Chapter 20
Hunter’s boyfriend, as it happens, is not fabulous and obviously ready to follow my brother down the aisle into wedded bliss. Which actually is a good thing, since Hunter is only twenty-four.
It turns out his boyfriend, who is ten years his senior, is also the annoying IT guy at Sutton Developments, Graham Forrester. Will, the head of IT at the company I once owned, is now peers with Graham and complains about him to me all. The. Time. So it’s unfortunately with preconceived notions that I welcome him into the house as my brother’s boyfriend. And I’m a little ticked at Hunter for not warning me. I pull him aside as Graham gazes in awe at the window wall.
“What?” Hunter hisses as I pull him into the kitchen. “It’s not against the rules to date a coworker, right?”
“No,” I respond, exasperated. “But did you have date that coworker?” Hunter smiles and shrugs.
“Yeah, okay, so he’s a little obnoxiously nerdy,” Hunter allows. “But he’s a cool guy when you get to know him. Just try, okay?”
I sigh and fold my arms over my chest. “Oh, I have,” I reply. “But I’ll play nice because you’re my brother and I love you.”
Hunter looks startled at the declaration. “Thanks,” he mutters, blushing. And for the first time, I feel like giving him a sisterly noogie. But I resist. I mean, I am thirty years old, after all.
Unfortunately, the evening goes about as well as I expect. That is to say, not well at all. Our conversations are forced and awkward, and Graham and I don’t have much in common besides Hunter. And Will, of course, who Graham doesn’t seem to like as much as Will doesn’t like him. And Hunter isn’t exactly a rife topic for conversation as he’s always so taciturn, and it’s hard to tease him.
But somehow, we make it through, and by the end of the night I find I don’t dislike Graham quite as much as I thought I did. Hunter obviously cares about him, so that helps his case considerably. And when I wish them goodnight, going up to my room earlier than I ever would to give them some privacy, I don’t miss the sweet smiles they share. And I’m happy, at least, that Hunter is happy. At least one of us is.
For some reason I find myself agreeing to have dinner with Alessandro the following weekend. Normally, I restrict our meetings to lunch only, to keep it friendly and casual. But he’s tempted me with a feast at Marco’s parent’s restaurant, and I’d be an idiot to say no. Having taken me there once before, back when we were together, I remember it being like nothing I’d ever experienced, or have experienced since.
So I dress with care, selecting a silky black dress with red heels. I let my hair flow freely around me, perfectly shining and curled. I need to feel pretty again, but I carefully stay just this side of the line, so it doesn’t scream, “You’re getting lucky later.” Hopefully, Alessandro has truly given up that pursuit.
Though when I answer the door that evening, he looks awfully tempting in a black suit, his white shirt open at the collar, his trademark sideways smile hanging on his full lips.
“Buona sera,” he greets me roguishly.
“Buona sera,” I respond, chuckling. “If you’re trying to charm the pants off of me, you’re wasting your time. I’m not wearing any.” And with a wink I take his arm and let him lead me to the elevator.
“So I see,” he remarks. “It’s a good look for you.”
Our flirtation continues all the way to the restaurant. I can sense it’s completely harmless, as he seems happy just to see me smiling for once. And I realize it has been a while since I enjoyed myself so thoroughly. I decide to surrender to it.
We end up seated on our own, the restaurant arranged in its normal configuration.
“There’s no event tonight?” I ask as he sees me into my chair.
“No, I just wanted to do something special. You deserve it. And I remembered how much you enjoyed being here the last time,” he replies while taking his own seat. He starts examining his menu, and I can’t help but stare at him for a moment, in slight awe of the sweetness of the gesture.
“Grazie mille,” I say to him. “Really, Alessandro. I forget how thoughtful you can be.” He looks up and shoots me a wink.
“Then perhaps I need to remind you more often,” he teases.
“Perhaps,” I muse. “Or perhaps I’m just suffering from cabin fever. I can’t remember the last time I went out in public.”
The waiter arrives, and Alessandro orders for both of us. Anywhere else, with anyone else, I would never allow it. But it only makes sense here, in his extend family’s restaurant, that he does so.
“So I trust the giant is over whatever it was about me that troubled him so,” Alessandro offers after the waiter leaves.
“I imagine so,” I respond. “They supposed it was a reflexive reaction. He doesn’t really remember you.”
“Nor you, it would seem,” Alessandro replies.
“For the most part,” I agree. Alessandro raises an eyebrow.
“And the least part?” he asks curiously.
“He had one memory surface. But that was a couple of weeks ago. I’ve made it a point to avoid the lot of them since,” I admit.
“I see,” Alessandro replies, folding his hands in front of him contemplatively. “Is that why you’ve holed yourself up lately?”
I weigh his question for a moment before answering. “Yes, I suppose it is,” I allow.
“Bella,” he starts, and the concerned tone in his voice already has me on my guard. “I hate to see you so affected. Listen. It may be presumptuous, but I’m going back to Italy in a few weeks. You should come with me. Take some real time off, have a vacation.”
I can’t help pulling a skeptical face. “I don’t think going on a holiday with you is a good idea,” I respond dismissively. He holds up a hand.
“Hear me out,” he urges. “I’m meeting friends at the Amalfi Coast. Lots of beaches, sun, sand. Very relaxing. You can stay in your own room, come and go as you please. No expectations.” I have to admit, it sounds pretty good. And I can’t even remember the last time I took a real vacation.
“I’ll think about it,” I concede. A wide grin breaks across his face.
“Bene,” he says happily, clapping his hands together. The food arrives, and we move on to less serious topics as we enjoy our meal.
It might be the food, or the wine, or the enjoyable company, but at the end of the night, when Alessandro drops me off at my door, I do something I rarely do and throw caution to the wind.
“Alessandro?” I ask, turning back to him with my keys in my hand.
“Hm?” he murmurs.
“I’ll do it. I’ll go to Italy with you,” I declare. He smirks, and though he’s not trying to be sexy, well, he is.
“I thought you might,” he replies. “I’ll send you the details tomorrow, so you can make reservations.” He slips his hand in mine, lifting it to his lips to place a tender kiss on my palm. “Ciao.”
“Ciao,” I whisper in reply. And I don’t want my heart to race at his touch, but it does. And he knows it. Smiling, he walks away. And I let myself into the condo wondering what the hell I just agreed to.
But the next morning, he’s sent me the details and I find myself booking a flight to Naples just short of three weeks away. When it’s done, I feel a sense of freedom and anticipation I haven’t felt in a long time. Possibly ever.
For about fifteen minutes, that is. Until my phone rings. And I notice it’s Bryce. I curse loudly.
“Are you fucking joking?” I answer. “Bryce Hoyt, are you tracking me?”
“Don’t go,” he responds. “To Italy. With him. Please. I know I have no right to ask.”
“None,” I reply emphatically. “And best not to let the future Mrs. Hoyt know you’re speaking to me. As I recall she threatened that coming near you again would be the last thing I ever did. And I don’t know if talking on the phone counts, but I’d really rather not find out.”
“She seriously said that to you?” he asks.
“I thought you said you didn’t need to know what happened between her and I,” I remind him. “Look, I can’t do this. I can’t get pulled back into your web of confusion. I find it fascinating that you even care, considering you only have one memory of me from before.”
“I may not remember us,” he admits. “But I can’t shake my feelings about that guy. And that tells me he’s bad news, and you shouldn’t be with him. Please, Sera. I know how this must seem to you, but I can’t help how my brain is piecing all of this together.”
“Just stop,” I beg. “I get that you’re still healing, and that this all must be very difficult for you. But you’ve made your choices. And I’ve made mine. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not involved with Alessandro. Not that way. I just need some space. I need to get away. That’s all.” Every word I utter frustrates me more. I don’t owe him any explanations. “Seriously, I should go. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“You won’t,” he replies simply. “I ended things with Madison.”
“Seriously?” I ask incredulously.
“Seriously,” he confirms.
“Why?” I ask suspiciously. “Did you remember something?”
He snorts. “I wish. No. I finally listened to Em. And I asked Madison point blank why she wanted to marry me. I guess I’d never questioned it before, when she had the opportunity to say things in her own way to make me believe what she wanted me to. But head on, she’s not a good liar,” he replies.
“So you know she was just after your money,” I reply bluntly, not really believing he knows the full truth.
“Yes,” he responds plainly. “I’m sure she cared for me in some way, but not the way I cared for her once.” He sighs in frustration. “Honestly, I think I knew it all along, because I knew it then. She’s not a giver.” His words pull at that stupid thread of hope in my heart, but I won’t be sucked back in so easily.
“Well, I’m really glad you figured that out before it was too late,” I say dully.
“I didn’t just call about the trip. I had to try one more time. Please, Sera, is there any chance we can try to get to know each other again?” he asks hopefully. My heart twinges painfully in my chest. Hope dies last, but I can’t let it override my survival instincts. Not again.
“I’m afraid not,” I say, my voice low and tired. “See, I already know you, Bryce. So in this case I would be the one who cared far more. And that’s just not something I can handle. I can’t suffer the thousand tiny rejections that doing that would mean, especially not when it could very well end with you never remembering any more about our past, and never developing those feelings again in the future. It’s a bigger risk than I’m willing to take. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” he says softly. “But you can’t blame a guy for trying.”
“I understand. Take care, Bryce.”
“Take care, Sera.”
Back at work the next day, I clear the vacation time through HR. Once that’s done I let Hunter know I’ll be out of town those weeks. He practically does a happy dance knowing he’ll have the place to himself for a while. I stop myself from requesting that he not have sex in my bed. Hopefully, it goes without saying.
Graham, fortunately, seems just fine pretending he’s not dating my brother whenever I see him around the office. But he starts hanging around the condo more, and I often see him disappearing out the front door as I come down for breakfast in the morning.
My slight annoyance at his constant presence is outweighed by Hunter’s clear happiness. I mean, I’ve never seen him so giddy. He practically speaks in full sentences these days.
On Wednesday I get a call from Emily, which I promptly ignore, sending it to voicemail. She leaves a lengthy message pleading with me not to go to Italy, and I’m thankful I don’t have to suppress my eye rolls and sarcastic responses. Those two are exactly the same as ever with sharing behind my back and meddling. I’m thankful I don’t have to deal with it anymore. And that I’m spared the trouble of explaining to Emily how sick I am of hurting and hoping. Because through it all, Bryce’s memories really never came back. And I know that’s just as hard for him as it is for the rest of us, though in a different way. But I want to spare him that, nonetheless. So instead of explaining that we should all just move on, I focus on just doing it.