The Chemistry of Love(26)

“What was number two?”

“In high school, I was helping the cute quarterback with his chem lab project. He had missed the deadline, and he knew I had a key and could get him into the lab to help him do the experiment. He was very distracting, and I made a mistake—instead of pouring a base into a burette . . .” Better to explain so that he’d understand the story. “A burette is a long glass tube that you use to—”

“I know what a burette is,” he interrupted me.

“Oh.” That was surprising. He seemed to be full of surprises. Like a handsome jack-in-the-box. “Anyway, I was distracted and accidentally poured sulfuric acid into the burette, and my hand slipped and it got all over our clothes. We had to disrobe and shower, and the janitor caught us and thought we were doing something else, and he called a bunch of people . . . Anyway, that story ended with me losing my chem lab key and being suspended. Which was torture, because I really loved school. I was worried it might go on my permanent record and keep me out of college.”

He fiddled with the straw in his glass. “Your worst day on your list. Was that when your mom passed?”

His question surprised me so much that I held still, my mouth wide open, momentarily unable to move. I set the pizza slice back down.

“How did you know that?” I whispered. His question shocked me, like being pierced by an icy stake. I might have said a lot of things while drunk last night, but I was positive I hadn’t said anything about my parents dying. I didn’t talk much about them. Even Catalina had very minimal details and knew not to press me for more. Had he done a background check on me or something?

“Last night, you mentioned your mother, and I just heard something in your voice that I understood. That kind of loss causes the sort of pain that’s easy to recognize in others. I don’t know why they say time heals all wounds when years later, the wound still hurts just as much. The only difference is other people expect that it won’t.”

That so perfectly encapsulated how I felt about my parents’ deaths that I was again stunned for a moment. “Who did you lose?”

“My mom.”

“How did she die?”

Marco continued to mess with his straw, not making eye contact with me. “Cardiovascular complications due to anorexia. She was a model who thought she had to be perfect. She was the first face of Minx Cosmetics.”

“Your mom was Giana Ricci? The original Miss Minx?”

He nodded as I took that in. She had been very beautiful. The company had used her image recently in a throwback campaign when they’d reissued some 1990s makeup.

“She was gorgeous,” I told him. I imagined that it was probably hard to be that beautiful and have to stay that way at all costs. Feeling like you had to turn to disordered eating. It was much easier for women like me. Maybe not so much in the dating department, but the guys who fell for us wouldn’t expect us to look like supermodels for the rest of our lives. It must have been so hard for her.

And so hard for poor Marco to lose her. “I’m so sorry. How old were you?”

“Four. I don’t have many memories of her.” He paused a moment and then cleared his throat. “What about you? How old were you?”

And even though I didn’t usually share this part of myself, given that he knew exactly what I’d gone through, I found myself saying, “Twelve. And it was both of my parents. A car accident. The man who hit them was doing the trifecta of bad driving decisions—drunk, texting, and ran a red light.”

Now it was his turn to say, “I’m sorry.”

That pang of overwhelming grief, the one that as he’d pointed out never really went away, pushed down against my chest. “It’s fine. I had my grandparents. I’ve done okay. And you still had your dad, right?”

“Seven weeks after my mom died, he married Tracie, my stepmother. Craig’s mom. And my dad is the CEO of KRT Limited.” That was Minx Cosmetics’ parent corporation. I remembered Catalina’s claims of nepotism. Was this what she’d been referring to? Marco continued. “So he was working nonstop and left me with a woman who wanted to replace me as his heir with her own son.”

There was something in his voice, something that sounded angry and hurt. I wanted to know more, but Marco gave me a slight smile and added, “Speaking of my half brother, that’s why I asked you to meet with me. I need your help.”

What kind of assistance could someone like him need from someone like me?

He answered my unspoken question. “I want to break up Craig’s relationship, and I think you’re the person who can help me do that.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


Again, he’d shifted gears so quickly that it was hard to follow his thought process. One second he was telling me about losing his mom and his distinctly not fun childhood and the next he was saying something about me being able to help him wreck his brother’s engagement.

“Did you want me to be your lookout while you seduce Leighton or something?” Nothing else made any sense.

Not that anything he’d said so far made much sense.

“No, that relationship is definitely over. For a lot of reasons. She and I don’t have feelings for each other. While you . . .” He trailed off, arching his eyebrows at me.

“While I what? Am in love with Craig?” It seemed like Marco had forgotten one teeny-tiny fact. “Craig’s in love with someone else. I think this may be what is formally known as a lost cause.”