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Because even though I bury it underneath my crude jokes, my cavalier attitude to the world in general—and to women specifically—and my myriad faceless, meaningless, emotionless one-night stands, I’m still very aware that I’m different.
A little broken, maybe. A little fucked up.
Wired wrong. Or at least, differently from most people.
And as much as I love my family and love these dinners, when I look around the table, it’s just a giant reminder of how different I am.
I see Ares, sitting next to Neve and grinning as she pops an olive into his mouth. I watch him turn and cradle her chin in his hand, kissing her deeply before pulling away with another grin.
They used to be mortal enemies, and are now two of the most disgustingly in-love people I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Then there’s Cillian and Una—Cillian in his customary all-black Johnny Cash look, and Una in a scooped-back black cocktail dress, showing off that badass tattoo across her entire back. The literal psychopath and his arguably equally psycho bride. I mean their Hollywood meet-cute involved Una putting a fucking knife into Cillian.
Yeah, eventhosetwo fuckin’ weirdos found love.
Kratos is single, but only because he chooses to be. Because he’s—as one of the several therapists I’ve had over the years liked to say—“happy with himself”. Whereas I waffle between hating myself and hating the rest of the world.
Callie’s also alone, but then again, she’s young. Plus there’s the whole mess with her arranged engagement to Luca Carveli to be sorted out. Eilish is unattached, at least as far as I know. But she’s like Elsa in that she’s married to her books, given that she’s just started at Columbia School of Business. Castle’s the same way: utterly wedded to his job, and completely fine with that.
I could—anddo, often—tell myself that I’m single by choice. Because I’m a wild man, and an agent of chaos, and love the thrill of the hunt and losing myself in a different stranger every time I go out.
But that’s bullshit.
I’m alone because I’m a self-destructive time-bomb.
And that’s never going to change.
* * *
After dinner,I’m sitting with Callie in a couple of lawn chairs, gazing out at Manhattan over the edge of the roof, when Ares strolls over.
“Where’s your better half, bro?”
He rolls his eyes. “Neve and I are actually two separate people. We’re not joined at the hip.”
I glance side-long at Callie. She glances at me. The both of us crack up. Ares sighs.
“Hilarious. Anything interesting happening at Leo’s place these days?”
My jaw tightens. I mean, yes and no. I’ve gone back to spy on his restaurant from the studio apartment across the street a few times since the night I saw Elsa walk out. But I haven’t picked up anything more of interest regarding the Albanians. Maybe because they are—or at least Gavan is—smart enough not to talk about major, hundred-million-dollar business acquisitions in rooms full of windows facing other rooms full of windows.
I also haven’t seen Elsa back there.
That’s a major sticking point. I’ve done some more digging since that morning when I broke into her office. Actually, I’ve been back to her office twice since then—both times at night, so I could take my time. I even slipped into her apartment just yesterday, while she was at work and Nora was at school, to paw through her home office.
Nothing. There is nothinganywherethat connects her to Leo or Gavan. And the more I think about it, the more I doubt she’s working for or with either of them.
Which begs the question: what the actual fuck was she doing at The Pearl that night after Club Venom?
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “If they’re talking about the Mirzoyan deal, they’re not doing it at the restaurant.”
Ares nods. “Okay. Anything at all, though?”
“Nope.”
I haven’t mentioned seeing Elsa outside Leo’s restaurant that night to anyone. Not even anyone in my family, including Ares.
I’m not quite sure why.
