Chapter 23 Helena #3
I looked up, and his eyes met mine. My breath faltered when I saw the way he was staring at me—complete openness in his gaze, as well as something else, something that set my nerves ablaze.
I had no idea why I felt like this in his presence—vulnerable and invincible all at once.
Obviously, he was physically attractive…
he was not only exactly my type, he was probably the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
But it wasn’t just that. I liked him, really liked him.
I liked his dry humor, so similar to mine, but I also liked the way he treated the people who were important to him.
The fact that he was here in New York City, even though he loathed it so much.
And the fact that he made no secret of how much Adam’s death had affected him.
The pain, the terrible pain we both felt, it forged a connection between us, and had done so from the very beginning.
But something else was emerging too, bit by bit.
Something much stronger, something that might bring us together in ways over and above our loss, if we only let it.
Something that might even make us whole again.
The notion was so immense that it filled my heart for a moment.
It was overwhelming to think that together we might be able to free ourselves from that pain. That we might be happy.
But then reality hit again, along with the ice-cold certainty that it would never be that way. Not in this lifetime. Not with our surnames—our families, who hated each other to the core.
I took a deep breath and, using all my willpower, broke the eye contact between us. Then I noticed the time on the clock above the bar.
“I… I think I should probably be heading back,” I said, my voice hoarse. “My parents aren’t home, but I bet the porter will snitch if I don’t show up until morning.”
Jessiah nodded. “You’re right. It’s gotten super late.”
In strained silence, I took our plates to the kitchen, and he turned out the lights in the front. I was just giving the plates a cursory wash when everything suddenly went dark. I quickly turned off the water, felt for the draining board, and set the plates down.
“Jessiah?” I called, a little alarmed.
The kitchen door opened, and he came in.
“You can only turn out the lights in here from the bar out front,” he explained.
“One of the charming quirks of this place. But I know my way around with my eyes shut; I’ll show you out.
Only if you call me Jess, though. No one who likes me calls me Jessiah. ”
“Who says I like you?” I asked cheekily.
He laughed. “Come on.”
In the dim glow of the emergency exit light I saw his outstretched hand, and my heart quickened as I took hold of it.
His fingers were warm, and it felt good to interlace them with my own.
Jessiah led me past the workstations, but I didn’t know my way around as well as he did and promptly knocked into something. It fell to the ground with a clatter.
“Damn it,” I swore, dodging to the side, suddenly very close to Jessiah. Neither of us moved. I could feel his body next to mine, see the vague outline of his face. Suddenly, there was nothing else in the world except for the spot where the two of us stood.
Jessiah lifted a hand to my cheek, so softly I barely felt it.
His fingers traced their way around to the back of my neck, his touch incredibly tender, yet sparking something so intense inside me it felt as though he was already kissing me.
And I wanted him to, with every fiber of my being.
But then he pulled back and took his hand away.
“You should get changed,” he said softly.
“Yeah, I should.” I nodded, letting out the breath I had been holding. Jessiah reached toward the door to turn on the hall light, and I left.
In the office, I took off the borrowed clothes and put my dress back on, which was now dry.
The blood was hardly visible, but all the same, I pulled my sequinned jacket over the top to hide it.
When I was done, I went back out into the restaurant, Jessiah closed up behind us, and we stepped out onto the sidewalk.
A taxi was already waiting—he must have ordered it while I was getting changed.
“You going to be okay?” he asked gravely, and I knew he was asking whether he should let me go home alone.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I will now.”
We stood opposite each other, hesitating, and then I gathered all my resolve and gave him a hug.
He returned it without hesitation—his hands on my back, drawing me in, my own arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
I breathed in deeply and allowed myself a brief moment of closeness and warmth before I let go again.
“Thanks, Jess,” I said in a soft voice. “Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t mention it, Fair Helen.” He smiled, rubbing my arm briefly before putting his hands in his pockets. “Sleep well. And do me a favor? Don’t get involved with any more drug dealers.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Promise.”
I got in the cab, and it drove off. As we turned toward Park Avenue, I wondered how it was possible that the night, which had begun so catastrophically, had turned into one of the best I’d had in a long time.
It had all felt so good—sitting across from Jess at that table at Bella Ciao, having that conversation with him, the way I felt when I looked at him.
And yet… we hadn’t exchanged numbers, hadn’t said a word about meeting again.
Perhaps we both hadn’t thought of it. Perhaps swapping details was pointless now that everyone was on social media.
But maybe—and this was the most likely scenario—we both knew with complete certainty that tonight had been a one-off.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
Not ever.