Chapter 35
Cora
His lips connect with my hand, and a shiver runs through me. I so desperately want to mend what we broke.
He might have started it with all the lies and deception, but I was the one not giving us a chance from the beginning. And this man fought for us. The us that was so wonderful. The us where I felt safe and cherished. The us where I grew out of my old habits that were killing me slowly.
He fought for us with dirty tactics, but he also didn’t know any other way.
Can I trust that he learned the lesson? Can I risk more heartache?
His lips hover just above my skin, his breath warm. My hand shakes in his, quivering with longing, trembling with fear, stirring with possibilities I’m too scared to explore.
Will he fight for us again? Do I want him to?
Before I have a chance to decide, to entertain the tender possibility, Xander gives me a sad smile and stands up.
His kiss lingers, a flame pressed to my skin, small and searing. A farewell? An apology? A sad thank you?
I bring my hand to my chest, fingers still curled, as if I could trap the heat he left behind and keep it from fading. All the efforts to forget him were in vain. The pain he caused is real, but so is the void he left.
It’s a void I won’t be able to fill properly. Ever. And I’m not sure if deciding I should try was the right one. That’s what one meeting with him did.
My resolution is gone.
My determination is nonexistent.
My reason for our breakup is forgotten. But is it also forgiven?
He walked away.
It was the smart thing to do.
The right thing.
So why do I reel from it? Why do I want to call after him? Run after him?
Because for a moment—for the length of a shared bottle of wine—he made me feel whole again.
Lighter.
Like all the pain, the betrayal, the messy past could exist beside us instead of between us.
God, I missed him. Not just his touch, or his naughty smirk, or the way he took up all the space in a room. I missed the way he made me feel.
Seen. Heard.
Understood.
Even when he didn’t agree with me, he made space for me. He ruined my business, but only to save it tenfold.
My opinions. He didn’t mind the age gap, the financial gap, or any of the gaps I believed were between us.
My grief. Oh, how he let me hurt him, so I could feel better for a moment.
My dreams. I found myself because he was there all the way, just giving me nudges.
How did we get here? Why did we get here? Even under the weight of his betrayal, his love tips the scale.
I should be proud of him for walking away.
For respecting my boundaries. For not trying to fix it all with a charming smirk and a hungry kiss.
It was noble. And selfless. It was all I ever wanted from him.
And it felt like being gutted with a velvet knife.
Because if he’d reached for me… if he’d said come back, or even just I’m not done—
I don’t know that I would’ve had the strength to resist.
And maybe he knows that.
Maybe he is protecting me from the same storm he brought to my doorstep once already.
Or maybe he’s changed. Grown. Loved me enough not to risk breaking me again.
I should be grateful.
But all I feel is the ache of absence—sharper now, because for a second, it felt like he’d never really left.
I’m rooted to my seat. A part of me wants to stop him. To force him to try harder. To allow myself to trust again.
But it’s not that easy. This man felt like home at one point, but you can’t build one without a solid foundation.
The server comes over with a bottle of wine and a clean glass. He pours some for me to taste and presents the label. It’s my favorite Zinfandel from Napa Valley. Not the Italian Primitivo, but—
I frown. “I didn’t order anything.” I shake my head, hoping that will translate my words into Italian.
He smiles and steps to the side. “From the gentleman at the bar.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake? Can’t a girl grieve in peace?
My gaze meets the pale blue eyes I know so well. Xander gives me that boyish smile that got me into this mess.
Slowly, he saunters over to me. There it is—that familiar swagger, half confidence, half defiance, like the world can throw its worst at him and he’ll still come out grinning.
His jacket is slung over one shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms. I swallow, my heart fluttering like it never got the memo that it’s supposed to be over this.
The tilt of his head is pure Xander: amused, reckless, unreadable.
He looks at me like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this moment. Each step brings him closer to breaking every bit of resolve I’ve managed to piece together.
“Hey, I’m Xander.” He offers me his hand.
I stifle a giggle and shake his hand. “I’m Coraline,” I say, for the first time using the name he monopolized when my father couldn’t anymore.
He gives me that winning smile of his. “Nice to meet you, Coraline. Do you mind if I join you?”
“I guess you bought me a drink, so it’s only fair.” I extend my hand toward the chair.
He takes the same seat he vacated moments ago.
For a moment our gazes hold, suspended in this air of opportunity, second chances, and tender trust. Maybe hope. Not a desperate one. Hope that speeds up my heart rate. I’m not sure what we are doing, but it feels a thousand times better than anything I’ve felt in the past few months.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Xander says after we order pizza.
“Do you really?”
“I guess I’m intruding, but just say the word and I will leave.
I heard that just because I can have something, it doesn’t mean I want it.
I recently learned, in a very hard, life-changing way, that it works the other way as well.
Just because I want to have something, it doesn’t mean I can… take it.”
His words take my breath away. I’m not sure if it’s in a good way or a bad way, but it’s dizzying to have him in front of me, trying and hoping, giving me space instead of just taking.
“Do you want me to leave, Coraline?”
I should want him to leave, but I don’t. “I would have to finish this bottle alone. That’s not a good idea.”
He smiles and refills my glass.
“Besides, I have been eating alone for many long weeks. I might enjoy the company.”
He puts the bottle down and looks at me with that penetrating gaze that holds me prisoner. “So what is it you do, Coraline?”
I raise my eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. Are we going to try to rebuild the missing foundation? “I own a bistro in Manhattan.”
“Interesting. I live there. What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”
The smile is automatic now. I can’t stop grinning at him. Whatever game we’re playing, it’s simple and honest. Something our relationship so fiercely needed. “Actually, I’m writing a book.”
He leans closer. “Wow, that’s amazing. What are you writing about?”
I take a sip. “I write children’s stories, animal parables.”
“Will you write a story about a tiger who was an entitled dumbass?”
A laugh escapes me, unbidden. “What will be the moral of that story?”
“That sometimes you need to be brave and risk rejection. That losing the girl is the worst fucking feeling in the world, but the fear of it doesn’t justify manipulation as a love language.”
I sigh, this reminder of the past tainting the moment, but also opening a possibility for me. Perhaps I can start trusting again. Just as he started understanding where things went wrong.
I take another sip. “Tiger, hmm…?”
He grins. “I’m glad you picked up on that.”
Our pizzas arrive, and we fall into an easy conversation about anything, retelling things we know about each other, and accepting them through new lenses.
After we pay the bill, Xander leads me outside, and while his hand is absent from the small of my back, his heat is radiating and warming me up, on the outside and on the inside.
“Can I give you a ride?” He clicks his keys, and the truck flashes open.
If we’re pretending that this is the possible beginning, I’m going to lean into it. “Aren’t I too old for you?”
“Not at all. Besides, a few years mean nothing in the span of a lifetime.” He opens the door for me.
“A lifetime?” I get in.
“That’s how long I’m planning to fight for you.” He closes the door.
My poor heart.
Earlier tonight, we drove in silence. This time Xander talks about the neighborhood, and drives a longer but more scenic way. Even though it’s dark, I get a glimpse of sites and places I haven’t discovered yet.
Somehow, we do a loop and enter the village again from the other end. Xander brings the car to a stop.
“This is not where I live,” I protest when he gets out of the car and gets around to open my door.
“We didn’t get dessert.”
He leads me through a narrow passage, and we end up in a small courtyard with blue doors.
We enter a small bakery with a few patrons drinking their espresso shots at a tiny counter. It’s really just a square room with stone walls, its glass front fogged from the heat of whatever miracle just came out of the oven.
“I didn’t know about this place.”
“I didn’t know about pistachio Danishes, and now I have several pounds to show for it. Consider it my revenge.”
“You seemed so scandalized by my bakery back home. And look at you now.”
“That wasn’t a bakery; it was a crime scene.”
I snort. “Was? I ate a Danish from there this morning.”
“It’s a respectable place since I bought it.”
I stare at him. “You bought the bakery?”
“It was the easiest way to make sure you can have your Danishes forever, especially since international shipping is required at the moment. But I might sell it after you try the local goods.”
I keep staring, because I’m not sure if I’m impressed or annoyed.
He tugs a strand behind my ear. “Come on, Coraline, I put your sister in charge. The busier she is, the less she bothers you.”
Now I don’t only stare, I gape. And I realize I’m not impressed, nor am I annoyed. I’m grateful. He might have his fucked-up way of caring for me, my needs, and my issues, but he does care. He does notice. He does see my issues before I even notice them.
To distract myself from the onslaught of emotions, I turn to the counter. A tray of sugar-dusted bomboloni sits in the middle, their golden shells puffed, oozing cream from delicate seams.
The smell alone could knock me over—vanilla, yeast, something citrusy—pure comfort wrapped in nostalgia.
It’s the kind of place you’d miss if you blinked. No chrome. No fancy lighting. Just the clink of espresso cups, handwritten prices on curling paper signs, and an older woman behind the counter who greets Xander like he’s one of her own.
I glance at him, watching as he leans in to order in perfect Italian, all suave charm and reverent tones like he’s requesting access to a private vault.
We take our pastries to the car, and he drives me back to the estate. Killing the engine, he turns to me. “I wanted to kiss you after the gala.”
I don’t know why we’re revisiting that night, but somehow it feels important. “Why didn’t you?” I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“I didn’t understand it at the time, but you felt different, and I guess I didn’t want to follow my usual pattern.”
A wave of melancholy sweeps through me, and I say, “We would have had a one-night stand, probably.”
“You would have kissed me back?” He looks genuinely surprised. “I thought you would have just kicked me in the balls.”
I burst out laughing. Not because it’s funny, but because I need a break from this torture. It feels so good to laugh that the sentiment takes over, and before I know it, I can’t stop. Tears rim my eyes, and everything in me releases the tension through a cathartic laugh.
It dies too quickly, and when I look at Xander, I find what I used to expect but forgot how much it meant—admiration, pride, love.
It kills the laughter, because his feelings, written all over his face, are too real. And I don’t want to be the person who steps all over it. But we have so much to rebuild, and I’m not yet certain we even can. “I guess tonight is not the night for a kiss.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right. As much as I wish it was different,” he says, without an agenda, without controlling the situation. Just accepting. “I’m glad I didn’t kiss you that night because you’re right, it would have been the end of us.”
He takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles.
“You were always right, Coraline. When you objected to our age gap, because let’s face it, you were more experienced in the art of relationships, and I should have let you lead.
Even when you objected to our financial differences, I ended up using my money to destroy us after all. ”
Blame is not going to help us. Because I know he recognizes his errors. Because rehashing it won’t help us move forward. “Xander—” I try to stop him.
“But despite all of it, Coraline, you and I are meant to be together. The pain of the past months taught me that. And I’m not going to stop trying.”