We leave the wrought iron tables and the canopied shops and shuttered apartments around the square. The sun is still pretty high and the day, bordering on unbearably hot an hour before, has mellowed into summer perfection. The silence that ping-pongs between us is strangely comfortable, the kind of quiet that usually takes years of friendship or complete compatibility to produce.
“
Mmm. Doesn’t the air smell amazing here?” She drags in a breath so deep it flattens her nostrils and makes her eyelids flutter. The cobblestones peter off into dirt under our feet.
“Yes.” I guess I should take some yogi-inspired breath, too, but it’s damn hard enough to breathe normally around her, let alone piling on all kinds of theatrical techniques.
“Very refreshing.”
“It never smells this way where I come from.” She walks surely onto the path littered with pine needles and acorn caps. “I live near the ocean.
Which is amazing when the air is windy and salty. But when it’s hot, which it usually is, the marsh makes everything smell a little rotten.”
I laugh and nod. “London smells that way in certain parts of the city.
Like laundry left in the washing machine too long. So, will you and your future husband move back to the States, or will you be staying here?”
It’s a question that’s a thousand
papercuts on the sore edge of my nerves, and I ask it because it’s ridiculous to feel this way about this girl, amazing as she may be. I’ve only just met her, we’re solidly friends, and we’ve agreed to keep it that way. I need to stop subjecting her to my pent-up nerd-boy crushes.
“Um, that’s kind of a sore spot.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and gnaws a little.
“I see.” I put a hand out when she stumbles a little over some loose rocks. Flip flops are not the best shoes for hiking, but I’m glad she wore them. Anything sturdier and she’d be perfectly able to maneuver without any help from me. “Say no more.”
“No, it’s okay.” She takes my hand and squeezes. I like the soft rasp of her palm under my fingertips and the transfer of her weight to my arm as I help her keep balance over the rough terrain. “If you don’t mind, it’s nice to be able to talk this stuff out with someone neutral.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I lie. Because what the hell is wrong with these assholes? Any sane man would follow this girl to Hell and back if she crooked a finger. What’s the issue? “What’s the problem? Maybe we could figure it out?”
We
. I glance over and come to grips with the fact that, even if this beautiful girl didn’t have a specific list designed to attract the perfect alpha male who could never be me, she’s completely out of my league in every way possible.
Strangely, letting that nugget of information digest makes being around her more bearable.
If I thought I had a chance, I might try to take one. And that would be a road to total and complete ruin.
“Thank you.” She finds a long, flat rock that looks out over a dense copse of pines and a stream and sits. It’s picturesque enough for romance, but we are firmly friends.
Friends who help one another with dating problems. “I would actually appreciate your honest feedback, as a guy.”
“I have to admit, I’m not completely sure that I’m going to know what the deal is with the guys you’re looking to date. I’m not...uh, not really from that...I’m not like them. I guess.” I dig my heels into the loamy ground and stand a little away from this rock and her body and the closeness that’s embarrassing on account of its impossibility and my assumptions.
“Thank God,” she says on a long sigh, leaning her palms back on the warm rock and letting her hair fall back as she tilts her skin skyward. “I swear, Cormac, it’s so nice to just be able to talk. Just two people with all kinds of interesting things going on, just getting to know each other. You wouldn’t believe how rare that it.”
“Really?
Well, maybe that’s number one, then? You need to weed out anyone you aren’t fairly immediately comfortable with.” I comb my eyes over the curve of her neck, the shiny fall of her hair, the smooth line of her arms, then flip my gaze to the pines and mountains when she turns to look at me.
Funny how something that was so gorgeous just a few minutes before can lose its luster when compared with
Benelli’s beauty.
“Don’t you think you sometimes need to kind of settle in with a person? Like, maybe it doesn’t all fall into place right away. Maybe you need to make adjustments for each other?”
She pulls one leg, then the other, up and rests her chin on her knees like a little girl.
“No.” I shake my head, adamant. Adamant because I am theoretically adamant about this issue, but also because I feel invested in maintaining roadblocks for her on this quest. “Just my
opinion, of course, but I strongly feel that you can get a pretty immediate vibe off a person, and that vibe should be heeded. Definitely heeded. In my opinion, of course.”
Benelli
arches forward, her breasts strained against the fabric of her tank top in a way that allows me to see the outline of her nipples.
And it’s torture.
As soon as this hike is done, I’m heading back to the university library and seeing if the sour-faced grad student who guards the books like a menacing she-troll might look a tad sweeter after a few tankards of strong beer.
She pulls the notebook out of her pocket and slides a pencil out of the spine before flipping through the pages and drawing thick lines through two names in the back. For the second time today, she looks incredibly relieved. Her face glows and her eyes and mouth soften.
“That was perfect, Cormac. Perfect. You’re right. And now my list has been shortened by two. Tell me something else. What else can I use to narrow this down?”
Much as I want her to cross every single damn name off the list, I can’t do anything without knowing more about what kind of craziness she’s walking into with these chumps.
“You’ll need to tell me a little about them, of course. I mean, there must be things you like and don’t.” She leans forward, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and I panic and draw back. “Or maybe not. Maybe this is too personal. We hardly know each other, and this is your big decision. Yours. You’re the one who’ll be married by the end of this summer. I don’t want...I can’t be the one who keeps you from your one true love. Or whatever.”
She rests on her arms again and squints at the sun, sliding slowly behind the mountains. “Okay. It’s weird right?
To talk about this with you when we just met. I know, I do know how weird it is. It’s just, I’m not looking for love, you know?”
She’s saying things that she thinks make her sound strong, but I can hear that she’s verbalizing a sacrifice.
“Maybe you should be? Not as a matter of premium importance, of course. You can have all kinds of other...factors. You should, in fact. Of course. But maybe also love?” The wind is picking up her hair and throwing pieces back, and her eyes are downcast.
“Do you think it really matters?” Her voice is barely louder than the wind coursing around us.
I give a small snort. “Despite the fact that my heart was recently thoroughly crushed, I do believe love matters. And I think,” I try to phrase it as gently as I can, “if you’re asking, you know the answer.”
She walks her fingers across the scratch of stone and presses her hand to the top of mine. “You’re a romantic.”
“To the core.” You’d think a romantic would do a better job of snaring a girl. But I have to be this damn noble romantic.
The press of her hand was a promise. She extinguishes that possibility with a friendly pat, like you’d deliver to the head of a favorite pet dog.
“Well, I’m a realist. So, let’s just forget love, okay? What’s next? What else do you think we should worry about?”
Both of her hands are safely settled in her lap, clenched together so hard, I’m afraid she’ll pop her finger out of joint.
I know she’s lying. I want to know why.
But that’s walking the fine, messy line between friendly inquiry and mind-your-own-fucking-business.
So I mind mine.
“Well I think location is a premium question. Get that notebook out and you can scribble in another lovely chart.”
I’m a wanker. A champion wanker. But I can’t resist a crush, and Benelli is a strong one.
Dangerously strong.
Benelli 2
The date with
Akos is going...fine.
As did the date with Elias.
And Istvan. And Jani.
They’ve all been fine.
My notebook overfloweth. And that’s a good thing.
So why do I feel so completely crappy?
“Benelli?” Akos is leaned forward, his dark eyes focused on my face, and I flush and sit up, tacking my smile carefully back in place. “You’ve seemed a little off. Is something wrong?”
I run a fingertip over the shiny silver fork next to my plate. We’re waiting on braised lamb chops.
Akos is the fifth guy to take me to this restaurant, which is easily the most expensive in at least a fifty mile radius from the little town we’re staying in.
“Nothing’s wrong.
Not at all. So, um, can I ask what you think about living in America? Like, permanently?” I know there should be a gentler segue, anything that might make this sound less like a job interview and more like a date.
But, since I’m insisting this is all business and no emotion, I guess it doesn’t matter.
His smile is gentle, but very slightly condescending. It makes an irritated prickle of goosebumps break out over my neck.
“I love the idea of starting my business in America. And, since I’m committed to learning from your father, I realize that I have to go where he is.”
The waitress brings our plates over and Akos takes a lingering look at her backside as she walks off before he turns his attention back to me.
I pick up my fork and knife and try to keep the shake out of my fingers. At first I held back with my dates and kept up the polite facade of the well-mannered, nicely brought up Hungarian-American girl. But, after spending the afternoon and evening with
Cormac a few days ago, I decided to change my tactics.
He told me that if love didn’t matter, if I truly thought that was just a mess of reacting chemicals that led to stupid decisions, then I should take the kid gloves off and put the boxing gloves on.
Thinking about Cormac makes me smile, really smile, for the first time all night. I’m incredibly glad I face-planted into his lap that day. The day I spent hiking with and talking to Cormac was the polar opposite of these frigid, scripted dates. My time with him left me feeling free, like I took off binds I didn’t even know I was wearing. I felt the way I used to feel, all the summers before I had to think about getting married, when I just ran, hair down, barefoot, through the meadows and forests.
But I’m not a little kid anymore. I have to fix my hair and face and put on tight clothes and high heels and smile when I want to punch a guy in the chops, even if it makes no sense.
Because this isn’t about romance.
I lace up my boxing gloves and get ready to deliver one hell of a right hook.
“Akos, I need to ask you a question.” I take a bite of lamb, perfectly succulent, and let him be the one to wait tensely while I chew and swallow. “I saw you just look at the waitress.” His eyebrows shoot up and he opens his mouth to argue, but I wave my knife in the air carelessly. “Forget it. I’m not judging you. I’m just asking you, honestly, what you would expect if we were married. Would you want to keep a mistress?”
I can feel the scroll pattern on the hilt of the knife making an impression on my palm, and I channel all my disgust and anger into my fist so I can keep my face open and relaxed.
Akos flounders, rubs his large, perfect jaw, blows a long, rough breath out and blinks slowly. I’m not sure he’s ever going to collect his words, but, finally, he does.
“I am a very, uh...carnal man,
Benelli.” He leans forward and his hand slithers across the tablecloth. I snap to attention, eating more lamb mechanically and refusing to let him hold my hand during this particular confession. “I’m going to be honest with you. I will love and respect my wife with all my heart.” He lays a hand on the place in his chest where a heart should be. “I will always be protected. I will always be discreet. But a wife is the center of a home. She is the mother of the children, the keeper of the house, the foundation. And I have nothing but respect for that. I would never expect my wife to have to deal with my appetites.”
I saw my teeth back and forth, cringing at the grating sound reverberating in my head. “What if your wife had the same appetites as you?”
He tenses his jaw so hard, a quick tick pulses near his ear. “Women don’t have the same appetites, Benelli.” He goes back to his meal, but he wields the knife with a little more ferocity than is strictly necessary.
“But what if your wife did.
What if she was just...like that?” I press.
He spears a bite of lamb with a vicious thrust of his fork and leans forward, his eyes darting from side to side. “This is extremely uncomfortable conversation for dinner.”
I lower my voice, but don’t compromise on my resolve, no matter how uncomfortable he finds this. “We are not doing this for fun. I need to know things about you, about our future together, and we don’t have the luxury to figure it all out slowly. If you can’t answer my questions, I can’t make a decision.” I raise an eyebrow his way, and he sighs heavily and snipes back at me.