“No thanks.”
Jamie shrugged and went inside.
It was an unlikely friendship they’d formed the first summer Gabriella spent in Portland. She was nine and gangly and unsure of herself. Jamie, however, was always ready for a new friend and had knocked on Nana’s front door within minutes of her arrival, asking if Gabriella could come out and play.
“Oh how wonderful,” Gabriella’s mother had trilled, practically shoving her out onto the front porch. “Someone to play with instead of doing math all the time.”
Gabriella had been born with a knack for numbers, more at home with sums and products than other girls. She didn’t get along with her classmates at the all-girls private school she attended, but Jamie had grown up with three older brothers and was happy to have a girlfriend around. Gabriella’s mother had no idea what kind of influence Jamie was going to be that first summer. Despite the early awkwardness between them, their friendship grew to become something she secretly looked forward to every year. For the months of June through August, she deviated from the well-behaved little girl she’d always been. Instead, she ran through the sand dunes barefoot and learned how to play practical jokes, helping Jamie scare her brothers. The summer she was twelve, Jamie taught her how to apply lipstick and French braid her hair. Visits in her teen years were spent reading magazines that explained the “Rules of Dating,” including how to kiss and when to let a boy go all the way.
That had happened for Jamie well before it did for Gabriella, her virginity lost midway through her senior year in high school. Jamie said he’d held her hand for hours first, that he’d been gentle, sweet and tender. Gabriella wasn’t jealous—not exactly. She wasn’t interested in slow and romantic. She wanted it hot and wet and dirty. She had no idea where those fantasies came from or why they were the spark that pushed her over the edge when her body ached in the quiet hours of the night, but she was desperate to know what that kind of raw, uninhibited passion felt like.
It wasn’t until her freshman year at college that Gabriella was able to experience that. She hooked up with the R.A. of her dorm on Halloween. He’d been only moderately drunk, and she’d been ridiculously turned on by the way he pinned her down on his twin-sized bed, his fingers dipping into her panties and remarking huskily over the slick skin he found there. He was clumsy from the beer and not as easy on her as he would have been if he’d known she was a virgin, but she didn’t offer the information. The sex was uncomfortable and disappointing in the end, but it was her first taste, a trial run, and each subsequent date became an opportunity to try for the grittiness she always wanted. Seven years and a string of boyfriends later, she decided the search was pointless. It also didn’t mesh well with the other goals she’d nurtured for years: to become a well-respected mathematician and counter theories everyone else thought of as truth.
She lifted her head from the rose bush as a butterfly floated past her, its wings a wash of orange, yellow and black. She had to laugh at the coincidence. It had been when Gabriella stepped into the tattoo parlor in Cambridge and chosen a butterfly design for her ink that she realized that duality wasn’t possible. The butterfly transformed from the ordinary caterpillar into something beautiful and wonderful, but that was a paradox that couldn’t be physically reconciled in humanity. They were a dichotomy in nature, opposites but identical at the same time. It simply wasn’t logical for a division of unity like that to exist. The tiny sunburst of color on her hip was a daily reminder of that.
Gabriella stood and rubbed the dirt off her legs. Creases lined her knees, echoes of the blades of grass that had been pressed against her skin for the last few hours. It felt good—evidence of the hard work she’d put in. Work she’d be willing to keep putting in if only her parents saw the value of this house. Here, where the doors were never locked and nature hummed quietly outside the windows, she was able to feel close to her grandmother again. It was a crime that her parents wanted to sell it. They’d only allowed Gabriella to spend the summer here until they found a suitable buyer. Despite all the pressure they put on her, despite the fact that they made her feel like she was never quite good enough, taking away this house was the only thing she truly hated them for.
She went inside with the handful of roses she’d clipped, took off her hat and filled a ceramic vase with water. Careful this time to avoid the barbs that protected the flowers, she dropped them into the vase and brought the arrangement into the dining room.
“Roses are a symbol of balance,” Nana had told her years ago by the very rose bushes she’d just attempted to prune. “A rose represents promises and hope, but its beauty is bonded with thorns. It embodies pain and loss. Combined together, they are in perfect harmony, equal parts beautiful and strong.”
She’d brought the lush rose petals to Gabriella’s nose, letting her inhale the fragrance.
“You are beautiful and strong too, my darling Gabby. Always stay true to who you are.”
Gabriella sighed and carefully arranged the vase on the sideboard across from the cherry oval table.
“Balance,” she murmured, scrutinizing the delicate combination of petals and thorns. Maybe her grandmother’s words could help her gather evidence for her thesis. She looked down at the finger she’d pricked and then ran it against the silky petal of a flower, testing its texture.
“If it’s true that a rose is beautiful, it must also be true that the opposite is beautiful as well. A thorn may be the opposite of a rose, so therefore, is it also true that the thorn is as beautiful as the rose? No, it’s not.”
Gabriella pressed her thumb against a tiny sharp spike and smiled triumphantly at her supporting conclusion. Her grin slid into a frown, though, as she continued to chafe the pad of her thumb with the thorn. Was the pain she felt when it grazed her flesh any less pleasurable than the smooth touch of the flower? Were they truly opposites, these two sensations she craved? Or were they merely two sides of the same coin? If a thorn wasn’t as beautiful as the rose, how could she lust for the roughness of a firm grip as much as she hungered for the sweet bliss of shattering pleasure?
Gabriella released the rose and turned to study herself in the mirror above her grandmother’s ornate sideboard. She traced a still-wet finger along the glass.
“A mirror image is the dual of its original. Water molecules must be arranged as H2O in order for them to act like water. Theoretical Mathematics says that Oxygen-Hydrogen-Oxygen and Hydrogen-Oxygen-Oxygen are the same, but in the real world, those molecules aren’t water. In fact, they don’t even exist. Therefore duality can’t apply to mirror images and must be incorrect.”
It was a sound hypothesis. But if her mirror image wasn’t her dual, then the woman staring back at her wasn’t the same as Gabriella. She certainly felt like two fractured parts, two pieces of the same whole scattering in opposite directions. If her rider appeared at that moment and wanted to tie her to the bed, wanted to take her out in the backyard and fuck her senseless where everyone could hear, would the part of her that calculated and planned enjoy it as much as the part of her that ached for the raw slap of a spanking?
As if on cue, she heard the sharp buzz of tires ripping around the corner.
Gabriella moved to the window to watch him ride past. He was covered in head-to-toe leather, denim and steel, as always. He must have been melting under all that clothing. Once again, she imagined stripping his jacket and gloves from him, revealing sweaty skin and rippled muscles. The strong body that would take her as brutally as she’d always wanted.
He slowed and her heart stopped, as if her fantasy was actually coming to life. But he drove on and she pinched her eyes shut, feeling like an idiot for the way hope had leapt up her throat. Wanting her rider was ridiculous. She was water lusting after oil, a coupling that would never mix. That’s why Jamie had set her up with Connor, after all, and not with someone like him.
She had to let the fantasy go. She wouldn’t let i
t exist anymore.
Turning from the window, Gabriella searched the room for more evidence to disprove her theory. She found nothing.
“I’m getting nowhere,” she said. “And I’m talking to myself again.”
Chapter Five
When Gabriella returned to the Old Port for her second date with Connor, the sky was beginning to turn pink, lines of gold and yellow streaking across it as the sun dipped down below the watery horizon. It was still warm out, and the town was filled with people. She had to circle the parking lot several times before she found a space.
A breeze kissed the skin on her thighs as she got out of her car, and she flattened her palms against her sides to stop her skirt from flaring up in the air. The billowy yellow skirt, white blouse and flowery sandals she was wearing had actually gotten Jamie’s seal of approval, but Gabriella didn’t see the point. Connor was probably going to be a perfect gentleman again.
She walked across the brick and cobbled stones, ten minutes ahead of schedule, as usual. Even though the date was probably going to be a waste of time, that wasn’t a reason for her not to be punctual, right? Besides, being early would mean she could get a spot in line before Connor got there and maybe get this whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible.
She arrived at the ice cream parlor only to freeze mid-step. Connor was already there, sitting on top of a picnic table outside the shop’s front door.
“You’re early,” she announced.
He launched off the tabletop and smiled at her the same way he did at the café—the smile she’d been hoping for when he left her at her car. His mouth curled up and his eyebrow seemed to follow it, as if the two were linked. It was a grin of a hungry cat seeking a mouse, and she wanted to be chased and found.
“I didn’t have far to walk. My office is only a few blocks away. And besides—” Connor moved in close to her, closer than she anticipated, and brushed her hair off her shoulder. “I was looking forward to seeing you.”
His closeness surprised her, but she relished the opportunity to study him. His hair was a little more unruly today than the last time she saw him. The shorter strands by his forehead fell forward, brushing past eyes that were sparkling in the waning sunlight. A black, short-sleeved shirt outlined his chest and arms. Somehow, he was so much sexier than she remembered.
His gaze trailed down her frame, devouring her as if she were the piece of cake this time. Her body started to heat, her breath picking up under the intensity of his stare, but then his smile morphed into what looked like doubt. He dropped his hand and threw an awkward glance toward his shoes, the moment between them fading before Gabriella had a chance to savor it.
He waved a hand toward the ice cream parlor. “Should we get in line?”
Gabriella nodded and took a few steps toward the crowded entryway. It was a popular spot for tourists and locals alike, and she stopped at the end of a line so long it drifted out the door.
“How was your day?” she asked. “More coding of stuff?”
Connor chuckled. “Pretty much. I stare at screens all day long. It’s like The Matrix in there.”
“And all you see is ‘blonde, brunette, redhead,’ right?” she asked as she turned to grin at him, quoting the film.
“No,” he said. “Just blonde.”
Gabriella blinked, then realized he was talking about her. Her lips twitched and she fought the urge to smile, blushing intensely as she turned back around to face the doorway. Connor bounced from flirtatious to serious and back again so quickly, it really confused the hell out of her. Especially when his sweet little compliments strummed a romantic chord inside her she didn’t think she had.
They inched through the doorway, their bodies nearly jammed together as they edged slowly toward the counter. She felt Connor’s breath on her neck, sensed the broad expanse of his chest against her shoulder blades. The line moved up, and his large, warm palm met the small of her back, urging her forward. His touch was like an electric shock to her system. She lifted her gaze to meet his, wondering if he felt it too, but he quickly averted his eyes and nodded at the case of flavors on display.
“What are you gonna have?”
She went up on her tiptoes, canvassing the options. “I think I’m going with the salted caramel today. Can’t go wrong with a mix of savory and sweet.” She glanced back to him. “You?”
“I always go with vanilla. Boring I guess, but I like it,” he said. “Are you the kind of girl who likes a cup or a cone?”
“Oh, a cone for sure. You can’t eat a cup. I want the most bang for my buck.”
He chuckled. “A very logical answer.”
Gabriella grinned wide. “Of course.”
She ordered two scoops in a cone while Connor got the largest cup they had. When they reached the register, he once again refused to allow her to pay. She tried to argue with him, but he playfully nudged her away.
Gabriella looked around at the tables in the parlor. They were all full. “Doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to sit.”
“It’s a nice evening for a walk.” Connor angled his head toward the door. “Shall we?”
Yup, he was going to be all-gentleman tonight. She plastered a smile on her face and followed him to the door. He held it open for her, and they set out along the streets.
“Do you miss Boston much?” he asked. “This place must be pretty boring for you after growing up in a big city.”
“Actually, I really like it here. Don’t you?”
Connor shrugged and stared into his cup. “I guess it’s not the same when you’ve lived in the sticks all your life.”
“I wouldn’t call it the sticks.”
Gabriella sighed happily and looked around at the old, red brick buildings set in footprints of stone. The alley they were walking through was alive with music and the soft clink of silverware against plates. Old-fashioned streetlamps dotted each corner with perfect precision. The evening air smelled of pine trees and low tide—cool, clean and calm.
“I love the charm here,” she said. “The sea and the mountains surrounding the city. It’s so peaceful.”
“Right. Nature girl.” He grinned at her, and it made her grin back just as wide.
“Well, there are some really good trails, but I also have happy memories of being here. I was free from my parents’ expectations for a little while. It was my escape.”
She surprised herself at her honesty with him once again, but there was something about the tempering presence of the ocean and the lulling sound of Connor’s voice that drew back the walls she kept so tightly around herself.
“Your folks were pretty hard on you?” Connor scooped up another big mouthful of ice cream, and Gabriella tried not to focus on the way his tongue lagged over the edge of the plastic spoon.
“Were?” she asked with a snort. “They still are.” She almost added that their constant distance and propensity to judge were slowly killing her, but she forced the thought away, not wanting her baggage to become a third wheel on the date. “But I guess all parents hard on their kids, right?”
“I wouldn’t know. Mine took off years ago.”
Gabriella stopped walking. “They took off?”
Connor paused as well and frowned at the ground.
“My dad left when I was thirteen. Apparently, his next fix was more important than we were. I found out he died a few years later.”
He looked up, squinted and pinched his lips together, as if the words had a bad taste to them. “Mom tried to manage for a while, but she was using too. She couldn’t make ends meet, so she left me with my grandparents when I was fifteen to go into rehab.”
“Wow. How did that go over?”
“Weird at first, since I’d never met them before, but they took me in right away, no questions asked. Of course that was because Mom said it would only be until she got out of rehab.”<
br />
“She didn’t go?”
“She did. She just never came back.”
Gabriella’s mouth fell open. For all her parents made her crazy, she couldn’t imagine being abandoned like that. “I’m so sorry.”
Connor shook his head and let out an abrupt laugh. “Don’t be. She made the right choice. She couldn’t have handled me anymore. I was a real rebel back then. I needed some serious discipline.”
Something inside her flared at the word rebel, but she squashed it down.
“So your grandparents raised you?”
“Yup. They made me clean up my act. Taught me to respect others and to play by the rules.”
Gabriella’s stomach bobbed like a buoy on the tide. She wondered exactly how dirty his act had been and what rules he’d forgotten to play by, but she concentrated on her ice cream instead as they resumed their stroll down the street.
“My grandmother always taught me to just be myself,” she said. “Even when my parents seemed to want the exact opposite.”
“They don’t want you to be a mathematical genius?” He smiled at her, and that damn dip under his nose taunted her again.
“They do, but my mother wants me to find a safe, rich husband and settle down too.”
“And that’s not what you want?”
She halted on the corner and looked up at him. There were so many things she wanted, the least of which was the comfortable parameters of the kinds of relationships she’d known. No, she wanted Connor, wanted those brawny hands of his pushing her up against a wall and showing her all about the rebel he once was.
She flattened her tongue against the shaft of her ice cream and licked. Slowly.
“No. That’s not what I want.”
Connor’s breath rushed out on a tight exhale. He stared hard at her, his towering body looming, leaning in close. Gabriella’s belly tightened in anticipation of his lips finally brushing against hers, but then someone on the street called out his name. They jumped apart as two male voices hollered loudly from the cab of a pickup as it sped by.
The Duality Principle Page 4
