Chapter 10 #4
“My divorce papers,” I say, turning to Mum and sounding much braver than I feel. Mum’s going to flip.
“Divorce p-, but, Gianna?” Mum’s wide eyes find mine.
“You’re getting divorced? I thought this was just a phase, this.
.. separation.” She runs a hand over her smooth chignon as her eyes dart around the table.
“Daniel said you were sorting things out!” Her horrified gaze lands on mine once again, and I force myself not to look away.
“Mum,” I say, breathing through my nose and trying to ignore the fact that David is once again witnessing a chapter of My Life: The Shit Show. I wonder what he thinks of Mum’s outburst. “He cheated on me. We are not getting back together. Ever.”
Mum’s mouth opens and closes, making her look like a stunned goldfish while everyone else stays silent, eyeballing each other over the baked ziti.
David’s eyes never leave my face.
“Aunty Gia, I’ll be Harry Potter and you can be Hermione when we go to Hogwarts.”
Dad’s big bear paw hand comes to settle over mine and it’s comforting as I look down at Leo with a small smile, once again grateful for his distraction.
“Sounds good, bud.” I swallow. “Your dad can be Ron.”
“What?“ Tony pipes up. “Ron’s useless.”
“Exactly.”
Tony snorts, sitting back and draping an arm over the back of Lia’s chair as she rubs a hand over her massive belly. Bickering with my brother is familiar territory and helps to make the lunch feel normal for the first time since we arrived.
“I’ll be Harry, you can be Dobby,” Tony argues to Leo, and to be honest I’m impressed he even remembers the characters when he only watched a few of the movies.
“But Harry’s the hero!” Leo argues. “I’m Harry!”
“Someone once told me,” David says, his smooth voice cutting into the conversation, making everyone pause and look his way, “that Hermione is the true hero of the story.” He runs a hand across his jaw, dark eyes boring into mine in a way that makes me feel like he’s trying to talk to me via telepathy.
“Harry and Ron would have had their asses smoked at every turn if not for her brilliance.”
His words swim around in my brain. Something about them makes my heart beat harder and faster in my chest, but trying to place where I’ve heard them is like trying to remember a word that’s just on the tip of your tongue.
Annoyingly elusive. My brows furrow, and I can’t look away from David’s speculative gaze as the conversation continues around the table.
He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to figure out the answer to a problem he’s already solved, but I feel like I’ve only been given half the clues.
It takes Mum’s shrill voice to yank me out of my daze.
“Why on Earth are we talking about fairies and witches when Gianna is getting a divorce!” She turns her attention to David. “You’re her divorce lawyer? I’m sorry.” She lifts her fingers to her temples as if warding off a migraine. “What did you say your name was, dear?”
“I didn’t.”
My pulse continues to quicken. Icy flames lick my skin when I slide my gaze to David and find that he’s already looking at me like, I don’t know. I can’t even describe it, but the moment feels loaded. Charged.
My heart lurches into my throat when David opens his mouth.
“Zayn. My name is Zayn.”
Everything around me falls away.
There’s only him, in front of me. My face slackens at the mention of the name I haven’t allowed myself to even think in a decade.
Zayn.
No. No, this is David.
He told me his name was David. Why is he saying his name is Zayn?
Wait, did he tell me his name was David?
I cast my mind back to that day in his office.
I knew I had an appointment with David O’Leary, but is that whose office I walked in to?
Did the name David ever come from his lips?
I can’t even remember. Regardless, he never corrected me.
The man continues to watch me, reading every inch of my face for a reaction.
The box I dead bolted and shoved down into the recesses of my heart ten years ago starts to rattle in my chest, and I feel the physical ache of it like a knife through the heart.
The moment continues to stretch as I dart my eyes over his beautiful face.
Recognition, like a slap to the face, starts to unfurl.
I suddenly find things I didn’t even know I was looking for.
His face has filled out, matured, sharpened in its beauty. He was always beautiful, but it was scruffy, never quite so obvious before.
His lips that I knew so damn intimately I could have shaped them out of clay while blindfolded. They’re the same, but now surrounded by manly stubble.
His eyes, they’re different. Hardened. Like they’ve seen things that can’t ever be unseen. They have a sharp edge that wasn’t there ten years ago that makes them unrecognisable.
And his body. Ultimately what’s changed the most in the last ten years. He was always on the taller side, but no-where near as tall as he is now. Back in high school, he was skinny, gangly due to malnourishment. Now he’s a wall of toned, muscled flesh.
But there’s more than that. His once long, always tousled hair how sits neatly swept off his face. His voice is deeper, smoother, and he speaks with a confidence he definitely didn’t have a decade ago.
The once stooped shoulders are nowhere to be found in this man before me who carries himself like someone who knows his importance.
He was a boy back then. Now, he’s a man that I didn’t recognise.
Still, I can’t believe this.
I struggle for breath as tears prick the back of my eyes. Muffled voices try to cut through the air whooshing in my ears, but they bounce away as if I’ve been encased in a bubble. And all the while, he continues to stare as my realisation unfolds before his eyes.
That’s where I’ve heard those words before. It clicks into place like a lost puzzle piece. I said them to him. Eleven years ago. And just like picking up a book you forgot you’d already read a long, long time ago, things start to feel all too familiar.
“Zayn?” It’s a choked whisper.
His dark eyes fall to my lips. He gives me a small, slow nod.
A strangled gasp escapes my throat, and before that now-thrashing box can come bursting out of my chest, I stand up and flee.