Problematic Summer Romance (Not in Love, #2)(20)
He laughs several times—Conor, that is. Often in response to something Avery said. Once or twice after talking, hushed, with Tamryn. Each time, my stomach politely asks me if it could keel over. No, I say flatly. In this body, we endure.
Before dessert, a smiling, statuesque woman whose English vocabulary seems to consist of the words Good and Eat steps out from the house. Lucrezia, the housekeeper, makes a round of the table—to both vigorously squeeze everyone’s hand, and to shake her head in disappointment at those of us who didn’t polish their plates. Kaede begins to fidget, and with Minami’s permission, I let her lead me back to her favorite jasmine shrub.
It’s nice, the short respite from the constant chatter. “Are you taking me on an adventure, princess?”
I smile at the faint stumble of her little steps, the way she turns back to make sure that I’m keeping up. Her brown eyes widen, take in all the wonders of the world, reach for the strings of overhead lights that flood the garden with amber hues.
“Those two are so cute,” I overhear an unknown, Irish voice say behind me. Tamryn, I think.
“Maya’s so good with kids,” Avery agrees.
Conor’s voice is a low rumble. “She was one most recently.”
My stomach asks if self-implosion is still off the table.
“…kind of endearing, that the person Maya has the most in common with is a not-quite-two-year-old,” Diego says.
“Maybe we should set up a kids’ table for the under-thirty?” Tisha muses.
“Will you stop trying to kick off an intergenerational war?” Nyota asks.
“With you? Never.”
I take a deep breath. Let the rest of the conversation flow around me as I keep an eye on Kaede, smiling when Tiny joins us, tail wagging furiously. She points at a tree with a noise that sounds like her version of What’s that? “Lemon, baby. A lemon tree.” She must like the answer. Because she plops down and starts playing with the low-hanging fruits.
Past the railing and cliff, I can count more lights dotting the shoreline—other villas, hotels, residences, parties. Other older brothers and unrequited crushes. Isola Bella and its thin isthmus are little more than a dark, vague outline. No one is there at night. At least, no one who might require illumination. If it weren’t for the occasional rustling of the foliage, I would barely be able to make it out.
I sit on one of the many benches, Tiny curled at my feet. Perform undying gratitude for Kaede whenever she brings me her scavenged gifts—little rocks, leaves, dry sticks. In the distance, a boat cuts through the starlit water, leaving a hum in its path.
“So pretty,” I praise. Lucrezia is distributing lewdly rich slices of chocolate cake at the table, and I make a mental note to leave more room for dessert in the future. “I swear,” I tell Minami when I hear her coming to check on me, “I’m not letting your firstborn eat dirt. Well, maybe a bit of dirt, but what’s an immune system for, if not—”
I turn. Meet a pair of dark eyes, and my heart stumbles.
Chapter 9
“Are you lost?” I ask.
It comes out acerbic and angry, but for once I don’t mind letting my temper slip.
“Good night for stargazing,” Conor says as he joins me on the bench. He doesn’t sound like the guy who essentially told me to fuck off two hours ago, not as he distractedly ruffles Tiny’s mop, head tipped up and eyes fixed above. The strong muscles of his neck meet the sharp curve of his jaw. “Which one is Antares, again?”
I point at it, and he nods. His throat moves as he swallows. I feel…suspended. Unmoored. The stars are one end of the universe, the waves kissing the shore, the other. And then the two of us, floating somewhere in the middle.
“Is it still your favorite?” he asks quietly.
I let my head fall back, too. There are no clouds covering the smattering of stars, no smog rising like a blackout curtain. It’s breathtakingly easy to tease apart the constellations, in this southern sky. “Still makes my end-of-year wrap-up, yeah.”
“I can see why. Looks just like you said.” His lips twitch. “Glad I managed to get a good look before its inevitable implosion.”
Conor knows how much the stars mean to me, because I told him. I explained to him that Dad taught me. That we’d go camping with his telescope, and he’d teach me how to draw the shapes in the sky. That even after Dad was gone, the stars and the telescope were still there.
I told Conor, and he listened, like he always did, saying very little, the slow rhythm of his breathing anchoring me through the phone. It always sounded the same, whether there were thousands of miles of ocean between us, or just a handful of Austin streets. Conor would listen, and sigh, and never gave me the platitudes everyone else dished out so easily—not your fault, you couldn’t have prevented it, only twelve, just lost your mother, not your responsibility.
Hearing that stuff only made the voices in my head louder. I never told Conor, but he had an instinct when it came to me. He knew that all I wanted was to not be alone. So he listened, and only once, late at night, a few weeks before putting an end to the calls, he said: “I wish I could bear this for you, Maya.” I believed him.
Because I’m a fucking idiot.
“It looks even better here than from home,” I say, blinking up at its bright, rusty color.