. I don’t know what she’s thinking, learning I have ABS like that. Even though we were never really together, I feel shitty for keeping it from her, especially after I met Charlie.
“Luca, great speech. That was absolutely inspiring. Can I ask you a question about GaitSync?”
I stop searching the room for Isla and turn on my professional smile. “Sure. What’s your question?” I take a sip from my drink as the woman in front of me launches into a complicated question about the programming component of GaitSync.
When I finally spot Isla chatting with a fewother attendees, I cut her off with an apology. “I’m so sorry, I have to go and take care of something. But if you find Tom Shivari, he knows as much about GaitSync as I do and can answer your question, I’m sure.”
I move away, weaving through the crowd, hoping no one else stops me. And then, finally, I’m behind her. My hand reaches out to cup her elbow, and she whirls around, looking up at me with bright eyes and a cautious smile.
“Luca.”
I don’t even register the other people around us. The entire room fades away, and all I can see, feel, smell, and hear is her.
“Can we talk? Please?” My voice is low, urgent even. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s upset at me for keeping this from her.
“I think we should. But not here.” She gestures to the room, full of noise and people. “You seem to be quite popular after that speech.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yeah. I’m so sorry you found out like that. I should have?—”
“Luca, stop.” Isla’s hand squeezes my arm. I let it fall, and when she takes my hand in hers, I can’t stop the tidal wave of relief that crashes over me. “You don’t owe me an apology. I’m your employee, you had no reason to tell me your story.”
I’m already shaking my head before she even finishes. “You’re a hell of a lot more than my employee. And when I met Charlie, I could’ve said something.” Someone calls my name, and I let out an annoyed growl. “Fuck. Can we go somewhere?”
Isla tugs her lower lip between her teeth, her gaze darting around the room. “We could…I guess we could go to a hotel room. Mine or yours, I mean. It’s probably the only place we’ll have privacy, the entire hotel is fully booked with conference people.”
Being in a hotel room alone with Isla might be the worst idea ever if I’m to have any hope in hell of maintaining my boundaries.
But right now, those boundaries are the last thing on my mind.
19
LUCA
Standingbeside Isla as I unlock my door is torture. I can smell her shampoo, fresh and floral. It would take nothing at all to reach out and grasp her hip in my hand. My head is not that far away, I could lean down and kiss the patch of skin bared at the top of her shirt.
I don’t do any of those things. No matter how desperately I want to.
Instead, I gesture for her to go first into my dimly lit room. She walks in and immediately goes to the window.
“You have a good view.”
I move to stand next to her, but my gaze isn’t on the city skyline outside. It’s on her. “I really do.”
She turns her head and looks up at me. The silence stretches between us. Tense, and full of anticipation. But is it good anticipation or bad? I won’t really know until I fucking talk to her.
“I’m sorry you found out about me this way.”
She raises her eyebrows, and I wince. Maybe that wasn’t the right opening line.
“I don’t tell a lot of people about my leg. Not because I’m embarrassed by it or anything, just that, in my experience, it tends to take over. My disability becomes what people remember when they think of me. Instead of who I am as a person, or my achievements, or my role in whatever situation I’m in. I become the guy with the missing leg. That’s all. Like my entire life can be summed up by what I don’t have, instead of who I am.”
Her hand reaches out tentatively, and lands on my upper arm. I take that as a good sign, and cover it with my own, squeezing gently.
