Page 42 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
He continues, “The romance is not mutual in depth and intention and nothing will make a man more miserable than being with a woman who doesn’t return his passion.”
“You know of what you speak?” I’m surprised.
He shakes his head. “I’ve had minor disappointments, sure, but nothing like the kind of mistake Will and Melissa would be making.” He downs his scotch, then looks serious.
He says, “I wish I hadn’t, but I’ve seen what that kind of compromise can do to a man and it’s a killer. Literally.” A shadow passes over his face, but only for a beat and then he brightens, purposely, like he’s remembering he’s at a party and he’s the host and it’s his duty to be happy.
“Will is going to find the right girl, but I’m ready to admit that it was wishful thinking to believe that Melissa wasthe one.”
I’m not sure what to say, but I go with my heart. “I hope Will and Melissa are as ready as you are to admit it.” I turn back toward the hallway and the den where I left them. Was I a fool to leave them on their own? Damn it. I don’t think I’ve ever questioned myself so many times in the space of an hour since I was a small boy playing chess with my papa.
Putting my half-empty glass on the bar, I resolve to put myself out of my misery. Maybe put everyone out of their misery. I gave them until midnight, but I’m not sure why. Checking my watch, I see there’s still a half hour to go.
“Nice watch,” George comments. I snap my eyes to his, knowing that the watch’s expense is not lost on him, that his tone implies the unspoken questionWhat’s an Uber driver doing with a ten-thousand-dollar watch?
“A gift,” I say.
He gives a skeptical nod and says, “Where’s your family from, Lucas?”
“Italy.”
He waits for more. I have no intention of parting with the story of my family legacy here and now. No way am I sharing with George Regal the secret I’ve kept for the past three years now. I don’t care how decent a guy he is. Melissa needs to be the first person I talk to—maybe the only one—about my secret, about my struggle. A wash of urgency to share everything with her now unsteadies me, unnerves me. What the hell am I waiting for?
It’s not going to get easier to tell her I’ve been hiding something very important from her.
Staring at the half-empty glass of scotch, I resist the urge to pick it up and gulp it down, resist the need to barge in on her and Will, knowing it would be stupid. The need for urgency has me imagining taking her in my arms and whispering my secret in her ear as I make love to her—
“I’ll let you keep your secret for now. But you’ll have to tell Melissa. Soon.”
The only thing that surprises me is that he’s not telling Melissa himself. I’d had a sense that George knew something about me, my family. I would have asked him how he found out, but have no chance.
“Here she is now,” George says. “But I don’t see Will. That’s not good.” He moves from his spot leaning against the bar and puts his empty glass down.
I turn to see Melissa walking in our direction. It’s not hard to tell what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. For Melissa, that’s not a good thing. I know she hates being transparent, hates being vulnerable and unguarded.
But right now, I see that she is. With a too straight spine and a too purposeful stride, she aims herself at me, keeping her eyes on mine. I see the pain in them even from across the shrinking gap between us, see her working at gathering her emotions, see the pink rising to her cheeks. She unfists her hands as if she notices me noticing them. She slows as she reaches us and flicks a glance at George with a minuscule nod as if she doesn’t want to distract herself from her goal, as if she needs all her effort to focus.
Iam her focus. Knowing this heats me, causes the rapid pickup in my heartbeat. Remaining perfectly still, though I want to reach out and hold her, I let my face show her everything I’m feeling. Adoration first, hope, gratefulness, appreciation, want and desire. Patience is missing, but it shouldn’t be. I pride myself on patience and understanding, but tonight, now, I have too much emotion to contain.
“I’m so glad you didn’t leave. Glad you’re here.” She gives me a nervous smile, still trying to keep herself together.
I don’t know what to say. I have too much to share and none of it appropriate for the middle of a party. Margo rushes over now. That makes anything but small talk impossible.
“Lissy—everything all right?”
“Where’s Will?” George says.
“I’m good. Will is here. He’ll be right along. I made him promise to stay.” She’s looking straight at George as she speaks, avoiding my eyes. But then she touches my arm and I don’t need any more invitation to reach it around her. I keep my hold loose, though that’s not what I really want.
Lowering my head toward her, carving out whatever privacy I can, I whisper, “We have to talk.”
She nods and whispers back, “Let’s wait until after midnight.” Then she says aloud, “Right now I need a drink. I feel like I’ve been walking through a desert and this bar is the promised land.”
“What’ll you have?” George asks.
She looks at Margo’s drink and says, “A Penicillin. Use the best scotch you have.”
George is happy to play host. It seems to me it’s his natural state, which is odd for someone with as much substance as he has. To observe him you’d think he was one of those idle rich guys, never serious, measuring life with a fun meter and living from party to party. It’s not him, though. I know he works hard at his family business, something I respect. Something I’m going to need to do. Something it’s about time I did.
