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“You would never.” Aida reaches for her drink, that playful smile still on her face. “C’mon. Tell me who this girl is.”
“She’s my tattoo artist,” I say finally, relenting, and Aida lets out another squeal.
“Oh my god. Yourtattoo artist? That’s so cool. I want to meet her. When can I meet her?”
“You’re not going to,” I tell her firmly. “It’s a fling. And when she’s done working on me, that’ll be the end of it. She has no desire to be a part of this life, and I can understand that. I’m not going to force her into it.” I realize with a sinking heart, as I say it, that Idomean the last part. Emma doesn’t want anything to do with the violence, machinations, or rules of my world. And even if I’d happily break some of those rules to be with her, I can’t completely rewrite my life.
“It’s an impossible relationship.” I try not to see the way Aida’s face falls, as if she’s disappointed. No one has as much right to be disappointed in the situation as I do. But it’s not something that can be changed. “So I’m going to enjoy it while it lasts, and that will be that.”
Aida shakes her head stubbornly. “I don’t believe that,” she says finally. “I can tell there’s something more to this—I can see it written all over your face. You’re the one who says our world is changing, especially somewhere like this, in LA. You’re the one trying to reform the family to move into a new age. Why does that stop with what could make you happy?”
“It’s not just about me. Emma is—” I don’t know how to begin to explain it to Aida, who is the most innocent of all of us. “She wouldn’t ever be happy in this world. It would always be too constraining for her. She wouldn’t be able to be herself.”
“You don’t know that for sure.” Aida frowns, and I can see her mulling something over in her head. “I’ve got it!” Her face brightens as if a lightbulb has gone off. “Take her to the next event you go to. Something fun. You can both see that your worlds can cross over without changing too much for each other. Isn’t that supposed to be the point of a new generation taking over, all the things you’re always talking about? It doesn’t have to be the way our father and the old families did it. You can make your life whatever you want. If you believe that for me, then you should believe it for yourself, too.”
I want to tell Aida that she’s wrong. That I’m not going to invite Emma to anything—she’d be too uncomfortable. That I don’t want to give myself false hope. But the idea sticks in my head, nagging at me all the way until my next appointment with Emma.
I’m uncharacteristically quiet as she works on me, and she notices. Things were tense between us from the moment she walked in the door of my penthouse, as if the moment that lingered between us when I last left picks up exactly where we left off. I saw her gaze flick around when she walked inside, as if she were reminding herself of how different it is from where she lives, of how differentweare.
“Is something wrong?” she asks finally, as she’s finishing the last of the lines. We’ll start shading during the next session, and I feel a pit in my stomach at the idea of the project being finished. There won’t be any more excuses to see her after that, not unless something changes.
I take a deep breath, thinking of Aida’s suggestion. I don’t want to hope for something that I can’t have, especially when I’ve gone for so much of my life without caring whether I had it or not. But there’s only one way to find out.
“I want you to come to an event with me.” It comes out almost impulsively, as Emma finishes bandaging the tattoo and starts to clean up. I turn to face her as I say it, and I see the shock plain on her face.
“What are you talking about?” Her brow furrows. “You’re not making any sense.”
“My family patronizes the ballet. I have a function to go to next Friday night—a patron’s gala. Not my favorite way to spend an evening, but I need to make an appearance. I want you to come with me.”
“Why?” She says it bluntly, her eyebrows drawing down. “I’m not going to be any good at something like that. I’ve never been to anything that fancy.”
“Because I want you there with me.” Said out loud, it seems obvious. “Why not?”
“I’d just embarrass you.” Her words are clipped as she finishes packing up, and I can see the tension in her shoulders.
“You could never embarrass me.” I get up as she zips her bag, my hands on her arms, and I feel her flinch at the touch. “Just think about it, Emma. You don’t have to give me an answer right now.”
She lets out a sharp breath, looking up at me. She doesn’t pull away from my hands on her arms, and I take that as a good sign. “You’re asking me out on a date. The kind of date that I have no business going on. That’s—that’s not what this is, Dante. You know that.”
There’s a pleading in her voice, begging me to understand, but I can’t bring myself to give in.
“What if I want it to be that?” I run my hands along her arms, down to her hands, gripping them and pulling her closer. I feel the moment of resistance before she gives in, her breath catching as I pull her up against my chest. “One night, Emma. Come to a party with me and have a good time. That’s all I’m asking.”
She bites her lip. “Alright,” she relents. “I’llthinkabout it. I’m not promising anything. But I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” I reach up, sliding my hand around the back of her neck to pull her in for a kiss.
For a brief moment, she kisses me back. I can feel her soften against me, the way she breathes in as my lips touch hers, her mouth parting. But just as quickly, she pulls back, disentangling herself from my grasp.
“I need to go.” She reaches for her bag, and once again I stop her with my hand on her arm.
“You could stay. At least for a little while.” I know I’m pushing, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I’m aching to have her in my bed again, to feel her skin warm against mine, to taste her everywhere, and to feel the exquisite pleasure of having her wrapped around me. I don’t want to let her leave.
But she steps back, shaking her head. “I have an early morning.” Emma reaches for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and I know she’s made her decision. “I need to go home.”
I find myself hoping she’ll at least kiss me again, before she goes. But she turns away, striding out of my front door, and instead I find myself wondering if that kiss was the last one.
If she’s already half out of my life before we’re even finished with what brought us together in the first place.
