Chapter 12
chapter twelve
LEO
“Cheers to Miles, who knows how to kick some scrawny ass!” Heath says as we all clink our glasses together with a cheer.
Marina’s is packed, with half of the town coming straight here from Miles’s fight.
He’s probably met more locals in the last fifteen minutes than ever.
Everyone wants a piece of the prizefighter tonight.
“Hey, he wasn’t that scrawny,” Miles says. “Give me some credit.”
Marina settles onto his lap on the other side of the booth. “Oh, he was huge, hotshot. You were a weapon out there.”
Rafael chuffs a laugh as he takes a sip of his beer.
He’s been oddly quiet since we got here, but I can feel his eyes…
watching. He moves to pull May’s chair closer to him as she mindlessly stirs her lemonade with a plastic straw, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that one eye isn’t still pinned in my direction.
May, however, seems completely convinced by Marisol and me.
In fact, all the girls do. Or maybe they’re just so excited for me that they forgot about the logistical part of the equation, being Marisol all of a sudden deciding that she is in love with me.
But I’ll take it nonetheless. It’s nice knowing some people have faith in my romantic ability.
It’s funny, really, the way this group has evolved so much in the last two years.
Things around here used to be just Caio, Rafael, and me, with Marina reluctantly cleaning up our messes.
How different things are now from the way they were when we were younger.
One wedding, one baby on the way, one house, one fake relationship, and an estate with a small herd of goats.
We’ve really got the whole package here.
“What are you thinking about?” Isla nudges me from where she sits tucked into my other side, with Caio pressed up against the wall.
“Just how different things have been since you and blondie over there came knockin’.”
A small smile pulls at her lips. “A good kind of different, I hope.”
I wrap my arm around her, dragging her even closer. “The best kind. I mean, could you imagine if these two knuckleheads were still single right now?” I flick my eyes between Rafael and Caio.
Isla laughs before instinctively entwining her hand with Caio’s.
“You know, it’s funny. I struggle to even imagine things any other way, do you know what I mean?
” I nod, but she elaborates anyway. “Like, if I try to think about what my life would look like if I was still living in New York right now, I just…can’t. ”
“That’s got to be the biggest sign from the universe that you picked exactly the right track to follow,” Marina adds from across the table. She and Isla share a look that gives me the feeling I’m missing something.
“I actually think the sight of this guy nose deep in a native Australian bird encyclopaedia on our honeymoon was the moment I really knew,” Isla says.
“Oh, that’s when you knew?” Caio chimes in. “Not when I proposed to you? Or maybe when we said I do in front of literally everyone in our lives?” He narrows his gaze. “That didn’t do it for you?”
“What do you want me to say, baby?” Isla sidles up to him. “The khakis just worked for me.”
Marina snorts. “I will literally never stop thanking you for sending us those photos, Isla. I’m going to make a slideshow for your funeral, cousin.
” Caio rolls his eyes as she leans forward for dramatic effect.
“Caio Marchetti, grand hotelier, beloved husband, and avid bird whisperer,” Marina mimics typing out his obituary.
“It’s birder.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“What in god’s name is a birder?” Heath says from beside Rafael, who is still focused on May.
“People who enjoy observing birds,” Caio says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“A birder?” Marina exclaims, her hands landing flat on the table. “That’s the best they could come up with?”
Caio throws up his hands. “I didn’t come up with the fucking term, okay? Take it up with fucking Discovery Channel or something.”
I chuckle as the two of them fall into their usual kind of familial bickering, zoning out of any more conversation about birders as I suddenly become aware of how quiet Marisol has been amongst all of this bullshit.
I gently nudge her side with mine. “You alright?”
“I think you need to touch me,” she whispers.
I swear my lip quivers as my brain comprehends each syllable, like those seven simple words in that exact order coming straight from Marisol’s mouth just changed the entire course of my life.
“What?”
“You need to touch me, Leo.”
Oh, that’s even better.
“I don’t think Miles is buying it.” And there it is—the distant sound of a car crashing, or a tree falling in a quiet forest, a glass smashing.
A reminder that those words would only ever leave her mouth in this situation—the one where this thing between us is something I am supposed to be selling, not something I really have.
Yet it seems no matter how many times I try to tell my brain that this is temporary, a bargain, it doesn’t seem to care, and for one night, I want to bathe in the blissful feeling of pretending like I’m not pretending.
I don’t look to where Miles sits against the wall, with Marina still perched in his lap. Marisol’s eyes keep jumping over there enough for the both of us. Enough for me to know she’s been sitting here analyzing everyone’s reaction to us. She’s nervous.
“You tell me when and where,” I say, my voice low enough that only she can hear it as I reach past her, lifting her forgotten glass of sparkly wine to my lips.
“I’ll be happy to comply.” I take a sip, not dragging my eyes away from where she stares at me, not wanting to miss a single moment of her attention now that I have it.
I see her nostrils flare as she swallows a smile, her tongue in her cheek as I gently place the glass back in front of her.
“Fix my strap,” she whispers, her voice so delicate I almost miss it.
I drop my gaze to see the thin strap of her tank top hanging down her shoulder. That’s when I notice there’s no bra strap. Don’t even go there, brain.
My throat works through a swallow as I lift my hand, everything around us fading away as I brush a single finger down Marisol’s bare shoulder. I swear I stop breathing. I swear she does, too.
Her skin is so warm, so soft. I want to let my finger explore further, to feel her soft skin under my palm. Instead, I hook my finger under the cotton strap, slowly dragging it back up to sit in the small dip of her shoulder before letting go. “Like that?” I utter.
When I look up, I see Marisol’s lips parted, her eyes hazy as she watches me. “Mm-hmm.”
I can’t be imagining it, the tension pulled taut in the sliver of space between us right now. It’s too heavy, too real.
“Are you two coming?” I think the voice is in my head, a memory or a daydream, but then I’m suddenly aware that everyone around us is silent.
“What?” Marisol and I echo, awareness crashing into us like someone slammed a book shut in an empty library.
“We are hosting a masquerade ball at Hotel Dolce to celebrate Carnevale tomorrow night,” Isla says. “It’s a little less traditional, but so are we.” She smiles warmly at Caio. “But we’ve gone all out. Oh, and costumes are a non-negotiable, so dress to impress.”
“That sounds incredible.” Awe drips from Marisol’s lips, and with that one sentence, I know by this time tomorrow, I’m going to be fumbling around the dance floor at Hotel Dolce.
And when Marisol turns to gauge my reaction with so much fucking excitement sparkling in her eyes, I say, “We’ll be there.”