AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hmm,” Alejandro hummed, “perhaps trouble is already here.” His eyes peeked down towards my feet, the heel of my boot stuck on the sticky cover of aNew York Prestigemagazine. On the front was Alejandro’s smoldering face, posing with a finger over his lips, showing the black rose on his hand. Big bold letters read across the headline, warning like a wanted poster.
I lifted the magazine with my heel, peeling it off.Thirty Million Dollars Sought from Bad Boy Alex Rivers- Redacted Police Filings Bring New Questions About What Really Happened At The Pierre Hotel: (Pleads innocent amongst long history of destructive behavior).
How could this be true, what does this even look like? I winced up into his eyes, seeing the brooding expression focused on the magazine. What happened at The Pierre Hotel, and why was Parker so disturbed by the events of a party gone wrong? Was Alejandro truly dangerous, or was he just reckless? Maybe the truth was somewhere in between, and if he saw a future for us, what would that look like? A yes to being by his side meant accepting the good and the bad. Yes, to his charm, yes to the paparazzi, yes to the lawsuits and leather.
“Do you do these things often?” I asked, almost concerned, inquiring about the magazine in the most conservative way possible. “Lose control?” I thought of The Met, that night he lashed out, smashing the photo.
“There are always two truths,” he answered, “one for Alex Rivers and one for me.”
“And which one should I be afraid of?” I asked.
“For you? Neither. No one gets what I give you, which is the truth to the best of my ability. But sometimes those truths cross paths, and things get messy.”
“Messy?” I asked. “Like The Met?”
“Yes, just like then.”
“And who was that? Alex or Alejandro.”
“The latter, as it will always be,” he said, almost swearing it with his tone, “just for you, that is.”
I combed a piece of my hair, staring down at my hot dog. It seemed easier to ask, looking away from the eyes that sucked me in. “The man in the photo that night, he meant something to you. Like a feeling?”
“Yes, he did.” He replied quickly.
“And that feeling is the truth, and when you see me, you see the things I try to hide, just like you?”
“Yes.”
“Just like when I asked about the tattoo on your chest, or why you slashed the photo, the reason is always hidden. If you’re like me, then I know the answer. Something or someone hurt you but admitting that takes time.”
“Time and trust.” He added, “Both of which we can have.”
“And you want that?” I asked.
“More than that,” he growled, “I need it.” The struggle in his voice gave me pause. Maybe he was reckless, maybe he lacked the tools to say what he wanted. I expressed myself through the fashion I loved, but I’d always been more shy, more reserved. Alejandro, on the other hand, was clearly assertive in his aggression. When he expressed himself, it was the eruption of everything he bottled up inside, but the absence of what he needed: the courage to speak.
“Your family?” I asked, “What do they think of this? The tabloids and news, all the bad things that others say?”
“Nothing.”
“That seems odd.” I questioned, his walls possibly thicker than mine. “Tell me about your brother.” I decided to start somewhere small.
He thumbed a piece of bun off his hot dog, sticking it in his mouth. “What would you like to know?”
“Anything about him. What’s he like?” I asked, inching closer to his body. My proximity garnered a smile from his face, but he twisted it with a sigh.
“My brother…” he hesitated, “he’s a great man, unlike anyone I know.”
“Are you two still close?”
“I’d say so,” he mumbled, “we’re practically the same person.”
“So he’s cocky?” I played, rewarded with a small laugh from Alejandro.
“He’s hard-working,” he corrected. “Lives in Mexico now and has helped me more than I could ever repay.”
“Helped you?”
