clear my throat. “Do you … think that one day your dad will remarry?”
Vanni shudders at that, visibly upset. “No. He knows he can’t.”
“He … can’t?”
“I don’t care if he has girlfriends,” he says carefully. Then his brows snap together. “But I will not have another mother.”
Ah, so Claudio wasn’t kidding when he told me that the reason he broke up with the gorgeous Marika, was because Vanni didn’t like her. I’m starting to think Vanni won’t like anyone that Claudio ends up with.
Which is none of your concern, anyway, I remind myself. Because it sure as hell won’t be you.
“There you are,” Claudio says, brushing past the crowd, managing three drinks in his hands. Even with his concert tee, which doesn’t fit him nearly as well as his normal tees do, he looks every bit the Italian stallion.
He hands me my wine and gives Vanni another Coke. The kid is going to be sugar high all night.
“I think they are just about to start,” he says to me, then looks over my shoulder. “The crowd is closing in. We need to stay close so we don’t lose each other.”
I thank him for the wine, ever so conscious of Vanni’s questions.
Why did he even ask?
Does he suspect I like his father as more than a friend?
Does he suspect that his father likes me?
Is he worried that we are going to get together?
Or is this his way of a preemptive strike?
I’m going to assume that he’s just afraid of what could happen, and since I’m probably the first female who has consistently lived in the house, it’s easy to assume that we’re together or might be.
Suddenly, the stage lights go on, pulling me out of my head.
The crowd roars.
“It’s starting,” Claudio says. “Let’s get closer.”
He reaches over and grabs Vanni’s hand.
Then he grabs mine with the other.
He pulls us into the crowd, squeezing us past the sweaty throngs of people, the swagger-heavy opening notes I recognize as “Suicide Blonde.”
Of course Claudio is practically beaming. I can’t really see the stage that well since we’re all in a level field and, like, everyone is taller than me (I don’t know why the tall people always stand in front of me at shows—I must have some strange gravitational pull.) I don’t recognize the singer, but he’s good and sounds close enough to Michael Hutchence for it to totally work.
But while part of me is bowled over by the sound and the lights and the crowd, I’m also acutely aware that Claudio is still holding my hand.
Not just holding it, holding it tight. I can feel his rapid pulse, and I’m going to assume it’s because of the excitement of the show.
I sneak a glance at him.
He’s grooving to the music, smiling, the stage lights reflecting in his dark eyes, making them dance too. There’s something about him that feels otherworldly to me, like before I met him my life seemed lost and hopeless. And dull. It still does in a way. I’m still grieving. I’m still worried about my book. But at the same time, so much belongs to another life. The life I had before I met him.
Now that I’m here, I’m swept up in his charm, his essence, his view on life. It’s not just that I find him ridiculously attractive, it’s not that I don’t dream about letting go of all my inhibitions and screwing him (because, believe me, I think that’s exactly what I need).
It’s that he makes me feel good. He makes me feel better about myself, like I’m somehow more interesting. When I’m around him, whatever zest and passion he has for life rubs off on me, until I see things the way he does, like the world is one big canvas waiting for me to paint it. Like I’m worthy of holding the brush.
As if he can tell I’m staring at him, he squeezes my hand tightly.
I squeeze it back.
We hold hands like that until the haunting strings of “Never Tear Us Apart” begin to play. My mind is automatically brought back to our session in his studio. He’d held me so close, not a care in the world. And I remember the feeling of letting go.
That surrender.
I want that again.
And I also want more than that.
“Vanni,” Claudio says to him, barely audible over the music. “Do you want to come on my shoulders for this song?”
He shakes his head violently. “No. You said I was too old for that.”