Max ran his hands through his messy dark hair. “Do you fucking love him, Lily?”
I didn’t even need to think about the answer. Yes! Maybe? No, definitely yes. But did I love him like I loved Max, with pure chaotic passion? No. Patricio and I were more like friends, and after having my heart decimated by Max, that made me feel safe. Yes, Patricio was definitely the type of guy I should marry and could grow to love more over time.
“Yes. I love him,” I replied without specifying the type of love. It wasn’t any of Max’s business.
Max’s rapid pulse ticked away on his neck. “How…but…me…but…”
To see such an articulate, opinionated, stubborn-as-hell man like Max fail to find his words tore out my heart.
“Six months,” he growled like a horrible accusation. “Six fucking months!”
“Stop yelling at me,” I snapped. “Not when I could say the same to you, Max. Six months. Where were you?” I hadn’t heard a word since that day I asked him to forgive me, about a month after the accident.
“I was taking care of some very important things.”
“Can you be any vaguer?” I asked.
“What does it matter what I was doing? Because clearly you were keeping yourself occupied.”
Jerkface. Why did he expect me to sit around for half a year like a helpless, lovesick woman? That was not me. I was the type of person who picked herself up after she fell down.
As for Patricio, he was a very intense man who pursued his desires with passion. No different than Max. Ironically, Patricio and I had met at a party in Milan right before Max and I started our relationship. Anyway, Patricio and I had danced at that party and had fun. He didn’t care about my presurgery looks or my fameless status. And a month after my Maxwell-meltdown slash very public breakup, Patricio somehow tracked down my number and asked me out for a drink. I said no at first. And the second and third and fourth times, too. Finally, a few months ago, I felt ready to take a step forward and move on. I accepted. Patricio made it clear on the very first date that he knew Max had broken my heart. “I don’t care if you still love that asshole. I am here, claiming my stake. I want you, Lily. And I know what you’ve been through. I know what you must feel. But I also know what I feel. You,” he’d kissed the top of my hand, “light up my life like no odder.” He’d meant “other” but his Italian accent became exaggerated when he was excited or emotional. “Jess” instead of “yes.” “Chew” instead of “you.” “Hot” instead of “heart.” Jess, Leely. My hot belongs to chew.
I loved it. He had a wild, crazy side, and when he had his breaks from filming, usually in L.A. where he now lived, I enjoyed spending time with him. No, Patricio and I didn’t know each other extremely well, which was why his proposal seemed sudden, but like I said, we were good friends, we had fun, and what woman wouldn’t want a famous, hot, Italian actor as a husband? We were a good match. Max, in comparison, made me feel lost to emotion, vulnerable, and…well, extremely aroused. Stop that.
I lifted my chin. “I’m sorry, Max. But you’re six months too late. I’m marrying him.”
“So you said yes.” I could practically see the steam rising off the top of Max’s head of messy brown hair. Perfectly messy, of course, because Max demanded perfection in everything he did.
“No.” I had needed time to think. “But I will. Tonight.”
A long moment passed while Max stared into my eyes. “Then you have to wait.”
“Why would I do that?” Patricio loved me. I loved Patricio. No, as I explained, it wasn’t the same type of love I once had with Max, but for as long as I breathed, I would never love anyone like that. But that was because the evolution of our relationship had been unlike anything else. Like many women, I first thought of Max as the indescribably sexy and driven man who appeared in all of those steamy ads for his company. Naked. Hand covering the goods. Ripped from head to toe. Words could not describe how much I worshipped him. Then we’d met when I interviewed for a sales position at his company, and I caught a glimpse of his ugly side. I hated the man. I hated how he looked at me, I hated looking at him, and I hated how he made me feel like the ugliest creature on the planet. Then he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and talked me into working for him. After that, we started to really see each other and ourselves for who we were.
I fell hard for him.
But Max and I had ended in self-destruction. Me with my ugly problems and him with his. Oh yes, that man had issues. Big, scary issues with fangs and wiry hair and an ice pick. We were so tainted by our fucking hang-ups that we were bound to end in a blazing fire of hurt. That had been the one sane thought I’d clung to these past six months: we were bad for each other, and it never would’ve worked. It didn’t matter how much I loved him or he loved me.
“You owe me, Lily.” Max’s nostrils flared a bit.