Page 142 of Everything But Mine

Carmen cocks her hip and bumps mine. “I thought you could do this in your sleep. It’s your only appeal.”

“Funny, sis.” I feign a chuckle.

“Don’t try too hard, Diego,” she adds. “It makes you look desperate. It’s not sexy.”

“Yuck,” Martina says, grimacing. “Sexy and Diego don’t belong in the same sentence.”

I snort. It’s lovely to have such supportive sisters. “Go away.” I shove Martina off with my left hand.

Finally alone, I scroll through my set list and pull up the song I’ve been saving all night for the right moment. Even though the album’s over a decade old, Val has different songs across her playlists more than once. She played this over our calls back when she lived in Italy. Time difference would make our talks late night chats for her, lunch dates for me. The post-punk revival notes of her favorite band became the soundtrack of us to me. Remembering how she’d tease me about the bass helping drown my nonsense out. She still always picked up the phone. Every time.

Now she’s leaning into Matteo so she can hear him over the speakers, and when she turns her face to him, her lips brush against his cheek. I don’t do pining. I won’t watch some other guy make his move while I stand behind a table. I’ve seen how that played out for my friend and I don’t have it in me to wait fifteen plus years to be a thing.

I drag “Starry Night” into the queue, bump it to next, and cross the dance floor.

Matteo’s laughing at something she must have said. He’s about to put his hand on the crook of her elbow when I clap him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man, can you do me a favor and go check on Andrzej? Someone gave him tequila instead of vodka and he’s a shot away from making an even bigger ass out of himself.”

Matteo smirks and pats my back. “You can’t handle it?”

“I’d rather you be the hero.”

He hesitates, glances at Val, then chuckles and steps away.

The second he’s gone, I close in and pull Val’s hand into mine, dragging her before we miss the beginning of the song.

Val falls into step with me, a bit reluctant. She tugs at our hands and lifts them, arching an unimpressed brow. “What’s this about?”

“We’re going to dance,” I say.

Her steps slow a bit. “I think you forgot to ask.”

“If I ask, you’ll say no. We’re dancing.”

We stop at the edge of the dance area. She squints up at me like I’m a problem she’s deciding whether to solve or ignore. “I don’t dance.”

“That’s alright. You let me hold you. I’ll do the swaying.”

Her mouth twitches. “I’ve seen you. You do more than swaying.”

I snicker. “Damn right I do.” I step in front of her and lift our still-linked hands to my chest, giving her space and the choice to tell me to fuck off. When she doesn’t move, I soften my voice. “C’mon. You know I can be gentle.”

She opens her mouth, sass already sharpening the line between her brows⁠—

—and the first low guitar notes of our song roll through the speakers. The melodic acoustic notes of the strings carry over, the bass and drum highlighting the rhythm of the indie track. Perfect timing.

“Diego—”

I don’t grab her or pull her into me. I wait until the chord loop repeats and she exhales like I’m exhausting. Then, she leans into me, her other hand behind my neck, and mine on her hip. A bit hesitant, her fingers barely gripping at me, but in my arms anyway—willingly. I hold her toward me before she can change her mind, and rock us side to side, our cheeks a hairsbreadth away.

We’re almost the same height, so my lips brush over her jaw. The skin on her neck breaks into goose bumps with every fan of my breath. And if Matteo can breathe all over her, so can I. Humming the hopeful words of finding safety and understanding in love, beyond the constraint of time, no matter the uncertainties life brings. With each word, her edges sharpen with determination, spine straightening and shoulders squaring under my curved palms. She can’t fool me though, I know I’m Valeria Ross’s weakness, and the speed of her heartbeat against my chest gives me a surge of confidence.

Her chuckle vibrates straight through me every inch we’re pressed together. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m an excellent singer,” I murmur into the hollow of her neck, letting the warmth of my exhales brush the shell of her ear.

She snickers, fingers tightening slightly at the back of my neck. “The lyrics, Diego.”