Chapter 8 Elio #2
Distracting. Gia has cut right to the heart of it. She’s sharp. Clever. A good future mafia wife. She sees things—more than I’d like her to right now—but she’s also aware of what a danger Annie is to me without judging me for it.
It’s clear, I realize as I glance at her, that she’s not particularly jealous of my desire for Annie. As long as she wins me in the end.
And she should. If I’m smart, I’ll pick her.
Annie pauses, and her eyes find mine across the ballroom as she scans the crowd. For a heartbeat, everything else fades—the noise, the activity, even Gia's presence beside me. There's only her, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.
And then she turns, merging into the guests as she moves through the ballroom toward some undefined destination.
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and small talk.
The mansion fills with Boston's elite, men in expensive tuxedos and women dripping in jewelry. I shake hands with politicians, judges, business owners, other crime bosses, and the heads of families who work with us—all the people whose support and respect I need to succeed in this position. Gia stays by my side for part of it, before drifting off, intuitively knowing how long she can spend with me before it would start to look as if I’ve made a decision that hasn’t actually been made yet.
When she vanishes, I begin to be introduced to other women as well—women who come with Ronan’s stamp of approval.
A judge’s daughter from New York. Ilya Sokolov’s cousin.
A crime boss’s daughter from Philadelphia.
Other Boston families’ daughters. Names blur together, perfumes mingle, and I lose track of how many women I’ve been introduced to, danced with, spoken to.
They’re all beautiful, all elegant, all well-educated, all primed to be the kind of wife I’m meant to marry.
They’re practically indistinguishable from one another, as far as I’m concerned.
None of them make an impression on me. The only reason Gia did, I think, is because our first meeting was one-on-one, at dinner. But the idea of squiring each of these women individually to a dinner, trying to get to know them, makes me feel equally overwhelmed and exhausted.
Maybe I should just pick Gia. Put an end to it.
The thought makes me feel instantly cold.
I catch a glimpse of Annie moving through the crowd, making small talk, her copper hair glinting in the crystal light thrown from the chandeliers.
I know this isn’t her element, can see the slight discomfort in her gaze, the way her shoulders are tense.
I still know her, after all these years—know that she’d prefer a stack of homework to a party, solitude to a crowd.
Several times, I catch men's eyes following her movements, and the possessive rage that floods my system nearly makes me do something stupid, like march across the room and make it clear she's off-limits.
Except she's not mine to protect. She's not mine at all.
And yet, everything else feels like background noise every time I look at her.
I feel a hand on my arm, smell vanilla, and I know Gia has found me again. Right as I’m staring at Annie. Of course.
“She really is beautiful,” Gia murmurs softly, but I can hear the steel under the words. “I can see the appeal. Really, I can.”
Christ. I force myself to look away from Annie, to focus on the woman beside me. "I was just taking in the party. Ronan put so much work into it—well, his wife did, really.”
"Of course." Gia sips her champagne, her expression thoughtful. "Though I have to wonder—if you're going to spend your entire marriage thinking about another woman, perhaps we should reconsider this potential arrangement."
Her directness catches me off guard. "Gia—"
“I understand that you have a past, Elio. Any man I might marry would. But I don’t want to share you with your past. You don’t have to love me.
But you do have to give me your attention.
Your desire. That’s what I want. I don’t want to spend dinner parties embarrassed as my husband ogles other women. ”
“I—” There’s no response I can think of that would make this better.
Thankfully, before I’m forced to come up with one, dinner is announced, and we're ushered into the dining room.
The long table is set for thirty, crystal and silver gleaming under the chandelier light.
I'm seated at Ronan's right hand—the place of honor—with Gia on my other side.
Annie is nearly directly across from me, seated just to the side of Leila, who is at Ronan’s left.
Of course she is.
She's next to a city councilman and a federal judge, both of whom seem utterly charmed by her company. She’s good at faking it, I realize.
She’s learned over the years, clearly, how to make it seem as if she’s the charming socialite that everyone expects her to be.
But this close, I can see the slight lines at the edges of her eyes, the way her mouth is tense at the corners.
She’ll probably get as far from all of this as she can as soon as it’s over.
Disappear into her room and close the door, relaxing in the silence.
Fuck. Don’t fucking think about her bedroom.
The staff sweeps in, beginning to serve the meal, but I couldn’t recite the courses if a gun was held to my head.
I can’t take my eyes off of Annie. Every gesture, every smile, every time she brings her wine glass to her lips—it's all I can focus on.
The way the candlelight plays across her skin, the way her eyes sparkle when she's engaged in conversation, the way she absently touches the diamond pendant at her throat.
“The lamb is delicious,” Gia murmurs sometime during the first course as she reaches for her wine. “Ronan must have an incredible chef.”
"Yes. It's very good." I have no idea what I'm eating. Everything tastes like sawdust.
Annie looks up at that moment and catches me staring.
Our eyes lock across the table, and I see her breath catch slightly.
Her cheeks flush pink, and she quickly looks back to the judge beside her, but not before I catch the way her pupils dilate slightly, her eyes darkening with a glint of that heat that I want so badly both for her to remember and for us both to forget.
The same heat I remember from all those years ago. The same heat that almost consumed us both the night before I left for Chicago.
"More wine?" Gia asks, and I realize she's been trying to get my attention.
"Please."
The rest of dinner passes in a haze. I make appropriate responses when spoken to, laugh at the right moments, play the part of the gracious guest of honor. But every cell in my body is attuned to the woman across from me, to every word she speaks and every move she makes.
When dessert is wrapping up and the guests begin to stand, I see Annie split off, heading down one of the hallways leading away from the dining room.
I breathe in and out slowly, resisting the urge to follow immediately.
Instead, I dab my lips with a napkin, take the last sips of the port served with dessert, and then finally stand as Gia does.
“I need to find a restroom,” I say quietly. “I’ll find you in the ballroom shortly for a dance.”
I see a flicker of reservation on her face, but she nods without arguing, her expression perfectly smooth. “I need to touch up my lipstick,” she says with a smile. “I’ll meet you after.”
As I slip out of the dining room, I hang back, merging with the flow of guests until I see that Ronan has disappeared toward the ballroom with Leila. And then I head down the hallway where I saw Annie go, my heart beating hard in my chest.
I swear I can smell the fresh, herbal scent of her perfume as I walk down the darkened hall, like an Irish breeze from the sea.
I hear the click of heels from the right, and I turn to follow the sound, only to see her a moment later, silhouetted in the light coming from an arched window.
Her hand is pressed against the wall next to it, and she’s looking out at the moonlit view.
“Annie,” I say her name when I’m a few paces away, and she jumps, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth. I hear the squeak that she makes, and then she presses her hand against her chest as she sees me.
“Elio,” she breathes. “You scared me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” The sound of my name on her lips, breathed out like that, has my cock swelling against my thigh. I hold myself rooted in place, knowing that if I move any closer to her, I won’t be able to stop myself from touching her. And if I touch her—
A vision of her pinned to the wall, my hands caging her in, my lips lowering toward hers, crashes through my mind as blood flows straight to my cock. In an instant, I’m rock-hard, struggling to breathe as I look at the woman in front of me.
“What are you doing here, Elio?” Annie’s voice is cool, collected. I think I hear the smallest quiver in it, but it could just be my imagination. What I want to hear. “Do you need something?”
You. I need you.
“I—” I have no idea what to say. What excuse do I have for following her here, down this dark hallway, where if someone were to see us, there would be all kinds of explaining to do. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
I see her tense slightly, her hand dropping away from the wall. “I’m fine. I just needed a little quiet for a minute. Needed to clear my head before going back into the party.”
“I thought as much.” Against my better judgment, I take a step closer to her. “I remember that you don’t like crowds. Or parties. Or small talk with people you don’t know.”
“That was when we were kids.” Now I know I haven’t imagined the small quiver in her voice. The effort she’s expending to sound controlled. She feels it, too, still.
But what does that matter? It doesn’t change anything. Do I just want her to suffer, too? To feel the same pain I do?
“Has anything changed?” I meet her eyes, and I know the question I’m asking isn’t just about Annie’s social battery. From the way her expression shutters, she does, too.
Her lips press together. “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“I know.” Fuck, I know. “But we can’t go forever without talking about it, can we? Now that I’m back, and you’re—”
“What am I?” Annie’s gaze flashes slightly in the light from outside. “What, Elio? What do you want to say?”
Another step toward her. Stop. I know better. Don’t get closer. Don’t touch her. “I thought you’d be married by now. I thought you’d belong to someone else.”
She scoffs from somewhere deep in her throat, the sound bitter, hanging in the air between us. “And that would have made it easier? To come home?”
“I thought it would.” I swallow hard. “If there was no going back. But you’re not married. You’re not even with someone. Or at least, I didn’t think you were. But seeing you with Desmond the other night—"
“That was none of your business.” Her voice hardens. “I’m none of your business, Elio.”
"I saw him kiss you. I saw you let him." The words come out rougher than I intended. "And it nearly killed me."
"Elio, we can't—"
“Can’t what?” I feel my hands curl into fists at my sides. “Can’t admit that nothing has changed? That what there was between us eleven years ago is still here?”
“You left.” Her voice slices through the air. “You had a choice, and you left, Elio. You made your decision.”
“That wasn’t a choice!” My voice rises, and she gives me a warning look. I force my tone lower again. “There was no choice for me, Annie. You know that. I didn’t want to leave.”
“But you did. And there’s no choice now, either, is there? It doesn't matter what's between us. You know it doesn't. Ronan would never—" She shakes her head abruptly. “I got over you, Elio. Don’t do this to me.”
Another step. God help me, I’m right in front of her now, so close that I can smell the sweet warmth of her skin under her perfume. Sunwarmed grass and sunshine and a decade-plus of separation that feels like a lifetime. Like we were someone else when I had everything in my hands and let it go.
“Did you?” I murmur, looking down at her. “Did you really, Annie?”
Maybe if I hear her say it one more time. Maybe that will fix me. Maybe I’ll believe her then. But I look into the blue pools of her eyes, at the way her pupils expand as she looks up at me, and I know that even if she says it again, she’ll be lying.
She’s not over me, just like I’m not over her. And right now, standing in the cool darkness of the hallway, it feels like it’ll never be over.
Like I’ll have to live with this torture for the rest of my life.
“Annie.” I breathe her name, lift my hand to touch her cheek. When my fingers brush her skin, I know I’ll kiss her. Our first kiss in eleven years. I won’t be able to stop myself.
My fingertips hover over her cheekbone, and I hear her indrawn breath.
“Elio?”
Gia’s voice comes down the hallway, echoed by the clicking of her heels. I drop my hand as if I’ve been burned, taking a step back, and then another. Annie’s chest is rising and falling quickly, her eyes fixed on mine, and she steps back as well.
“This isn’t over,” I murmur, feeling the tightness in my throat, my chest, the need pounding through me. I’m harder than I can remember being in years, my entire body attuned to her, and I know that whatever we felt back then when we touched, it would have been a thousand times more intense now.
“Yes, it is,” Annie whispers. “It has to be, Elio.”
And then, just as Gia’s footsteps come closer, as I catch a hint of gold out of the corner of my eye, Annie turns and walks away, leaving me there in the darkness.