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Then, he winks at me. “Good. It’s a yes for me too.”
“Excuse me,” I say, feigning surprise. “I thought it was already a yes for you,” I say. Maybe he’s joking around, but why else would he try to convince me unless he was interested and willing?
He looks deep into my eyes, with a flicker in his irises that’s a lot for me to unpack. His intense green gaze destroys my little defenses, undresses me, taunts me. I shudder, like an unexpected cold draft swept over my flesh. I’m scared of how much I want this. Want him—and not just for a weekend, if I’m being honest with myself.
He looks around to make sure we’re not in the group’s radar. Thankfully, they’re still talking lively amongst themselves and ignoring us. Good. Then, he takes a strand off my face and tucks it behind my ear. The simple touch gets me all tingly and prickly. “You have always been a yes for me, Eliza. And always will be… for as long you as you’ll let me.”
My heart stops.
I rear back into the chair, his words weighing many, many excruciating extra pounds. Does he mean he can fuck me forever, or is he talking about a reconciliation? “Beck.”
“Beck,” Jessie calls him, popping the bubble of intimacy around us. “Do you remember the name of that restaurant in Rome? Where I left my phone?” she asks, probably referring to the conversation she shared with the others. A conversation we should have been a part of, I realize, flushing.
He gives me an apologetic glance, then turns to answer his sister. Leaving me even more emotionally rattled than before.
7
Beck
“CanI talk to you really quick?” Jessie asks when we all retreat to the living room, some guests still sipping on coffee while others prefer a reliable glass of port wine.
I see Eliza talking to Aunt Lillian and Mimi—who, I am sure, will retire for the night soon. Today was a lot for her, and she’s yawned twice during dessert. Though some of it may have been because of Aunt Lillian’s repetitive stories. At eighty, Mimi has not lost her edge. If anything, it’s sharper. “Sure.”
Jessie walks to the library and I follow her. After I enter, I close the door behind me.
“What is it?” I ask. Since dinner is done, I can’t wait to go to the suite and finally have sex with Eliza. My wife.
When I touched her, I felt her need. This weekend will be a game changer for us. I can’t waste time.
“Well, what are you doing? You’re getting all handsy with your ex at dinner,” she says in a lower voice.
Oh, fuck. How much did they see? From my viewpoint, everyone was busy and not paying attention to us. But I should have known Jessie’s radar is always on. That’s why she’s a successful attorney—she smells bullshit miles away.
“We were just… reminiscing. Did anyone notice anything, besides you?”
She flushed. “No. I mean, I saw you leaning over and you were both looking at each other like you were alone. I don’t need to know what else went on or was said.”
Relief poured over me. “Agreed.”
“My question is: do you know what you’re doing? Because you were really depressed when you two broke up. You didn’t open up much, but I could tell you hurt. I’m sure she hurt too. I just don’t want it to happen again for either of you.”
I sigh. She’s right. Of course I don’t want to hurt Eliza. If anything, I want to make things right for once. What if I mess it up worse than before though? What then? My chest feels heavy. “This is still our call, Jess. Not yours,” I say evenly. Damn it, I don’t want to sound defensive. I know Jessie means well.
“I know.”
I gesture with my hand. “You’re a good sister. You’re right, I don’t open up much.”
“Perhaps you should,” she says. “I’ve always been here for you. I know you two still have love for each other. Maybe all you need is to talk.”
“You’re right,” I say bitterly. Does Eliza still love me? Frustration and hope squeeze my heart for a moment, and it skips a beat. I know she wants me, but does she love me enough to give me a second chance? “Though I need to do more. When we broke up, I didn’t tell you this because well, she asked me not to, and I guess it served me not to say anything… she suffered a miscarriage weeks before I left.”
A gleam of sadness crosses her expression, and she touches her chest. “Oh. I’m so sorry. Did you two marry because she was pregnant?”
“Yes. Though honestly I loved her from the minute I saw her. But pregnancy fast tracked things, yes.”
“Why did you leave then?”
I run my fingers through my hair. “I was a coward. She was sad and depressed, and I didn’t know what to do or say. I felt like I wasn’t the husband I should be.” Abandoning felt… familiar. I didn’t know how to deal with the pain the miscarriage caused, or how to make it better for her.
