CHAPTER 48
Caroline
The cake arrives, candles flickering, the birthday song swelling through the room. We sing like drunk twenty-somethings - loud, off-key, clapping too fast, laughing between verses.
Glasses lift, everyone leaning toward Michael, who looks seconds away from tackling Mikey in gratitude.
And my earlier relief dies a quiet, instant death.
Edoardo slips in beside me as if he’s been part of the night all along. His shoulder brushes mine, light but unmistakable, and my body registers him before my mind can catch up.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, voice warm, easy.
I turn. And just… stare.
Every functioning brain cell dissolves into static. The room blurs at the edges, sounds dull to a distant hum. It’s just him - too close, too familiar, too dangerous.
“Cara, cheers,” he murmurs, leaning close enough that his breath grazes my ear.
The spell snaps. I turn immediately.
“To Michael,” I say quickly, my smile bright and practiced, even as the jolt still crackles under my skin.
“Should we count?” Adam asks in that disarmingly innocent voice of his, and the table erupts in laughter.
Michael shoots him a mock-offended glare. “Wait till you come crawling back, begging for a haircut, baby.”
“Oooh, I might have to break up with you for a month while it grows out,” Megan says, pulling a dramatic face at Adam.
Adam pouts, then tugs her in for a quick kiss, the kind that earns a chorus of whistles.
“To me and to my four-ohs!” Michael declares, raising his glass higher than the rest, basking in the moment.
We grin, glasses clinking, voices overlapping as we cheer again.
“To older but not wiser!” Adam shouts.
The laughter that follows is louder, freer, spilling across the table like champagne foam. Beside me, Edoardo’s presence hums, impossible to ignore.
“Desserts!” Gigi and Celina squeal, eyes locked on the trays arriving.
“Yes, dessert,” Ethan echoes.
“The three of you are going to clean out the table,” Connor laughs, brushing a kiss over Celina’s cheek as they track the plates like hawks.
Edoardo can see I’m shaken. “Sorry to surprise you. What are you having?” He asks quietly, his voice a soft brush against my ear.
I freeze, words slipping out of reach. I haven’t gathered the courage to look at him again yet. I’m trying to steady my breathing, but my lungs won’t cooperate.
We sit close. Too close.
“Two bananas foster and a beignet for us, please,” Edoardo tells the server gently.
“Why are you here, Edoardo?” I finally ask, still staring straight ahead.
“For Michael’s birthday,” he answers, as if the question were that simple.
“Michael doesn’t…”
My protest never lands because Michael’s delighted squeal slices through the air.
“Oh my God, you made it!” He rushes over and wraps Edoardo in a hug.
I narrow my eyes. “Since when are you two friends?”
“Darling, don’t be so harsh. This handsome baby deserves a chance.” Michael blows me an exaggerated kiss, then turns back. “I’m so glad you made it.”
“I’m sorry for the delay. We were grounded in London for four hours,” Edoardo says.
“Then you absolutely need a drink.” Michael waves Mikey over, and a server with a tray of Sazeracs appears.
“To my fabulous friends and family,” Michael announces.
We lift our glasses.
Then, with deliberate mischief, Michael takes my empty hand and places it into Edoardo’s.
He raises his drink. “To love,” he says loudly.
He kisses Mikey as we drink.
I stare at them, then at my hand in Edoardo’s. I see his fingers start to thread through mine.
“Let go,” I say. “Everyone’s looking.”
“You ever cared what anyone thinks, Cara?” he murmurs, now grasping my hand with both of his and finally locking my gaze, his eyes earnest, hopeful.
I freeze again, caught between the instinct to pull away and the shock of how much I don’t want to.
“Now they’re really staring,” I hiss, louder, looking around the room.
“Cara, I need to talk to you,” he says softly, drawing me even closer.
“I’m Caroline to you.” I turn fully toward him.
A mistake. My face is inches from his, his breath warm against my skin, his mouth dangerously close.
“You’ve always been my Cara,” he says, voice low.
“Not anymore.” My gaze drops to where fingers are laced. “Let go.”
He disentwines, but then he gently lifts my chin until I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“I love you,” he says quietly. “I love you more than you know.”
The words explode.
“What?” I breathe.
“I love you. I made a mistake, but I never stopped loving you.” There’s nothing but raw honesty in his face, and it terrifies me.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, the words barely holding together.
“I’m sorry. It’s all on me and my stupidity.” He pulls me closer.
Something inside me snaps. I shove him hard and wrench myself free. He stumbles back as I turn and rush away.
“Cara!” he calls.
Heat floods behind my eyes. I need air. Distance. Control. If I don’t leave now, I’ll cry, and I refuse to do that in front of him.
Edoardo rushes after me. I walk faster, and my heels...
I slip with a startled cry, dragging Edoardo down with me. We hit the floor in a tangle of limbs.
“God, are you okay?” Connor rushes over with Ethan.
They stop dead, lips pressed tight, because Edoardo is sprawled squarely on top of me. Their shoulders shake as they fail spectacularly to suppress their laughter before helping us up.
“Assholes,” I mutter, accepting their hands.
“You okay?” Ethan asks, still grinning.
“She’s fine. Let’s go,” Connor says quickly, steering Ethan away.
“Such loyal friends,” I grumble, brushing myself off.
“Cara, are you hurt?” Edoardo turns my wrists, scanning my arms, his eyes searching.
I push at him and try to walk away, but he pulls me back, firm and unyielding. My body collides with his, and despite the storm inside me, I lean just for a second into the steadiness of him.
“Just one dance,” he says softly. “Please.”
“No.” I say it out loud, louder than necessary, praying that it’s loud enough to drown the treacherous voice inside me whispering yes.
I turn again, but the feathers of my headpiece brush his face. His body goes rigid.
Oh God. The allergy.
“You okay?” I spin back immediately, pulling the crown off. “I’m sorry.”
Instinctively, I lean in to brush off the feather particles from his face.
We are very close to each other, and as I scour, my eyes move down, forehead, brow, then our eyes meet.
I sense him moving closer. I honestly cannot say if I remain still or if my own body does the same. And then, suddenly, our lips touch.
My mind screams no, but my lips betray me. They part for him instantly before I can stop myself.
“No, Edoa - ” I try to protest, but the words dissolve as sensation floods in.
“Cara, don’t fight us,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I love you.”
My traitorous heart leans a little into him again, answering in a language my mind refuses to speak. I scramble for control, screaming “No” at my heart.
Then he stiffens.
Edoardo pulls back, eyes already watering. A sneeze breaks free, then another, and another. Tears start to come out and in the low light, I see the rash blooming along his neck.
I grab his arm. “You’re having a reaction.”
“It’s fine,” he insists between sneezes.
“It’s not. You’re breaking out.”
“I took pills,” he manages, breaths uneven.
Guilt twists sharp and immediate. He’s been standing next to me and my friends, surrounded by feathers.
“Why?” I ask, already scanning for the quickest way out.
“You know why, Cara,” he says softly.
Do I? Do I really?
“Do you have more medication? Take it.” I don’t wait. I rush back to Michael, and tell him I’m taking Edoardo to the hotel.
We ditch masks and feathers on the way out and grab a cab. City lights streak past the windows, blurring into gold and shadow. Edoardo is staying in the same hotel with everyone else, only a few blocks to go.
The ride is quiet, thick with everything we’re not saying.
Upstairs, we enter his room, he takes another Zyrtec, and I push him toward the shower. Minutes crawl by before he comes out, towel slung low around his waist, skin flushed but calmer.
He takes the nasal spray, decongestants, then eye drops. I stand him in front of the mirror while I check for hives, my fingers hovering just above his skin.
“Not too bad,” I exhale, tension easing a fraction. “Do you have hydrocortisone?”
He digs through his bag. “Yeah.”
“Let me.” I take the tube. “There’s one on the back of your neck.”
He turns without hesitation, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
“Thank God, the feathers didn’t hit you worse,” I murmur, smoothing the cream over the rash. “You shouldn’t have been at that party.”
“I should have.”
I pause. “Why? You knew the theme. You knew everyone would be covered in feathers.”
“I knew,” he says, gently catching my wrist. “But I needed to see you. I needed to fight for you. For us.”
I pull back, setting the tube down harder than I mean to.
“Cara…”
“Don’t.” I stare at the floor, breath unsteady. “I… we…”
The silence vibrates, alive and fragile between us.
“I mean it. Every word,” he says finally. “I need you to know that I love you. That I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry that I stepped back before I told you the truth.”
“But you broke up with me,” I say. The words are small, but they land heavy. “You cared about me, but that wasn’t love.”
“I care about you. And I love you. But I stepped back because I was scared you didn’t love me back,” he says, stepping closer to me. “I thought you wouldn’t want me the way I wanted you. I thought you wouldn’t love me the way I loved you.”
A pause in between, then Edoardo turns me to face him fully as he continues, “I should’ve told you and let you decide. Instead, I protected myself. I ran. I was a coward.”
“The dinner in London with only six of us – I asked Connor for a favor. The boxing match – I asked Anton for it.” Edoardo holds my hand tight as he speaks.
“Same for the gallery a few nights ago. I flew in for you, Cara. I was planning to tell you but then, your company was sponsoring, so I didn’t want to make it about me there. ”
He doesn’t stop at all, like stopping would cost him something precious.
“This birthday party – I begged Michael to allow me to join. I flew to Manhattan a few weeks ago. I showed up at Michael’s hair salon and begged him to help me.
I begged everyone in your circle of friends to help me win you back. ”
The words settle heavy and quiet between us. I don’t know what to think. I step back and sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted, like the adrenaline has drained from my bones.
Edoardo follows me to the couch. He takes my hands and honestly, I don’t know whether to pull away or hold on. My brain has officially stopped working.
“I was terrified of telling you how I felt,” he says quietly. “Then, months trying to forget you. The same months longing to see you, just to look at you, just to catch your smile. I love you, Cara. I love you like a madman. There’s no one else. There’s only you.”
I look at him then, really look. The strain in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw, the way he’s braced like he’s waiting for the blow to land.
“I’m confused,” I admit. “My brain won’t stop spinning. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a storm.”
“Then don’t think,” he says softly, squeezing my hands. “Just be here. With me. With us. The only thing that matters is you love me. And now, you know I love you too. I’ll do anything to be with you.”
“It’s easy to say, Edoardo.” I shake my head. “But you broke up with me. I’ve replayed us over and over, to the point that it ate me alive. I don’t know if I can undo what I built just to survive the last few months.”
“Cara, I was wrong. Terribly wrong.” His voice turns raw.
“I should’ve told you. These past months hurt, and I know they hurt you even more.
” He takes both of my hands and laces his fingers through, “I love everything about you. That’s the truth.
Please let me prove it. Months. Years. However long it takes.
I want you. Only you. Let me love you until you decide to give me your love again, Cara.
If you’re in New York, I’ll be next to you.
If you’re in London, I’ll be there too. Wherever you are, I’ll be next to you.
Nothing else matters if I don’t have you. ”
I pull back to look at him. “Did you really fly back to London two days ago and then straight out again for this?”
He nods and pulls me closer. And this time, I let him.
“You’re going to have to explain all of this again tomorrow,” I say softly. “I think my mind only caught a very small part of it.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I’ll explain it every day. Every minute. As many times as you need, until you get tired of hearing it.”
“Good,” I whisper. “I might need that part about you loving me and about it all being your fault on repeat.”
He laughs softly and draws me in, settling my head against his shoulder.
“No… your rash,” I protest.
“Just a rash,” he says, arms tightening. “I could fall asleep like this.” Then, “You still love me?” he asks softly.
“Yes,” I exhale a long breath and admit it. “But I want to punch you for waiting so long to tell me.”
“I’ll take it,” he says, smiling faintly.
“I’d rather you fight back.”
“That sounds more fun.” He agrees.
We both laugh, the tension easing into something softer, lighter.
“I love you, Cara.”
“I love you too, Edoardo.”
For the first time, we aren’t circling the truth. We’re inside it, all messy and fragile but real.
“You need to rest,” I say softly. “I do too.” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, letting the honesty stay there. “And… if we’re even thinking about finding our way back, there’s a lot we need to talk about. Tomorrow, we need to talk before we decide anything.”
He nods without hesitation. His gaze is soft and gentle on me, and I don’t look away.
Whatever comes next won’t be simple. But as I rest against him, listening to the steadier rhythm of his breathing, I realize this isn’t a return to what we were.
It’s the first honest beginning we’ve ever allowed ourselves.