Sergio exhaled a curse as his body tensed next to mine. Our thighs brushed, and I shivered. “No.”
“That’s very… reassuring, please go on and on about my many attributes.” I said dryly.
He laughed again. “Are you always this sarcastic?”
“Yes.” I nodded seriously. “I’m extremely sarcastic in my head.”
“You’re fine.”
The comment stung.
“And,” he continued, licking his lips, “I’m sure you could make any man happy…”
“Is that why you never look at me?” I asked. “You’re not very convincing, because right now I feel like the Wicked Witch of the West minus the magic.”
He didn’t move, but he clenched his jaw, and the muscle twitched as if he was grinding his teeth together. Slowly, he turned toward me, his blue eyes finally locking on mine.
The look he gave me was too much.
And yet not enough.
He didn’t look through me the way other people did.
It was as if, with one simple look, he was able to strip me down to the raw reality of who I was.
To make eye contact with Sergio Abandonato was to know both pain and beauty simultaneously.
I was afraid to speak.
The moment was tense.
Finally, he reached out and cupped my face with both of his hands, then leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You’re very pretty.”
“And here I thought you were going to say young again.” My voice shook, I couldn’t help it. He was still touching me.
With a sad smile, he dropped his hands to his sides and stood. “I’d never forgive myself if I allowed you to believe that you were the issue… I’d rather kill someone at pointblank range then be the one to make a girl feel insecure about her own beauty.”
Was he real?
What guy was concerned about that?
Only perfectly haunted ones who wanted nothing to do with me. Fantastic.
Sergio stood, thrusting his hands in his pockets.
“What was the other speech?” I asked once he reached the door.
Without turning he said, “Try to kiss me, and I won’t hesitate to kill you. Ask me for my love, and I’ll do us both a favor and make your death look like an accident.”
I burst out laughing.
He didn’t.
“You’re being dramatic right?”
He left.
“Right?” I called after him.
Chilled, I rubbed my arms and then marched over to the door and closed it. I eyed the lock for maybe four seconds before turning it.
It was the first time I’d locked my door since I was six.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I was trying to keep the monster out.
Or if it was to keep me in.
Because guys like Sergio made girls stupid.
He had wounds.
Scars.
Emotional baggage.
And he killed people.
The last thing he needed was to be saved.
Maybe. I walked over to my bed and sat. Maybe he just needed a friend.
I’ll follow thee and make a heaven of hell, To die upon the hand I love so well. —A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sergio
THERE WAS NO time for actual wedding plans.
I refused to participate, regardless.
And I knew I was being an ass, but history was repeating itself. I just wanted to get the job done then drown myself in a fifth of whiskey — as many times as possible.
It wasn’t her.
It was the situation.
Val was just fine.
Fine.
Hah.
I’d ruffled her feathers — completely unintentionally, but girls like Val were dangerous. She was completely unaware of her own beauty. What was worse, she was innocent.
I’m sure she made many a man want to corrupt her.
Because for two seconds, maybe a half a second, I’d thought about it. That’s how pathetic I was — I assumed one night of hot sex would make me feel better.
Even though I knew it really wouldn’t.
I was like Phoenix now.
Completely unable to think of sex without shaking like a drug addict. I couldn’t think about sex without thinking about my dead wife.
She’d said to move on.
She’d said she understood in her letter, understood what I’d have to do, and for some reason it almost made it worse, that when she was lying next to me in bed, she had known the clock was ticking.
She had made love to me… knowing that she wouldn’t be the last.
She had kissed me… knowing that I was promised to another.
Every moment.
Every touch.
I was her last.
But she wasn’t mine.
How could she have still loved me? Knowing that? Knowing what my future held?
It gave me a headache thinking about it.
Ever since leaving Val’s room the day before, I’d been completely unable to focus on anything. My concentration was shit.
And I wanted to blame her.
Because I’d hurt her feelings; I’d looked at her.
I’d looked at her and thought about kissing her.
Then wanted to strangle her for being the cause for it.
I was a danger. To myself. To Val.
But I couldn’t tell her that. I couldn’t march upstairs and say, Surprise! Your future husband thinks about your murder — anything so he won’t have to touch you.
Not the best wedding gift.
Like putting a noose in a fancy box and telling her to go crazy.