The Lovely Reckless(67)
She gives me a strange look. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
CHAPTER 31
THE ALWAYS KIND
When I slide my key into the lock and the door opens, I’m surprised it still works. The strange landscaping along the driveway and the newly painted green door made me wonder if I had walked up to the wrong house. Disney World–esque sculpted trees have replaced the cherry blossoms all the neighbors envied.
Mom loves taking a chain saw to the past and starting over. The house has been redecorated so many times that I can look at the wallpaper in a photo and pinpoint the year it was taken. But this is another level. Even Lex looked shocked when she dropped me off in front of the fawn-shaped bushes.
Lex agreed to lie for me again—well, technically her mom was doing the lying, but Lex had to physically hand her mom the phone to make it happen.
I walk across the marble entryway, relieved that Mom hasn’t changed anything inside. As far as I can see, anyway. She probably converted my bedroom into a gift-wrapping room or something equally pretentious.
The front of the house faces the driveway. I sit on the bottom step of the main staircase and wait.
Within minutes, my cell vibrates. It’s him. He’s walking up the driveway. I catch a glimpse of myself in the gilded mirror Mom shipped home from Venice a few summers ago. Moonlight from the skylights streaks the glass, giving my skin a pale glow. I shake out my dark waves.
Two light knocks on the door, and my stomach flutters. I open the door and Marco slips inside, pushing it closed with one hand and sliding the other around my waist. “Hey.”
The desire in his eyes is only a fraction of the tension building inside me. “Hey.”
“I missed you.” He brushes the hair over my shoulders and away from my face. His thumb grazes the sensitive skin along my collarbone, and the tension coils tighter.
“You saw me a few hours ago,” I say, as if I didn’t miss him just as much.
Marco tugs on the belt loops of my jeans, pulling me against him. “Four and a half, if we’re counting.” He licks his lips, staring down at me. “Which I am.”
“Me too.” I rest my hands on his hips, wishing it were raining outside so I’d have an excuse to make him take off his shirt again.
“You’re sure you won’t get in trouble?” he asks. “What if Lex’s mom figures out you aren’t there?”
“That would require her mom to pay attention. If that happens, we should prepare for Armageddon.”
“How much time do we have?” He tunnels his hand through my hair.
Not enough. “Two hours.”
A week ago, that would’ve felt like plenty of time. Now it seems like seconds. It’s crazy how much your life can change so fast. How someone you like can become the person you can’t live without.
Tugging on Marco’s shirt, I walk backward to the marble staircase. “Come on.”
He looks up at the massive crystal chandelier hanging above our heads. “I’m not arguing.” He takes my hand, and I lead him up the steps and down the hallway toward my bedroom. Marco takes in the surroundings—colorful oil paintings, Impressionist landscapes, and a charcoal Miró sketch; stained red cherry floors; and Turkish rugs worth more than his car. I walk faster, embarrassed by the extravagance.
Marco has never seen this part of my life. I can’t help but wonder if it will change what he thinks of me.
I stop at my bedroom door, hand on the knob and my heart beating wildly in my chest. I’ve never had a boy in my room before—except Abel, and he doesn’t count, because we were never more than friends. Noah and I had to hang out in the living room or the basement—rooms without a bed.
“What’s wrong?” Marco senses my hesitation. “You don’t have to take me in your bedroom.” He wraps his arms around my waist from where he stands behind me.
“I want to.” I turn the knob and press the pad that switches on the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, sending dots of light dancing across the pale blue walls. Blue and silver. Velvet and silk. Mom wanted my room to look like the inside of a Tiffany’s little blue box.
Marco walks over to my dresser and picks up one of the silver frames I left behind. It’s a shot of me playing the piano at a showcase concert last year. “I didn’t know you played the piano.”
“I don’t anymore.”
He reaches for one of the frames lying facedown.
“Not that one.” I rush to stop him.
“Is that him?” He keeps his hand on the frame but doesn’t pick it up.
“Yeah. I haven’t turned it over since…” I look down and study the pattern on the rug. It’s hard to distinguish between the blues and greens in the dim light.
Marco lifts my chin with his finger. “If you need more time because … you’re not over him.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m an idiot. Of course you aren’t over him. Maybe you’re still in love with him?”
“Stop.” I touch his lips with my finger. “I miss him, but it’s not what you think. We grew up together, and Noah was one of my best friends. But he feels so far away.” I feel guilty admitting it.
And you’re my right now.
The corner of his mouth turns up. “I like your room.”