Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(67)
“Babe.” Luca rises slowly to his feet and walks up to me.
I throw out my hands to hold him at bay. If he touches me, I’ll fall apart completely.
“Don’t. Please don’t touch me. Not now.”
He stops short, staring at me with a look of comprehension in his eyes, as if he’s just figured something out, found the torn-off corner of the map that held vital directions to the final destination.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask, voice cracking.
“Just finally starting to put some pieces together that never made sense before.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Pieces that give me some insight about why you’re not the biggest fan of long-term commitments… or relationships.”
I drop my eyes to my feet. “What’s the point?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s the point of a relationship, if it’s just going to end like that?” My laugh is brittle. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work. You’re supposed to find your soulmate and live happily ever after. That’s the lie we’ve all been sold by Hollywood, isn’t it? Cue the sunset and cheesy musical score.” I shake my head. “You go on awful dates, and survive horrible break ups. You get your heart broken time after time, somehow holding out hope that one day you’ll meet him. He’s your reward for all the crap you went through, while you were single. A soul mate. A husband. A happy ending and a perfect life full of chubby babies and bickering.
You’re supposed to get ornery and fat and love each other anyway. The till death do you part is supposed to come from the graceful progression of time, when you’re wrinkled and older than dirt. It’s not supposed to happen at twenty-two, with your whole life ahead of you, on your way to celebrate your Honeymoon. It’s not supposed to be snatched away at random, because some asshole chugs one too many Bud Lights and climbs behind the wheel.”
I look up at Luca with wet eyes, feeling raw and broken. “So my question is… What’s the point of any of it, if it’s just going to be taken away? Why go through the absolute fucking torture of finding your soulmate if, as soon as you do, it’s all ripped right out of your hands?”
Luca is silent for such a long time, I don’t think he’s going to respond at all. But eventually, he closes the distance between us with measured steps. I tilt my head back as he gets closer and keep myself totally still as he reaches up to cradle my face with his big hands.
“Life is a beautiful, broken mess. Closer to a Shakespearean tragedy than a Hollywood happy ending, in my experience. I don’t know why your sister’s life was cut short, Delilah. I don’t have an easy answer to your question about the point of it all.” His eyes hold mine. “I think the only person who can give you that answer is you. It’s not something anyone can tell you, and it’s not something you can learn from an instruction manual. It’s something you have to discover on your own. Something inside yourself.”
With that, he leans down and kisses my forehead in the most heartbreakingly tender gesture of my life.
And there, in that horrible, hope-drenched moment… with only stingrays to bear witness… I, Delilah Sinclair, slide my hands around his waist, tuck my head against his chest, and hug him until the pain in my chest ebbs away, replaced by something warm and soft and almost unrecognizable.
When we return to the table and rejoin the party, no one mentions our strange absence or my uncharacteristically red eyes, but Phoebe catches my gaze and mouths, You okay?
I nod and smile at her as I take my seat. Luca pushes it in for me, and I arch my brows at him as he settles onto his own chair.
“What?”
“Who knew there was a gentleman under all that…” I scan him up and down with my eyes.
He grins, dimples popping in his cheeks.
Damn, he’s handsome when he does that.
I feel almost back to normal as the night passes, sitting on a gorgeous seaside deck with my best friends, eating course after course of delicious seafood as the sun slowly sinks toward the western horizon. We’re a boisterous group, laughing often, trading jokes and stories, toasting Phoebe and Nate more than once as the champagne flows freely.
Every so often, I catch Shelby watching me carefully from her spot across the table, her eyes moving between me and Luca with curiosity in their depths. She’s even more convinced that there’s something going on with us, after what happened at the rehearsal.
Which there is not.
Obviously.
We’re just friends with some unresolved sexual chemistry.
We aren’t… together.
God, I can barely pull off a convincing lie in my mind, let alone say it aloud.
As if reading the direction my thoughts, Luca’s hand slides onto my thigh beneath the table. He doesn’t look at me as he does it — to everyone else, he appears fully engaged in Gemma’s animated story of the first time she and Phoebe crossed paths, before they even knew they were sisters. The breath catches in my throat as his thumb begins to stroke the bare skin between my knee and the bottom hem of my dress. I try to squirm away, but his hold tightens as soon as I move — there’ll be no shaking him off. Not without drawing attention.
Shit.
There’s a playful light in his eyes as his hand slides against my skin, sending shockwaves through me as it moves a single inch higher. His touch is relentless — delivering slow, sensual circles that drive me to distraction for the rest of the meal, until I’m flushed and struggling to stay attuned to the conversation happening around me. By the time they serve the desert course, I’m dying for a reprieve. I practically bolt out of my chair as soon as Phoebe remarks that it’s getting late.