He had objected, loudly and with feeling, claiming he had no intention of abandoning my “sorry ass”—his words, not mine—in the event that Emily failed to appear and I dissolved into pathetic heartbreak.
Now he was lingering in the living room with entirely too much confidence while I sat on the sofa tapping my fingers against the coffee table like an idiot.
“She’ll come,” he said.
I looked up. “Oh yes? Are you a psychic too?”
“Nah.” He leaned back against the counter with all the irritating ease of a man not currently waiting for the mostimportant woman in his life to decide whether he deserved another chance. “I just think life has no interest in making me deal with a whiny, heartbroken sotto capo. It’s already given me enough hardship.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Right. It’s all about you.”
“Always,” he said. “I’m glad you’re finally learning.”
My heart was in my throat the second the knock came.
For one suspended moment I didn’t move, because while the door stayed closed I still got to believe it was her. The doorman had instructions to send her straight up if she came, no questions asked, and in those few unbearable seconds before certainty arrived, hope still had room to breathe.
“Open the damn door, Pietro,” Olivero said from behind me. “She is not Schrödinger’s cat.”
I turned to glare at him. “Are you comparing my love life to a potentially dead cat?”
He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”
“I hate you so much.”
“Mm. Go open the door before you pass out.”
I hated that his ridiculousness was what finally got me moving, but it did.
I opened it.
And there she was.
Not just magnificent, but with the kind of quiet effort that made my chest painful. She had chosen that dress with intention. She had clearly attempted to tame her hair and only partly succeeded, which made her even more beautiful.
“You came.”
The words left me before I could stop them, rougher than I intended.
She stepped inside slowly, looking at me with an expression I still did not know how to survive.
“I wasn’t sure I would.”
Then she looked past me.
“Hi, Olivero.”
“Bye, Olivero,” I said immediately, not taking my eyes off her for even a second. My entire world was standing in my doorway. I had no intention of looking anywhere else.
“Thank heaven,” he muttered, already grabbing the overnight bag and my card. “I am removing myself from this.” He pointed vaguely between us. “Good luck with…whatever this is.”
I barely heard him leave.
Emily had walked farther into the apartment by then, so I closed the door softly behind her, trying not to move too fast, trying not to crowd her, trying not to look like a man one breath away from falling to his knees.
For a moment neither of us spoke.
Then she looked at me and said, “Your mother came.”
