her heart.
Starting with mint-chip ice cream. Ending some place more terrifying than any war zone.
The server takes our menus. Leaves with a huff of impatience.
"He's in a rush," I say.
"You were being rude. Wasting his time undecided."
"I was undecided?"
She nods yeah with a smile. "How long have you been in New York?"
"Four years."
"You're not used to it?"
"Depends on the day. People in London are busy, but it's not like here. We know we've been around for hundreds of years. We've survived wars, fires, famines. We know we'll get there."
"I was going to say we're rude in New York."
"You're matter-of-fact. Not polite, but not rude. Usually." My eyes find hers. "You've always lived here?"
She nods. "I've visited other places. Though, not recently. Besides the trip to the beach. The people there were still… not polite, but in a different way. Less impatient, more what are you doing here?"
"Because of your look?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they're like that."
"How long have you had teal hair?"
"A year and a half. I do get a lot of attention. Sometimes, I like it. Sometimes I want to disappear. But I can't."
"I know the feeling."
"Right. I chose my hair. It's not like… it's just hair. But it feels like me. When I see it in the mirror, I see myself." Her eyes pass over me again. "Is it the same for you? With your suit?"
"Not exactly."
"Do you try to look unruffled?"
"Yes."
She swallows her surprise. Expecting a non-answer, I guess. "But things do ruffle you?"
"Of course."
"What?"
"How much I want to cancel my day and take you back to my flat."
Her eyes go wide. For a second, her blush overwhelms her, then she works through it. "You're trying to dodge the question."
"It's the truth."
"But not what I asked."
"It is."
It's not that I want to take her to my flat to fuck her senseless, though I do.
It's that I want to spend the night on the balcony, listening to her talk about costume designers and character and literature.
"Ian?" Her voice softens. "You don't have to answer. Maybe that is an answer. You're scared of people knowing what you're scared of."
"Isn't everyone?"
"I guess so." She runs her fingers over her fork. "I think… I guess that's what relationships are. Letting people know what scares you. Telling them how to hurt you." She lets out a soft sigh. "God, I sound like Addie. Pretend I didn't say that."
"It's insightful."
"Yeah, but so… ugh. She's a romantic, my sister. She believes in fairy tales."
"You don't?"
She shakes her head. "Do you?"
"No."
"Did you ever?"
"For a while."
"When you were married?"
My stomach drops.
My calm vanishes. My ease disappears. The world is someplace ugly and tense.
Eve notices right away. "Oh." She studies my expression. "I guess that's… oh."
"It was a long time ago."
"Is that why you moved to New York?"
"Yes."
"And now… you're still…"
"It's complicated."
"Do you love her?" she asks.
"No."
She nods, believing me. "But you're… heartbroken?"
"Not exactly."
Her eyes stay soft. Curious. "Is that what this is? Rules. So you don't have to risk falling in love again?"
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ian
I don't answer.
She changes the subject. Costumes in movies. The difference between the way people dress on British TV and American TV.
Everything is glamour on American TV. Even the police detectives wear false eyelashes and heeled boots. Everyone is beautiful. Everything is glossy.
Even the ugliness.
I try to listen.
She tries to talk.
But it lingers in the air. I have a past she knows nothing about. An entire life she knows nothing about.
It's how I like things.
Usually.
Right now, watching her green eyes light up as she discusses some New York set TV show. Watching her dark lips move with excitement. Watching her dig into her pesto, taste every drop, sigh with pleasure—
I want to tell her more.
I want to tell her about how quickly I fell in love with Laura. About how she brightened the darkness. Wiped away my cynical impulses.
And about how quickly the darkness returned.
Or maybe it wasn't quickly. Work had been busy. She'd been distant. We'd been growing apart.
Still, I thought we were okay. That I still knew her. Still tended to her needs.
Then those fucking papers landed in my lap.
And all of a sudden, the voice in the back of my head, the one that whispered questions about late nights and extra singing lessons and new lingerie—
All of a sudden, it was a yell, and I knew she was fucking someone else. In love with someone else. Leaving me for someone else.
There's no dramatic twist to the story.
Only the one person who truly knew me deciding I wasn't enough.
It wasn't long hours