Adriana
She’d dressed her best for the occasion .
. . or, at least, the best she was able to manage.
She had taken to heart the advice of the woman she’d met outside the leathergoods store, and had paid attention to the clothes worn by the trendy mothers who brought their children into the clinic.
Copy until it’s natural. The poplin shirt dress she wore had the same architectural sleeves and eyelet detail she’d seen on several of those sleek sylvans and selkies, and it felt appropriate for the occasion.
The gold bracelet on her wrist was antique-looking, from the same thrift shop where she’d found her leather bag.
Her flats were the same camel color as the bag, brand-new, uncreased and clean.
Her nails were kept short because of work, but she’d painted them a neutral buff color that same morning, after Trapp had returned to his house, breaking the news that she was expected to be at his side at his parents’ house that same afternoon.
He’d laughed when she’d panicked, insisting she needed to go home to prepare, but she’d not been joking.
She’d deep conditioned her hair with the expensive bottle of product purchased from the she-wolf’s recommended salon, shaved her legs and painted her nails, and then stared into the mirror for what felt like a small, panicked eternity, wondering if there was enough Xanax in the world that could calm her jangling nerves as she tried to transform herself into someone who might be worthy of perfect, handsome Trapp Hemming.
Beside her, Trapp looked completely at ease.
The scrape on his jaw had begun to bruise, and the whole side of his face above his cheekbone was engulfed in sickly purple-green, but other than his outward injuries, he didn’t appear as if he were in danger of shaking apart in nerves over this meeting, which she found to be a bit of a betrayal.
He didn’t understand the bone-deep shame of poverty, and he never would.
When she had woken alone in his bed that morning, it had taken her several panicked moments to remember that it was, in fact, his bed.
She’d not been ghosted. She’d not been left alone, the victim of a cruel prank.
She didn’t know where he’d gone, but it was reasonably safe to assume that he was not going to abandon his house, and that he would be coming back.
It gave her plenty of time to spiral in private.
What are you doing? You hate Trapp Hemming.
You’ve hated him for fifteen years. Are you just going to pretend that never happened?
Maybe so, she’d challenged her reflection in his bathroom mirror.
After all, once, she’d been in love with Trapp Hemming, long before she’d ever hated him.
She didn’t know if they would actually be able to make it work this time around and was certain she’d never risk her heart again with anyone else if it didn’t, but she was willing to try.
He doesn’t have any reason to trust you, either.
You both need to let the past go. She’d apologized for her role in their past hurts, and he’d apologized to her.
Neither had groveled. Neither had begged.
They could start again on even footing, or not at all.
Either I’ll see you at my wedding, or I never want to see you again.
She’d never been to a fancy wedding, Adriana considered, but it might be fun to experience one.
That is, if that’s what he wants. She hadn’t had to wait long to find out.
“You’re not supposed to be driving,” she had told him upon his arrival, before he had even stepped through his own front door. “And you know that! No operating heavy machinery!”
“Then it’s a good thing there’s a trolley stop right around the corner, isn’t it?”
He’d dropped to the sofa, his head falling back, eyes closing. For a long moment, she watched him lie there, memorizing the contours of his face. She wasn’t braced for his words.
“I think we need to talk.”
Her heart had fallen. Never in the history of conversations had a conversation ever gone well that was preceded by ‘We need to talk’. You should just leave now, while you can still save face.
His eyes opened. “Do you want to give us another try? I know that’s a complete one-eighty from three days ago.
I feel silly even saying it out loud, to be honest. But .
. . I feel like we need to be honest with each other from the get-go.
So that we’re not bringing any more confusion into this. And I do. Want to try again, I mean.”
“Confusion . . .”
His eyes narrowed. “Confusion, Adi. You know, like the way I chased you for a whole semester in school and you never noticed? The way we spent all of our time together for an entire year, slept together, studied together, ate together, fucked every day, did everything together, but you thought we were just study partners? That kind of confusion.”
Her face screwed up in a scowl, hackles rising.
Should have bit him on the balls when you had the chance.
“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Let’s spell things out very clearly.
Because obviously your version of ‘asking someone out’ isn’t rooted in anything that resembles straightforward conversations. ”
He snorted, wincing as he did so. “Fine. Would you, Adriana Brunelli, be interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me, Trapp Hemming? Blink twice for yes.”
He dodged the pillow she swung at him, chuckling, holding his side to support his bruised body.
Moment of truth. She thought about her younger self, anxious, awkward, desperate for acceptance, to prove that she was worthy enough to be there, completely infatuated with Trapp Hemming.
This wasn’t the tandem career daydream she’d harbored for so long . . . but maybe it was better.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do.” Something moved through his eyes at her words, and she shivered in response. “Would you ever get married again?”
“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his voice. “Do you want to have kids?”
“Maybe? I’m not opposed to the idea, but I’m also not climbing the walls to get pregnant.”
Trapp nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Same. Not opposed. Not desperate.”
“Finances?” She swallowed hard, unsure of what even to ask. “I-I have a savings account and that’s it. Someone gave me the number of an investor here in town that I’m supposed to call, but I haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Don’t. I wouldn’t trust anyone but my dad.
Making money on money is one of his superpowers .
. . but I will be disowned if I ever get married again without a prenup.
I know I’m just a paramedic, but I’m also a trust fund baby.
Just putting that out there. But whatever my brother and his fiancée worked out for theirs protects both of them very adequately. ”
“I’d sign one,” she had assured him. “And if you ever cheated on me, I’d set you up in a scheme that would send you to prison for the rest of your life.”
Trapp burst out laughing, hunching in pain as his shoulders shook.
“C’mon. I want to see your ribs. It would be a joke if we just ran through an entire relationship’s worth of serious discussions in thirty seconds and you die tonight from an untreated pulmonary contusion.”
“I went to see my dad this morning,” he murmured, once he was on his back, T-shirt discarded, ignoring her protest that this was not a satisfactory way to check for damage. “Summoned. I was summoned by my dad this morning, I guess is more accurate.”
Adriana slid her hands up his side, carefully feeling along each rib. He was thick with muscle, every contour of his body bearing the evidence of time spent in the gym, and she wondered how many hours a week were required to look this good. “He can do that? Deep breath in for me.”
“He repeated something my brother told him, I guess,” he said, just before obliging, sucking in a breath.
She had never belonged to a gym in her life.
She wasn’t toned; she wasn’t cut. She slept poorly and regularly ate food of questionable origin from sidewalk carts, up until recently.
She had stretch marks and thighs that jiggled, and would be willing to sell him for a slice of the right cassata cake.
Maybe you really will have to take up yoga.
Who knows, maybe you’ll love it. Then again, he didn’t seem to care. “Now exhale.”
“My brother told him that if we work things out, you would be permanent.”
Her own breath hitched at his words. She didn’t know what to say. You’re supposed to agree. Validate that you’re not going anywhere, because this is all you wanted for so long before everything fell apart. “No evidence of a rib fracture. Just a deep bruise. That’s a relief.”
“Grayson knows me better than I know myself. So if he thinks this is permanent . . .”
She leaned forward, placing a kiss to the center of his chest, letting her lips follow the same path her fingers had just traced.
She would never be good with words. She was good at intubation and performing cricothyrotomies, and she was certain that wasn’t the same as being able to come up with poetic words of validation in the moment, but she could kiss him.
Over his ribs, down his side, a straight line up the center of his torso, kissing over his sternum until she had reached the base of his throat.
She didn’t know what to say, but maybe she didn’t need to use her words just then.
When Trapp bucked his hips just enough to throw her forward, she squeaked in surprise, her hands scrabbling for purchase against him, allowing him to take over and capture her lips.