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I reached for the Stella bag, bringing it close to me. “Well, good,” I said to Harry, grabbing the hem of my sweater and then pulling it off, leaving me in nothing but a tank top. I reached up for the clasp of my wig. “Listen, we need—”
“I care about you,” he blurted, and when I whirled around to face him, he looked at me with such intensity that it almost made my knees weak. Suddenly, I froze, lowering my hands from the wig. “So much. This past week was horrible because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and all I wanted was to hear your voice.”
“Then why did you say all those things?” I demanded, a tremble working its way across my skin, and it wasn’t from the cold. “‘Sorry for wasting your time’?”
“Because I’m a coward,” he said simply, but the dismal expression still covered his features. “All those things I said about you and me being from different worlds, I—I just didn’t want to lose you.”
Lose me? With a slight shake of my head, I took a step toward him, not reaching out, not yet. “What set you off? Ms. Nancy?”
The joke didn’t make him smile, not even a little. “I’m just afraid…afraid you’ll realize you deserve so much more than me.”
Without giving him a second to react, I grabbed the hand that hung limply at his side and pressed his palm against my cheek, against the spot he always coasted his thumb over. His fingers were cold and a little rough, but I leaned in to the touch. “I wantyou. No more, no less.”
I gazed deep into his eyes, waiting for a response that wouldn’t come. His gaze looked stormy against the night sky, the light blue almost gray and cloudy. They weren’t the happy ones I’d grown so accustomed to. No Caribbean waters in sight.
With a whisper, I told him, “You make my heart happy.”
Pain cracked through those stormy eyes, and he let out a soft sigh, one sounding something like defeat. “And you make mine sing.”
Every thought emptied from my mind like a bowl of water dumping out. The words themselves felt as if they were etched onto the surface of my heart, a little doodle ofHarry Russo. And though his expression wasn’t excited or beaming when he said it, warmth still spread through me, taking away any trace of a chill.
Still holding his hand to my cheek, I leaned forward and kissed him softly, lingering in the gentleness of this moment. At first, he didn’t respond, his body stiff and mouth unmoving.
I pulled away with an inward sigh, the warmth scattering.
Before I moved too far back, he pushed forward, pressing his mouth firmly against mine, his hand becoming a more prominent pressure against my skin. His other hand curved around the dip of my waist, holding me close to him.
I tugged him against me until I could feel only the SUV and his body.
I wanted him to know that I was here for the long haul. The ‘different worlds’ mentality didn’t scare me, not anymore. How could it when we worked so well together? I cared about him more than some stupid ‘different worlds’ thing.
My heart hammered hard as the kiss deepened, especially when his hand cupped the back of my neck, and I could feel each and every point of contact. His scent filled my senses, disorienting me to where I could barely remember my name.
I pressed against his chest enough to separate us, gasping in a breath. “You can’t do that again,” I told him, and later I’d be embarrassed of how winded I sounded, but I didn’t care in the moment. “You can’t go a week without talking to me.”
“I was afraid,” he said, features pinched.
The words didn’t make any sense, but I only pulled him closer. “Don’t be.” And I kissed him again.
I combed my fingers through his hair, wanting to be just a smidge closer. A bright light swept over my closed lids, probably a car passing by, but I didn’t care to look. Didn’t care about anything but him.
Even though I technically still had the wig on, I felt likeme. Not Stella and not Destelle—not one or the other. I wasn’t kissing Harry because I was Stella, bold and confident, and I wasn’t kissing him because I was Destelle, wanting to taste the wild side. I kissed him because I wanted to, because I needed to, and I never wanted the moment to end.
“Destelle Marie Brighton.”
The sound, the name, the volume of it all had me jerking back as if electrocuted, every muscle in my body jolting and locking up. Harry’s hands dropped and he flinched away from me, the moment splintering apart like shattered glass.
As Harry stepped aside, he gave me a full view of a black sedan parked directly behind him, the headlights illuminating us like two spotlights. So bright that at first I couldn’t see who stood between the lights, couldn’t see the angry mask that was something straight from a horror movie.
But when my eyes adjusted, everything in me dropped.
Mom stood in front of the car, and I could see Dad sitting behind the steering wheel. Both staring at me.
In a disheveled tank top.
With heavy makeup.
Wearing the black Stella wig.
The boy I’d been making out with standing beside me.
I couldn’t stop the words before they tumbled from my mouth in a horrified whisper. “Oh, crap.”
