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Breathe.
He’s in front of me—less than twenty feet away. I can see his shoulders and his back and hips. His hair is short, but it looks good. A good cut. My eyes trace his nape, then down the muscle of his back. I notice the quality of fabric that strains to fit his shoulders.
He looks like he fits right in here. My legs stop moving. I suck air into my lungs, my gaze still locked onto him. Older Luca. My eyes keep getting caught on the crisp white collar of his dress shirt. It’s peeking out from beneath his black coat. I think about my fingers on buttons—
No.
The way his neck and shoulders—
Don’t look at his shoulders.
I watch someone fall in step behind him. It’s a shorter guy with curling blond hair, wearing a dress shirt and charcoal pants. Luca turns, angling himself toward the new guy, and I catch a glimpse of his profile as his lips curve into a smile.
His jaw looks stronger now, more chiseled.
In an alcove to my right, I spot a table with a candle and champagne flutes. I take a cool glass in my hot hand, watching as his form shrinks with the distance spreading out between us, watching as the dark hall swallows him.
He’s walking away, walking like I’m not behind him. Like he wasn’t ever mine.
I start walking, too. I’m moving toward him, each stride longer than the last as blood booms in my ears. My heart is racing, and I’m hot. So hot, I feel like my body’s flickering, growing brighter with each step.
I can see him. I can see him, and I want him to see me, too. I want him to know I’m here, to put his eyes on me and see me.
I want him to care. And if he doesn’t care, I want to make him care. I want to shove him up against a wall and bite his lip. I want to hurt him.
That’s not even true. I just need to be seen.
I can barely breathe, can barely coordinate my body’s movements, for the fear that grips me. If he doesn’t know me. If his eyes don’t flare with…something.
My heels clack against the hardwood floor. They sound so loud. I’m surprised he can’t hear them.
Someone I know catches my eye but I give her a smile and keep moving. He’s almost to the short hall that this one runs into. He’ll veer left, toward the elevators.
I watch as he disappears around the corner. I can feel the air move in the fabric of my gown as I rush, almost sprinting past some old men, talking in a semi-circle. I smell seafood and flowers as I turn into the small hall, aiming my gaze at the elevators.
I missed him.
I cover my mouth with my hand, my breath coming in these shallow little pants. I close my eyes as tears threaten.
Oh God.
It’s okay, though. This wasn’t a good idea.
My eyes burn, blurring out the elevator’s small, round buttons. My chest aches like someone’s tugging on my ribcage.
Why do you do this to yourself? You should have left the second that you saw him.
Twice, since that night, I’ve seen him. Both times, I thought maybe he had followed me. Was there because I was.
Two times you were crazy, Elise.
I hit the elevator’s up arrow as a sob swells in my throat and tears start spilling. I’ll ride it to any floor but this one, fall apart privately, and then go home. I take deep, slow breaths, finding my composure as the elevator opens for me.
And there he is.
For a too-long heartbeat, I stare. He’s frowning, his dark eyebrows drawn. I can see the moment he processes me. His blue eyes widen, and his lips part, just enough to draw a breath.
The door starts to shut. There’s a millisecond where I make the choice. If it’s a choice. But my arm knows the way. My hand pushes the door, which pauses mid-close, leaving just enough space for me to step in with him.
Luca, and his eyes are holding onto mine like he remembers. He looks dumbstruck.
Good.
I rip my gaze away from his and let it lap all up and down him. God but he’s so perfect. The tux is tailored—for sure—and he looks taller, broader, muscled in it. His cheekbones are marked with slight pink, like he’s warm or he’s been drinking. I inhale the elevator’s air and take in smells of cleaner, cologne, and…yes, I think he smells like liquor.
The elevator starts to move. I notice its light reflecting off one of his cufflinks. His arm is down at his side, his fist clenching and unclenching.
For a second, as my eyes search his face, the shutters open, all his feeling spilling out, and he looks unsure, almost afraid. Sorrowful. And in another blink, he locks it all up.
