Frankie reaches forward across the table to grab the half-drunk bottle of whiskey, breaking my eyeline for a second, breaking the connection between Christian and I. I inhale a deep breath as I blink, realizing suddenly that I’d stopped breathing in that moment. But despite what passed between Chr
“Iris isn’t going anywhere,” Christian murmurs, sitting back on the couch and shaking his head, clearly thinking this through. “I want the Romano family out of this scott free – no blame touching us, even through a bartender. Marino’s enough on the edge right now that any bad blood with the Romano’s
“She can do it,” Christian says on a long sigh, and when I turn to him I see him looking at me with such grim confidence that my heart warms, touched by his belief in me. But still – I need more details. “What…what would I have to do?” I ask quietly, looking around at the three of them, wanting
“That’s not what Romano thinks,” I point out. “True,” Frankie says, turning his eyes to me. “But Romano thinks you’re fucking Christian.” “What!?” I breathe, because I! I did not know that! And then I realize that if Romano thinks that…then… “Oh, ew!” “Wait,” Nico murmurs, watching me closely.
I stare at Christian wondering if that’s…well, if that’s a question? Or…an invitation. Because I haven’t let my mind go to the other thing that happened tonight – because it pales, absolutely, in comparison to the death of a man. But now, as I stare at Christian, as I look at him looking up at m
Because what else could I take that to mean? If he was done with her – If he had really decided to…to admit to me that I’m the one he cares about... Wouldn’t he have just let the call go to voicemail, and…I don’t know, do literally anything besides answer it? I sigh, and slump onto my bed. B
The door clicks shut and Christian slowly crosses the room to the empty side of the bed. I watch every move of his silhouette as he slowly lowers himself to the vacant spot, as he uncurls his legs out in front of him, as he sighs and leans back against the pillows waiting there as if they were place
And I wonder, passively, what he means by that. If, perhaps, he’s not talking about Violetta and our current reality at all. If what he’s saying goes far, far further back. Back to a boy, and a girl, sitting on a rooftop in the early summer. And him calling her Daisy. And her staring at him in the