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“Just what?” he asks.
“This… everything… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”
“You don’t have to worry,” he says. “I’m going to make this right. Let’s go.”
“What about your men? Don’t they need us here to let them in?”
“No,” Elio says. “Locks aren’t really a problem for us.”
He leads me from the apartment. My head is spinning. Can I trust him? But it’s too late for questions like that.
I lock the door behind us, and then he leads me down the stairs. He keeps his hand on my back, warm tingles flowing up and down my body. Despite everything—the tears, the stress, the wondering—I still feel myself smiling as he pushes against me. I forcibly wipe the smile away a moment later. I can’t get involved in some impossible, dreamy romance when Mom and Dad are missing.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” he tells me, as if reading my mind.
“How can you be sure of that?” I ask.
“Because I made a promise.”
“And you never break your promises?”
Before we walk onto the street, he turns to me, staring down with those intense eyes. I still can’t believe what we just did. What were wegoingto do if that book never fell off the shelf? We would’ve gotten even steamier. Maybe I would’ve had to tell him just how inexperienced I am. All the while, Mom would be out there, somewhere, lost in the city.
“Not to you,” Elio says, brushing hair from my face again. Already, it’s one of my favorite things that he does.
He takes my hand. We approach his car. It looks out of place on this street. It’s a sleek, dark car with tinted windows. It’s not flashy with outlandish rims or anything like that, but it looks far too expensive. He opens the trunk, puts my suitcase inside, and then nods to the passenger seat.
“Get in.”
Somehow, another smile touches my lips. “Are you always this bossy?”
He smirks. “You must bring it out in me.”
Again, I wipe the smile away, pulling the door open and climbing into the car. Every smile is a betrayal.
“I should be ashamed,” I mutter once he starts the engine.
“Why?” he asks, pulling away from the parking spot.
“When Dad walked out, I thought nothing of it. It’s so normal. It’s just something he does. Honestly, sometimes, when he walks out, I wish he wouldn’t come back. That’s not something I’m proud of.”
“I understand,” Elio says.
“What? You can imagine thinking that about your own dad, too?”
“No,” Elio snaps. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Then how do you understand?” I say, matching his intensity.
“From what you’ve told me about your dad, he’s nothing like mine. Before the stroke, my dad was tough, sure. He was strict. He valued discipline above almost everything else, but he could also be kind. I’ve never had to wonder if my dad cared about me. Well, until recently.”
I place my hand on his arm. “I’m sure he cares about you. He just can’t tell you that anymore. For now, anyway.”
“You don’t have to feel guilty,” Elio says. “Your mom showed you love. Your dad didn’t. Naturally, you’d be more worried about one than the other.”
“Still, it doesn’t exactly make me a good daughter.”
“A man should be worried about being a good father if he wants a good daughter,” Elio snarls.
