The Fortunate Ones
Page 60

“Why should I? What’s changed from when you left?”
“Everything!” I insist, pleading. “Everything. I left you last year in such a terrible way, but in the long run, I think it was for the best. I had growing up to do. Can’t you understand that? At times it was unbearable being apart from you, but it brought me so much clarity about my life, about my mom, about where I want to be in five years.” When he doesn’t make a move to respond, I continue, breathless. “You asked me that once, where I want to be in five years. Don’t you remember?”
His eyes soften and he nods, just once.
“Well my answer has changed. I don’t really care where I am or what I’m doing, as long as I’m with you. Surely you still have feelings for me deep down in there somewhere. You’ve just covered it up with all this—” I fling my hands in the air. “This pain.”
I heave a heavy sigh and wait for his response. After all that, he must have one, but he sits in silence, gazing at me intently as if working something out in his mind. It doesn’t look like a good sign.
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I try to stave off defeat. He wants to push me away for good because that’s easier than forgiveness, but I won’t let him do it. My voice shakes when I say, “I came here today with my heart in my hand. I came here because I think I’m in love with you, and I won’t leave until—”
“You think?” he asks curiously.
“What?” I blink, shocked that he’s finally speaking.
“You think you’re in love with me?” he asks again, leaning forward across the table, not mincing his next words one bit. “Because I know I’m in love with you.”
His words, spoken so clearly and matter-of-factly, are enough to strike me silent. I sit across from him with my mouth gaping open. Then, realizing I probably look like a largemouth bass, I clench it closed again.
I can’t…He can’t…
“Here we are!” Marissa announces cheerfully, striding up to the table with a tray full of fragrant food. The appetizers have arrived, and I’m too stunned by his declaration to remember that I was supposed to flip her tray and spill them before she could set them on the table. I sit perfectly still, paralyzed by fear as I wait for him to shoot to his feet and leave. Instead, he closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, seemingly exhausted.
Marissa is completely oblivious to the scene she’s witnessing. She arranges four different appetizers on our table with careful dexterity, all the while explaining each one in excruciating detail. James opens his eyes and meets my gaze, and I’m surprised to find his expression has softened to one of what I’m really hoping is forgiveness. My heart leaps in my chest.
“So you’re going to want to dip those in the spicy mango salsa,” Marissa explains. “It has a kick to it thanks to the jalapeños, but it is literally to die for.”
“Marissa,” I say, cutting her off while maintaining eye contact with James.
“Yes?”
“We got it, thanks.”
She beams. “Sure thing. Let me know if you need anything else.”
She waltzes away with a pep in her step, probably aware that her work here is done. When she’s out of earshot, I lean forward.
“Love?” I ask, my voice shaky and fragile.
His warm brown eyes scan my face before a slow-spreading smile overtakes his handsome features.
“Love,” he agrees.
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding for the past 10 minutes and then sag back against my chair. The range of emotions I’ve felt in the last few days is enough to send anyone over the edge, but now I sit here across from James, contemplating love—LOVE, of all things! I thought I’d be leaving the club in a body bag, stricken dead from a broken heart.
He’s studying me thoughtfully, probably wondering the same thing I am: what happens next?
I reach my hand out for his, face up across the table. It’s a vulnerable act, especially in the middle of the club’s dining room, but James doesn’t hesitate before he takes it. His hand envelops mine, and somehow it’s the most intimate way we’ve ever touched, palm to palm, heart to heart. I want more—a passionate kiss, a long embrace. Hell, I’d shove the appetizers to the floor and crawl across the tablecloth to get to him, but I’m not trying to send any of these old fogies around us to the hospital.
“I missed you,” he admits, stroking his thumb across my knuckles.
I still don’t trust my voice, so I squeeze my lips together and nod.
“I want to hear about your travels.”
There’s so much to catch him up on, and I do, over dinner. We start with the appetizers, and yes, the spicy mango salsa does strike me dead. I tell him about Diego and Nicolás and the girls. I scroll through my iPhone camera roll to show him the highlights of my time abroad and am embarrassed by the utter lack of photos of architecture or landscape. Surely I visited something that makes me look worldly? A cathedral? A statue? Instead, my phone is jam-packed with photos of Luciana making faces, Luciana waving to me on a playground, Luciana posing in front of an ice cream shop with a massive melting cone, Luciana and me with our cheeks smashed together as we test out various Snapchat filters. My heart aches knowing she’s still upset with me.
“She’ll come around,” James promises once I fill him in on the situation, and I hope he’s right.
After five courses and a delicious fruit tart, we walk out of the club hand in hand. He hasn’t invited me back to his house yet, but I’m hopeful that he will. I’m hesitant to leave him. It took so long for us to get to this moment, and we still have so much to clear up. I fear if we leave separately, he’ll go home and think over what I’ve told him then change his mind about us.
We’re standing beneath the porte cochère when he brings the back of my hands to his lips for a kiss.
“That’s all I get?” I tease.
He smirks before he tugs me closer and grips my chin between his fingers. With a subtle tilt, he tips my head back and kisses me gently. My eyes flutter closed as I wrap my arms around his neck and press up onto my toes. A groan ripples through me as he tightens his possessive hold, gathering me close. Our chests brush and he urges my mouth open so his tongue can skim across mine. A shudder runs down my spine as the kiss turns urgent, hungry. His hand fists my dress at the base of my back and my nails dig into his shoulders.
“Ahem.”
A voice clears comically behind us, and James breaks the kiss. We turn in sync to find Ellie standing with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a smug smile as she asks, “Isn’t PDA against club rules?”
James smiles. “Since when do any of us follow the rules?”
She delivers an exaggerated eye roll before stepping forward and holding up her keys. “Brooke, if you’re coming home with me, I’m leaving.”
“Oh, right. Yeah…” I look back at James. “I should probably go with her, right?” I ask.
“Probably,” he answers with a telling smile. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”
That smile is dangerous. A girl could be convinced to do just about anything with a smile like that.
“I don’t have any of my stuff,” I point out.
“You have everything you need,” he responds with a telling smile while his fingers trace slow circles along my spine.
“Yoohoooo, can you two freaks work this out later?” Ellie asks, interrupting our moment. “My shift is over and I want to get the hell out of here.”
I pinch my eyes closed and try to stifle a laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this right now, but—I’m going to go home with Ellie. It’s been a wild few days—I’ve barely slept, and I’ve been on a rollercoaster ride of emotions. I need a moment to catch my breath. I’m so happy and excited and grateful and I just want to make sure we don’t screw this up and IwantyoutoknowthatIwanttogohomewithyousobadbut—”
“Slow down, Brooke,” he says, putting a finger up to my lips with a laugh. “Let’s get lunch tomorrow.”