Chapter Ten #2
His eyes flit up and he casts his gaze into mine.
My heart flutters. I do my best not to parse his words for some hidden meaning.
A buried but detectable declaration that I’m not the only one confused as to what our dynamic truly is.
“It must’ve been really hard to lose Sutton, London, and your father at the same time,” I say.
Another breeze blows through. Benito runs his hand through his hair.
“I think I knew it wasn’t right. I knew somewhere deep down that I’d always come back.
I thought maybe that’s how you feel too.
Maybe this is a temporary stopover, a chance to get over what you’ve lost before you return home.
” His words are directed at me, but it feels more like he’s trying to rationalize my actions to himself.
“This is a new life, not a vacation. It frustrated me that you treated me like I was a flight risk when I have no intention to ever go back.”
He opens his mouth to speak but this time I cut him off.
“I know you think I’ll change my mind, but I won’t.
I know you think our situations are similar, and they are in a way, but you deciding to come back here for your mom is not the same as me going back home for my career.
You don’t understand what I’d be going back to.
You don’t know how bad it was. How humiliating.
You don’t know how much people hated me.
I mean, sure, some people thought I was inspiring, but the people that hate me really, really hate me.
” Thunder rumbles in the distance, justifying the electricity in the air even though I’m quite certain its cause is somewhere between me and Benito.
“I wish I could flip a switch and shut it all out, but I can’t. I can’t go back to that.”
Benito clasps his hands together. “But the ones that loved you. . . that has to count for something. When you were first elected, they treated you like a revelation. You were on red carpets, magazine covers.”
I shake my head. “The thing about being a woman, a suddenly very famous woman, is that it’s great in the beginning: all the love, all the attention.
. . you really feel like you matter and what you’re doing is important, but then people start getting tired of hearing about you all the time, so a small group of contrarians emerge, and the sentiment grows, and before long, they’ll find a big enough reason to hate you that it spreads even more.
You can only be on top for so long before people remember that you’re merely human and imperfect.
And unless you’re straight and white and male, it’s not enough to be anything less. ”
I take a deep breath and a bite of pizza, summoning the magical healing powers of complex carbohydrates to calm the stinging feeling of rejection my confession stirs up.
There’s another clap of thunder and the server bellows out, “Mamma Mia,” which is not something I knew actual Italians said.
Benito looks at his watch. “I should head back to work.”
We pay and leave. The walk back toward the office starts off silently.
He didn’t want to get too attached. I want to ask if he still feels that way, but the old wound I’ve allowed myself to open up is too raw.
He’s right. I know what it feels like to get something you really, really want, and worse, when what you really, really want gets taken away.
No, it’s better to keep whatever attraction I feel toward him locked up. Minimal risk might mean minimal reward, but it’s the static I’ve been craving.
Thunder cracks again and the sound is close enough to startle us both. A trickle of raindrops follows a few moments later.
“Did you bring an umbrella?” I ask.
Benito shakes his head. “Didn’t you?”
“I’m from Southern California. We prepare for rain by staying home when it’s in the forecast.”
Another clap of thunder allows the sky to completely open and dump buckets onto us. Benito scrunches his face up. “I’ve been living in the U.K. for years and the relentless rain was the one thing I was happy to have behind me.”
The rain pours and Benito’s button-up is instantly see-through. An outline of his pectoral muscles visible. “We need to get out of here,” I say as Benito, right in sync, pulls us under an awning outside a gelato shop.
It’s short lived, though, as a worker inside yells at us in Italian and shoos us away from blocking the entrance to his shop.
Benito grabs my hand and pulls me away. He starts to run, and I move my legs as quickly as I’m able to keep up. He turns down a narrow alleyway and we run still as the cobblestone pathway fills with water. I throw my bag over my head but it’s useless—I’m already drenched.
There are signs for a garden ahead and we follow them, hopeful there’s a communal overhang for us to duck under for the duration of the downpour, but there’s nothing but open air and greenery. It’d be beautiful in clear weather, but in this circumstance, it’s basically a swamp.
Benito stops running and turns to me. We both laugh.
And laugh.
And laugh.
He points at my overall wet-dog appearance. “There’s no use. The rain hasn’t spared any part of you.”
He smiles wider than I’ve ever seen before, his grin nearly stretching ear to ear. I walk over to him and wring out his wet shirt collar. We watch the water drip down. “You should talk.”
When I let go of his shirt, I realize how close we are. The rain can barely find its way between us. I wipe my wet face. “Do I look like a drowned rat?”
Benito stops grinning and looks at me seriously. “No. You look. . .” He strokes my wet hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. “Perfect.”
I’m sure the heat radiating off my body will be enough to evaporate the raindrops back up into the sky. The water cycle perpetuated by my blushing cheeks.
“What do you think?” he asks, and I know that he needs me to confirm that I want his hands in more places on my body than just the side of my face, though they feel right at home where they are.
I press a palm to his chest, and it makes a little splash from the soaked material of his shirt. I grab his shirt collar again and pull him toward me, pausing when his face is mere centimeters from mine. “Don’t you hate me or something?” I ask.
Benito freezes. He’s so close I can see his pupils dilate, the irises of his hazel eyes burning bright gray, reflecting the stormy skies. “I could never hate you.” He uses the hand on the side of my face to lock his fingers into my hair and lead my lips to his.
We finally connect and it takes a moment for the sensation to hit me, but once it does, I feel his kiss all over.
Even through the unrelenting rain, his lips firmly collide into mine like they’re confident this is where they should’ve been all along.
It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed someone, but I feel at home with Benito’s mouth on mine.
We stand there for a moment, locked together, neither of us moving lest one of us gets spooked and runs away.
Then he glides his tongue into my mouth and our lips move together.
His hand slides down to my waist and he latches his free hand on to the other side and pulls me in, closing whatever gap was left, our bodies completely pressed together.
Thunder claps again and he pulls away, his hands still on my hips. He stares at me with an intensity, like he’s trying to decide if he should take me right here and now in the middle of this public garden. I’m not sure I’d object if he did.
He drops his arms. “I need to get back to work.”
I take my hand off him and am suddenly embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah, of course.”
We leave the garden, and the rain starts to let up. My cheeks are flushed, and I wonder if I can blame it on the sudden change in weather.
I feel his hand in mine. He stops walking and leans back against a wall, pulling me in so I’m almost falling on top of him. He kisses me again. Short, but sweet. “I really have to get back,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“But. . . Izzy.” He cocks his head at me as if to get one final read of my thoughts before he says what he really wants to. “Just to be clear, I’m really glad you’re here.”