Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
FALLON
You Are My Everything
The narrow calle opens to a quiet courtyard that overlooks one of Venice’s many canals. It’s a place tourists don’t know about, tucked away behind a private villa I recently purchased because I fucking hate hotel rooms.
Per my instructions to the staff, hanging directly above the solitary table, strings of golden fairy lights drip like stars, similar to the real ones dotting the late evening sky.
The faint aroma of citrus from the potted lemon trees that line the courtyard melds with the floral scent of Elizabeth’s hair.
Jasminum polyanthum , pink jasmine. I still keep pots of the damn stuff in my study at the Montgomery estate.
Elizabeth’s footfalls are muted against the cobblestone when she leaves my side and walks over to the table.
Her long hair falls over her shoulders and catches the light like threads of spun gold.
Her simple blue dress, effortlessly beautiful against her skin, clings to every curve.
Elizabeth Fairchild has always been my obsession, even when all I had left of her were mere memories of our short time together.
She was destined to be with Ry, and I was destined to be the villain in her love story.
She turns slightly, facing me with an arched brow. “Why do I have a feeling that we’re not having dinner at a restaurant?”
“Thought you might like a real, immersive, authentic Italian dinner. Not the shit hotel bars and tourist traps like to serve.”
Her sea-green eyes widen with mock surprise. “Are you saying that cheeseburger I ate last night wasn’t authentic Italian cuisine?”
My lips twitch with a suppressed grin. “No.”
Growing serious, her face softens. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
I pull out her chair. “I wanted to.”
Her smile is a little shy, a little grateful, but it’s genuine, and the sight of it makes my damn heart ache.
“Thank you. This is really lovely,” she says, taking a seat.
Maribella, one of the waitstaff I hired while here, emerges from a nearby doorway and places a basket of warm rosemary focaccia on the table.
Speaking with the kind of Italian lyrical intonation that makes even the simplest words sound poetic, she says, “Good evening, Mr. Montgomery. Mrs. Cutton. May I start you off with something to drink?”
Elizabeth greets her with a kind smile. “Is an IPA okay? Whatever you have. I’m not picky.”
I hold up two fingers, letting Maribella know to bring me one as well.
Elizabeth leans her elbows on the table and lowers her voice. “I hope I didn’t offend her.”
Amused that she thinks she insulted the waitstaff, I reply, “They drink beer in Italy, Kitten. L’IPPA is a good one.”
She places a slice of bread in front of her, but doesn’t eat it, only picks at the crust. “Ryder and I never got to travel like we had planned. Between medical school and having the kids, we kept putting it off.” She looks up, the color in her cheeks rising.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” She trails off.
What’s left unspoken hangs between us like a ghost that always follows, clinging to the living in hopes of escaping its purgatory.
“Elizabeth.” I wait until her eyes are on me. “It’s okay to talk about him. I’d be worried if you didn’t.”
“I know you came to see him.”
Her direct bluntness catches me off guard.
“I did.”
“And you were at the funeral. I felt you there.”
Not a question. A statement of fact. But my attention is solely focused on how she said she felt me there. She was always too damn perceptive.
Elizabeth sits back in her chair, her face a mask of pissed-off beauty. “You’re a jackass.”
God, I love this woman.
“I know.”
“Have you forgiven yourself?”
Well, shit. She went right for the jugular. I’ve spent twenty years trying to make up for what happened, for what Peter did and my part in the nightmare he caused, hoping in some way my good deeds could somehow erase the guilt. It hasn’t.
“Still a work in progress,” I reply.
“I’m flying back tomorrow.”
“I know,” I say again.
Sitting up straight, she drums her fingers on the tabletop.
“You’re coming with me,” she declares, daring me to refuse.
Joke’s on her.
“I know that, too.”
“Good. Because fuck you and your white-hat complex. I don’t need it, and I never wanted it.”
Maribella comes back with our drinks and quickly sets them down before hastily retreating.
Not able to hold Elizabeth’s hurt gaze, I look out over the water. A gondola drifts past, its lantern casting shimmering patterns on the stone walls. Somewhere nearby, a violinist begins playing a hauntingly beautiful melody, the notes curling through the air like smoke.
“Fallon,” Elizabeth says, bringing my attention back to her.
Peace before the storm. I knew it was coming as soon as I walked her to her hotel. We have twenty years of shit to hash out, but like a dumbass, I had hoped it would wait until we got back stateside.
“You’re mad. I get it.”
She slaps her palms flat on the table, making the silverware clink. “Yes, I’m mad! You left, and I don’t care if your delusional brain thought it was for my own good. Your family needed you. Ryder needed you. I needed you.”
I get stuck on the last thing she says. I needed you.
“Why haven’t you gotten married?” she asks, and it sounds more like an accusation than personal curiosity.
I pick up my beer but don’t drink it. “I think I regret asking you to dinner.”
“Are you refusing to answer?”
We stare at each other for a long while before I reply, “ Sto guardando l’unica donna che voglio. ” I’m looking at the only woman I want.
Elizabeth takes out her phone and leans across the table. “Can you repeat that for my Google Translate?”
If an eyebrow arch could smirk, mine would be doing it right now. “No.”
Romeo comes out with the first course, a simple Caprese salad of sliced mozzarella and tomatoes, garnished with fresh basil leaves.
Placing her napkin in her lap, Elizabeth smiles at him. “ Grazie .”
He becomes starstruck and almost drops the plate he’s setting in front of me.
“ Sua moglie è bellissima .”
“ Sì ,” I reply.
Elizabeth uses her fork to cut a slice of tomato in half. “You’re not going to translate what he said either, are you?”
“Learn the language, Kitten.”
“When did you?”
Guess we’re playing a round of twenty questions now.
More interested in her than the food, I nurse my beer. “I picked up snippets of different languages over the years as I went from one place to the next. I’m not fluent by any means. Just know enough basics to get by.”
She holds up her fork and bites into a wedge of tomato.
“I learned German because that’s what Marcus took in high school.
Christopher took Spanish like me, but Charlotte wants to switch from French to Mandarin when school starts in August. I’ll need to find her a tutor because I sure as hell don’t have the brain capacity for learning a third language. ”
“It’s a hard language to learn because the tone of the word affects what it means. If I said ‘ wǒ xiǎng wèn nǐ ,’ it means I want to ask you a question. But if I changed the tone of wèn to wěn and said, ‘ wǒ xiǎng wěn nǐ …’”
Elizabeth sits forward in her seat. “What would it mean then?”
I want to kiss you.
“Something completely different,” I reply, purposefully being obtuse.
Romeo and Maribella bring our second course out. Handmade tagliatelle with a rich wild mushroom ragù drizzled with truffle oil.
“This looks delicious,” Elizabeth says, dipping the tines of her fork in the sauce and tasting it. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Depends on the question,” I reply, knowing it will get a reaction.
Just as I’d hoped, a grin flashes across Elizabeth’s face.
“Seems that they’re still your four favorite words.”
I spear a mushroom. “What’s the question?”
“It’s more like I need a sounding board about something.”
“Not the best person to ask for advice, but go for it,” I reply.
“Charlotte wants to have sex.”
I start choking on the mushroom I just ate.
“That was exactly my reaction, too,” Elizabeth says a little too happily.
I guzzle the rest of my beer. “A gentle lead-in would have been appreciated.”
“ I didn’t get one,” she replies, enjoying my obvious discomfiture.
“Isn’t this something better suited for Meredith to help with?”
Elizabeth laughs. “Meredith would be running to the store to buy her condoms.”
“Or Aurora or Tati?” I add, since Elizabeth is tight with them.
“They have boys. I’m dealing with the hormonal maturity of a fifteen-year-old girl.”
With all seriousness, I reply, “Have you forgotten what I was like in high school?”
My teenage years were lost mostly to oblivion as I used drugs, sex, and alcohol to escape the world and numb myself from the abuse delivered by my father’s fists.
Elizabeth blinds me with an overbright smile. “That’s why you’re the perfect person for me to talk to about this.”
“Grant wouldn’t pressure Charlotte, so I wouldn’t worry too much.”
If Charlotte was with any other guy, I’d happily send someone to beat his ass before the little fucker could even touch her.
“And the fact you know that Charlotte and Grant are dating infuriates me because it confirms what I always assumed— I’m the only person you cut out of your life.”
The fairy lights catch in her eyes and magnify the hurt in them. Shit. She’s upset again. As soon as I make her smile, I piss her off a second later.
“And we’re back at fighting.”
She pushes her plate away, apparently done with the pasta. “Trust me. If we were fighting, you’d know it.”
Romeo and another server, Donatella, come out with the main course. They work with precision, presenting each dish like a work of art. Romeo can’t take his eyes off Elizabeth, and even though he’s harmless, my territorial instincts flare to life, and I stare him down.
“ Continua a fissarla e avremo problemi .”
Like a little pup with its tail tucked between its legs, he half bows and retreats into the shadows.
“Is this chicken?” Elizabeth asks Donatella.
“Branzino roasted with fresh herbs, served with a side of saffron risotto,” she replies in stilted English.
Using her phone, Elizabeth types something in. “ Il cibo…era delizioso. Complimenti allo chef .”
Donatella eagerly nods. “ Sì , grazie .”
Elizabeth waits a beat after she leaves before saying, “I hope I didn’t massacre that too badly. I’ve noticed that I get weird looks from people here when I say stuff. Probably the Southern accent doesn’t help.” Taking a small bite of fish, she says, “You really outdid yourself.”
“I didn’t make it.”
She gives me that fucking adorable eye roll again.
“You know what I mean.” Her expression tempers into something almost wistful. “I haven’t had a night out like this in…I don’t know how long.”
From what everyone has told me, she hasn’t done much of anything for the last three years. Her life is all about her children and nothing for herself.
For a moment, we sit in silence, enjoying our food, the night around us alive with the quiet magic of the Serenissima .
“Venice is so beautiful,” she says softly. “He would have loved coming back. There was a lot we missed the last time we were here.”
An invisible hand reaches inside my chest and chokes my damn heart.
“I’m sorry I’m here instead of him, Kitten.”
“Dammit, Fallon, that’s not what?—”
Elizabeth bolts out of her chair and pulls me out of mine before I can take my next breath.
Her trim body crashes against me, her arms wrapping around me like she never plans to let me go.
I hold her just as fiercely. Dear god, she feels like heaven in my arms. A heaven that a devil like me shouldn’t touch because she will never be mine. Her heart will always belong to Ryder.
Not able to stop myself, I bury my face in her fragrant hair, the blunt nails of my fingers digging into the silken fabric of her dress.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Shut up,” she rasps against my neck, her tears soaking into my collar. “Don’t ever think that your life means nothing. That you mean nothing. Because to me, you mean everything . You saved me when I needed you. It’s my turn to save you. No more running away. It’s time for you to come home.”