We strode along the promenade, our arms brushing on occasion from walking so close. Suddenly, Santino抯 fingers brushed mine and when I didn抰 pull away he linked our hands and we kept walking like that. Apart from holding hands under the table in a restaurant on occasion or in the safe dark of a movie theater, we抎 never risked it in public, not even thousands of miles away from home.
My eyes stung and my heart filled with a sort of fulfillment I couldn抰 explain. After a while I risked a glance up but Santino was wearing sunglasses and his face was the usual vigilante mask. He squeezed my hand briefly and I stifled a smile, then just enjoyed walking by his side with his hand in mine. This felt good, too good, but I didn抰 want fear of the future to ruin the moment. I wanted to live in the moment. This moment belonged to us, only us.
We settled at a small fish restaurant with a view of the small fishing harbor for dinner.
The waiter motioned at Santino抯 cell phone on the tabletop. 揇o you want me to take a photo of you??
Santino and I exchanged a look, uncertainty filling the air between us. I wanted to say yes, wanted to capture this moment in a picture so I could look at it in the future and remind myself of the utter happiness I抎 felt. But a picture meant proof. Proof that could ruin both our lives. Proof of the thing without a name that was between us.
揘o, thank you,?I said, my voice a little rough.
The waiter seemed taken aback and gave Santino an encouraging smile. He probably thought our relationship was in trouble, that we抎 had a fight. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Neither had we a relationship, nor had we fought in a while.
The waiter returned with a bottle of white wine that would go well with our meal and filled our glasses very generously.
I thanked him but was glad when he disappeared. 揧ou know what I just realized??
Santino shook his head with a look that gave me chills.
揥e haven抰 fought in a while. We抮e getting along really well.?
We still exchanged our banter, especially when we were horny because it was our favorite foreplay, but a real fight? That hadn抰 happened in many months. We enjoyed being together.
揥e抳e become a good team.?
Team. We both knew we were more than that, but couldn抰 admit to it because it couldn抰 be.
揈specially between the sheets,?I added because this was safer terrain.
I sat in my room and stared down at my luggage. For weeks I抎 pretended we still had time, had pretended the end wasn抰 near, but now as I stared down at my clothes neatly packed into three pieces of luggage, tears burned in my eyes. On top of my clothes rested my dipl鬽e. I抎 really finished my fashion studies in Paris, had lived my dream for three years, had tasted unbridled freedom, had fallen in love.
And tomorrow I抎 return to Chicago to take up my duties again. In eight months, I抎 marry Clifford. The next months in my life would be filled with wedding planning梠f course Mom and Dolora had already started梐nd social events.
I抎 have to figure out a way to find my way back into the more restricted life in Chicago. And I抎 have to figure out how to fall out of love with Santino again, had to stop my belly from bustling with butterflies every time he entered a room, which still happened after almost three years of sharing a bed.
I couldn抰 imagine letting him go, but the more I thought about how things would be between us once we were back the more I realized I didn抰 have a choice. If I didn抰 end things between us now, I might never be able to do it. And that wasn抰 an option. The future of the Outfit rested on my shoulders, and there was no way I抎 disappoint my parents like that.
I pushed to my feet and went to Santino抯 room. He closed his suitcase when I entered and looked up.
揂ll done??I asked. My voice sounded off, almost hesitant.
Santino nodded slowly, his brows drawing together as he regarded my face then a strange smile pulled at his lips. He nodded with a bitter laugh. 揑t抯 time, isn抰 it??
I swallowed, not sure if he really knew what needed to happen. Could he read me this easily?
Of course. We抎 spent every day and night together in the last three years. He knew every inch of my skin, had kissed and touched it all, knew every imperfection and all the places that gave me the most pleasure. But as he抎 discovered my body, he抎 also seen all that lay below. He knew me like no one else did, not even my family.
I searched for the right words, for something that would make this easier. 揥e can抰 keep doing this.?
I couldn抰 even put a name on what we had because we抎 never defined it. We slept together. We shared a bed and jokes, we bantered and talked seriously. Maybe we were friends with benefits, but Santino and I had never been friends. Not really, and it didn抰 feel like we were now. Could we become friends? Could any part of our connection survive in Chicago? Was it clever to even consider it?