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No!
No, no, no! He’s so mean!
I cried because I like Luca, and Lulu was hugging me, and then Luca came and asked me what happened and who had hurt my feelings. It was so cute. He was like, “Whose ass do I need to beat?”
But Lulu told him what had happened, and his face got all serious, and he hugged me—swoon—and told me not to worry. I wouldn’t be marrying anyone but him.
Diary, I think I’m in love.
Ipopashrimpinto my mouth and chew, watching Henry from ten feet away as he glad-hands some silver fox I’m unfamiliar with. He barely noticed that I had disappeared or returned earlier, which doesn’t bode well for his constituents or his chances of re-election.
Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered coming to this thing with him. He’s duller than dull.
Actually, scratch that. I do know. My gaze drifts to Luca. It’s like I said in a foolish moment of honesty—I knew I’d see him.
Since emerging from the Concorde an hour ago, I’ve spent the time giving polite nods and restrained greetings to everyone within Henry’s ever-drifting circle. I can feel the flush on my cheeks, but I’m sure it can be attributed to the work of an over-enthusiastic makeup brush rather than what took place in the cockpit of the Concorde.
No one needs to know I was a complete and utter fool.
No one needs to know aboutthat.
No one needs to know that if my every sense is heightened, it’s because every part of me is on high alert for the smallest trace of him. My senses reach out and follow him around the floating museum, searching for his presence across the distance.
Always seeking.
Always finding.
There are moments when I catch a glimpse of him from across the room, and he boldly meets my eyes with his own dark ones, sometimes lifting a glass of champagne to his lips and sipping, other times just staring. It’s the most disconcerting thing in the world, but I’m sure he knows that. I’m sure he’s doing it intentionally.
Luca always did like to fuck with me.
Eventually, he disappears altogether, and my senses reach out for him in vain.
I set my flute of champagne onto a passing waiter’s tray with a barely muffled curse and lift an eyebrow at Henry. It’s time to leave. Without waiting, I make my way to the coat closet. Discarding his drink hastily, he follows after me like a puppy.
I refuse to be this girl—the one who mopes around and looks for the man in a crowd—hoping against hope for that romantic meeting of the eyes from across a crowded room. No. I left all of that romantic foolishness behind when I left New York, and I’m not looking to resurrect it now that I’m home.
Luca Marzano and what he did to me in that fucking Concorde has me all twisted up. All girly and out of sorts. Give me my dog and a glass of wine, please, God, and let me put myself in order.
And Henry Staton…dear Lord, was there ever a man more oblivious? Luca and I could be dancing naked in front of him, and as long as we were holding a ballot with his name checked, he wouldn’t see anything else.
On the way home, Henry tries to flirt, but it’s too little, too late, and Henry…well, he’s not Luca. He’s not even a distant second or third. I smile pleasantly but distantly when he tells me how lovely I look and places a hand on my knee just as the limo pulls up in front of my building.
I put a hand over his, lift his, and lower it firmly in his own territory. “Have a good night, Henry.”
“Ah—”
I open the door and slide out. “Good night, Henry.”
His expression registers confusion, and he follows me across the seat and out of the limo. “I don’t understand.”
I sigh. Several responses hover on my tongue.
Another guy ate me out in front of you, and you were so focused on yourself that you didn’t even notice.
You have no clue who I am.
You’re an idiot.
