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Rolling her eyes at their standoff, Haven scanned the apartment, making sure everything was boxed. The white walls were barren, the place suddenly feeling much smaller than before.
o;Maybe so, but she’s family.”
“True, which is why I’ll do what’s expected of me,” Corrado replied. “Doesn’t mean I’ll like it, though. I have no idea how Antonio dealt with her all those years. The man was a saint.”
“My father?” Celia asked. “Did we even know the same man?”
“Every man sins, Celia. Even the saints.”
Dinner wore on, as did the conversation. It was well past nightfall when they separated, Tess and Dominic heading back to Indiana, while Carmine and Haven made their way down the block. All was silent between them, their fingers loosely entwined as they strolled along. Carmine seemed content, his shoulders relaxed, but something brewed in his expression. He stopped abruptly a few feet from the blue door, his hand slipping from Haven’s as she continued on.
She turned to him at the loss of connection, seeing the furrow of his brow and the hard line of his lips. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell me about New York.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“But I already told you.”
“You told me what was wrong about it, what you were missing, but I wanna hear the good. You know, the dream. Your dream.”
He didn’t say it, but she saw it in his eyes: He wanted to know if leaving her had really been a mistake.
“Well, New York was busy, just like you said the city would be,” she started. “There was always something going on. People everywhere.”
It all spilled out of her, every detail of her life there, as the two of them stood along the street in the darkness. She held nothing back, wanting him to know she had had a good life. It may not have been perfect, but things rarely were.
Carmine listened intently, drinking in every word, and didn’t speak until she was done. “You love it there,” he said quietly.
“I do.” She smiled. “I really love it.”
They stared at each other again as that truth hung in the air between them. Haven watched his expression slowly shift, another question forming in his eyes. She didn’t address it, not acknowledging its existence, instead waiting for him to be the one. She waited for him to ask, for him to gather up the courage to say the words.
Love me more, his eyes said.
“Do you, uh . . . ?” He ran his hands down his face as he let out a deep sigh. “Would you stay?”
“Stay?”
He nodded. “Stay here.”
“I would.”
The corner of his mouth twitched as he restrained a smile. “Will you?”
“Stay?”
“With me.” He cleared his throat nervously. “You know, stay with me?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t have time to escape her lips. Something in Carmine snapped, his anxiety getting the best of him.
“Christ, I can’t believe I just asked you that. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s not right! I can’t ask you to choose me!”
She grabbed his arm, stopping him as he started pacing. “You’re not asking me to choose you. There’s no choice about it. It’s always been you. Your father once told me that we always have a choice, but I think he was wrong. I think sometimes things choose us. It’s like with breathing. It’s natural. It’s a part of us. It just happens. We can hold our breath and try not to breathe anymore, and it’ll work for a few minutes, but we’ll eventually pass out and nature takes over. We can’t just not breathe, just like I can’t just not love you.”
“But New York,” he said. “Your life.”
