Chapter Twenty-Six ADAM #2
The first couple of days in Venice have been awkward, to say the least. Painfully so. Jackie’s polite now. Too polite. Even Carter scowled at her behind the columns of San Marco’s Basilica, as if he didn’t recognize this version of her.
She’s skittish around me, like her admission handed me a valid reason to retaliate. It drives me crazy. Fuck… Even before, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her. Not really. They were childish, petty games. Bruising words and empty jealousy.
It’s not going to fly. I drop onto the cushion of the small stool facing her, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to keep my voice casual. “My mom wants some more photos. Walk with me before dinner.”
Jackie lowers the hardcover she’s been clutching like a shield, and those blue eyes shine over the top, uncertain. “You still want to go? Together?”
I still haven’t processed her apology, but I’m not going to miss out on any chance to be near her. Even if it twists something sharp in my chest.
I’d take all that, any time, over the numbness.
The tree is a good cover, and I lean in, my voice low. “You’re done with all the hiding, baby.” My fingers curl on the cold flowery armrest, stilling the swing. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not—” She catches herself, lowering her voice. “Hiding. You were right, OK? Isn’t that enough? I’m just… playing nice. What more do you want?”
To kiss you again. To pretend we never ended.
But that can’t happen, so I settle for something in reach.
I lean in, close enough for her breath to ghost over my lips. “The real Jackie.”
My Jackie.
The security detail assigned to her today straightens when the porter holds the door open for a vision in green. Light fabric clings and drapes over the soft curves of her body, the airy summer dress swaying with the salty breeze.
And the color. God help me.
Roughly the same shade as my own eyes. It coils heat low in my gut, slow and molten.
“Did you pick this dress especially for me?” I whisper as she falls into step beside me, our path slipping into one of the winding alleys behind the palazzo.
Fighting a smile, she keeps her gaze fixed ahead. “It’s my favorite color.”
Well. Kill me now.
The cut-through spills us out onto a broader sidewalk, flooded by a current of tourists flowing toward the Grand Canal. I catch the subtle pinch in Jackie’s expression, worry settling between her elegant brows.
Naturally, I do the sensible thing and take her hand.
Her body goes rigid. “You don’t have to play pretend again.”
“Let’s go this way.” I tug her gently toward another secluded pathway, wedged between two houses leaning toward each other.
The crowd presses from all sides, the air overstuffed with heat and noise, and her grip on me stiffens. Making sure her team keeps close, I slip into the shaded, tight space, drawing her in.
Her relieved sigh ghosts my shoulder, warm and velvety, tracing fire along my neck.
“Better?” I turn to catch her relaxed expression when we end up on a quiet canal-side promenade, lined with cozy homes and hole-in-the-wall wine bars.
“Been here before?” she asks.
Admit the research? “No,” I chuckle. “But I might have checked the satellite images for less crowded routes.”
She looks up at me with a wide and impossibly blue look. “You’re full of surprises today.”
I rub the back of my neck, playing for time. “We can pretend we’re on some fun holiday. But it’s always there, in the back of my mind.” My gaze never wavers. “Your safety. I’d never risk that.”
Jackie nods slowly, the weight of it sinking in. Then a wicked little smirk tugs at her lovely lips. “Careful,” she teases. “A girl might be flattered.”
Oh, we’re playing again. This side of her flips a switch of need I could never control around her.
“Through here.” Before she can take in her surroundings, I lead her down another tiny street. The space narrows, the beams of light only reaching the second floor. She walks ahead, our shoulders almost grazing the rough plaster of the old facades.
“This is one of the narrowest streets in Venice,” I murmur near her ear, close enough that her backside brushes the front of my pants. My body reacts with a familiar rush of heat.
She glances back, a faint blush painting her cheeks. “I’m starting to think this was part of your plan…”
It wasn’t, but the way I’m drawn to her is impossible to resist.
“Are you scared?” I tease her, my voice dropping lower.
She doesn’t answer, but her pupils dilate. I still know how to read her. Like my favorite fucking book. Every breath, every tell.
My mind is still riddled with doubt about her, but my body moves on its own.
“No,” I whisper, “you’re not.” I slide my thumb under her thin shoulder strap. “You look like you’re one compliment away from hiking up this pretty dress of yours and letting me press you against this wall.”
Her breath stutters.
“Should I flatter you some more?”
The shiver that runs through her shoots straight to my groin. My body tightens, ready to break.
“Miss Rawlings!” The guard’s voice booms from somewhere around the corner, bursting the moment.
“Here you are!” he pants, slightly panicked, the second one right behind. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re supposed to monitor you at all times.”
Right. I got so carried away, I forgot about her shadows.
“Of course,” Jackie says smoothly.
She recovers quickly, but I catch the way she looks down as we walk, her chest still heaving slightly, heat creeping up her cheeks.
Our last stop is a hidden spiral staircase few tourists ever find, tucked away behind the maze of narrow streets.
At the top, we’re alone. The two of us above the rooftops as the sun pours gold flakes across the city.
But it’s not the view that has me spellbound. It’s Jackie.
Leaning against the pale marble arch, she’s effortlessly beautiful. She glows in the last light of day, smiling, hair haloed by the breeze.
I slowly pull out my phone and take a picture. This one is going on my desk.
It feels nearly sacrilegious to pull her away, but we’re cutting it close for the dinner reservation.
The small-town boy in me is still awestruck every time I step into places like this. Even now, when the glass elevator glides up the tallest palazzo in Venice, I catch myself doubting I belong.
The white-gloved attendant, rigid in his burgundy uniform, pulls the lever, and the gate opens onto a marble terrace bathed in amber light.
Jackie reaches out, hooking her pinkie around mine. Her gaze locks on me, intense and scorching. Then another finger joins, then another, until we’re anchored to each other as we step beneath cream-colored canopies fluttering in the evening breeze.
“I’ll have to keep my mouth shut about this place,” Jackie says at last, her voice quiet as she gazes out over the shimmering lagoon, stretching out endlessly below. “Eliza’s going to kill Carter for making her miss this.”
A sheen of heat clings to Jackie’s skin, the August humidity finally catching up with us. But she’s radiant.
I can’t bring myself to regret this moment with her. “I’m sure Carter will make it up to her,” I say, the corners of my mouth twitching. “One way or another.”
Her expression tips up, mock annoyed. “Oh, shut up.”
“Buona sera.” The waiter emerges next to the table. “Are you ready to order?”
Jackie agrees to the wine pairing with her seafood.
“And for you, sir? We have a—”
A glass of red wine wouldn’t kill me, but I smile politely at him. “A local soda will do.”
She falters. “Then lemonade for me, too.”
“You don’t have to change your order,” I chuckle. “You can drink in front of me, I’m not in rehab. Just…” I swipe a hand through my hair, letting out a breath. “Took a break. I went a little too hard for a while. It stopped working for me.”
Drinking and pretending I was happy, because I was laughing. The hard liquor burning through memories like old photos turned to ash in a fire. It was stupid. And only temporary.
“I’m sorry I mocked you that night at the boathouse,” she murmurs.
She’d been furious, lashing out. “That’s not what I remember about that night.”
Jackie swallows, reaching for the edge of the tablecloth, her fingers smoothing it out with a nervous tremble.
Dinner passes smoothly, between good food and unexpectedly normal conversation.
“Don’t your hockey buddies miss you?” Jackie asks.
“During the summer, we don’t meet as often.” I take a bite of the paper-thin slice of prawn carpaccio, the silky sweetness melting on my tongue. “The ones with kids are mostly away once school’s out.”
She hums thoughtfully, spearing a piece of white fish from the wide plate. “Do you imagine doing that, too, at some point?”
“What? Going to Disney World and camping?”
Jackie snickers. “Having kids.”
I set the fork aside and lean back in my chair. “You know I do.”
“Oh,” she murmurs. “That was such a long time ago. Maybe you changed your mind since…” She trails off, leaving the rest unspoken.
“Since there’s no wife and kids in the picture? Since everybody assumes all I do is work and spend my nights drinking?”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says quickly.
The sincerity in her voice disarms me.
“It wasn’t…” I exhale, searching for a way to explain it, without adding to her guilt. “I haven’t been actively trying to make it happen. But one day, yeah.”
Her warm smile carries a hint of understanding.
We slip into a familiar rhythm of two people who used to share everything. We fill in the gaps, catching up on parts of our lives left unspoken for so many years.
But beneath it, I can feel her worry humming like a live wire.
“Come on,” she says after a while, stirring the ice in her glass. “You’re dying to talk about it. Isn’t that why you wanted to get dinner?”
That’s unexpected. Her willingness to talk without looking like she’s under torture. Sure, I had ulterior motives for wanting to spend time with her, but this wasn’t it.