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“Will you hold your horses?” Talia muttered. “Give me a chance to check the peephole—oh, my God.”
It was Tony.
Chapter 9
“Hey.” Tony hovered in the doorway, clearly testing the waters and deciding what sort of reception he was likely to get before he came any closer.
Meanwhile, Chesley, a very poor judge of character, trotted over to him and nudged his hand for the obligatory ear scratch. Stupid dog. Didn’t she know he’d let them down? Didn’t she know a severe punishment was in order for the torture he’d put them through this past week?
Evidently not.
“Hey,” Talia said.
“Can I, ah—can I come in?”
She shrugged and let him pass. Since her jackhammering heart was now lodged in her throat, it seemed like a good idea to keep words to a minimum.
“Sure.”
She led him into the living room. At a gesture from her, he sat on one end of the sofa. She sat on the other. She waited. Nothing happened.
“How are you?” he asked after several of the most excruciating seconds of her life.
“I’m great. How are you?”
“Great.”
They were both liars. She hadn’t slept since Monday’s painful parting scene, and it was all she could do to keep from drooping with exhaustion. He, in turn, looked like shit, with those haunted hollows under his eyes again, deeper than ever, and several days of bristle darkening his chin.
If he hadn’t slept, either, it was no less than he deserved. Not that she was bitter or anything.
“I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Don’t be.” Though she thought she had her anger under control, there was an unfortunate bite in her voice that she couldn’t seem to dial back.
“I think I have plenty to be sorry about.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all good.”
Desperate for something to do with her hands, Talia began straightening her coffee-table books. Though she wasn’t looking directly at him, she was able to see that his shoulders stiffened and his head shifted, as though he wanted to cock his ear and make sure he was hearing correctly.
“It’s all good?”
“Absolutely.” Her skittering nerves collided with her innate tendency to babble, and that, along with her desperate need to change the subject, made for an unfortunate combination. “Did you check out the mural yesterday? I really think Odysseus is coming along, don’t you? I want him to look fierce and focused, and I’m also trying to bring out a little bit of his fear, but I’m just not sure—”
“Don’t we have more important things to talk about than the mural?”
The growing incredulity in his tone went a long way toward soothing her hurt feelings. Not that she was ready to get past them yet.
“The mural is the only thing we have to talk about, Tony.”
A low growl was the only warning before Tony lashed out, grabbing hold of her wrist and lowering it away from the books. Ignoring her sharp cry of surprise, he got in her face, his eyes a blaze of brown with gold sparks.
“I think we need to talk about our relationship. Where we go from here.”
“There is no relationship. You made that pretty clear the other day. And if it wasn’t clear when you walked out, it’s been clear in the days since. You didn’t call or text,” she reminded him. “Either of those would’ve been appropriate, don’t you think?”
“That was a bombshell you dropped on me. I told you I needed a minute to process it.”
She snatched her hand free. “You had your time.”
“I was scared, Talia. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
It was all she could do not to snort. Clearly Paul had passed along the whole Dump Talia script to Tony, who was now reciting it almost word for word. It was hysterically funny, and she would’ve laughed if her broken heart hadn’t had her in such a stranglehold.
“You were scared? Wow. Thanks for explaining that to me. Because I’m the one with cancer, and I don’t know anything about fear. I’m sure my fear is nothing compared to your fear. Thanks for putting things in perspective for me.”
He got up, paced away and came back, running his hands over the top of his head and then dropping them to his sides where his fists flexed with obvious frustration. Opened and closed…opened and closed…until his knuckles whitened and she could see the imprint of his nails in his palms.
