by Pamela Ann
The intensity of his gaze and the angle of his face that showed how chiseled it was made me forget what he had asked for a moment. My eyes went on full admiration of his jaw-dropping face from a close distance.
“Do you?” he pressed.
His question made me blink a few times before snapping me out of the heavy, lust-filled haze I was in. Shoving it in the back crevices of my mind, I let my mind back pedal to the conversation about love and heartbreak.
Daydreaming squashed and oddness aside, I cleared my throat slightly before shyly looking away, shrugging as I considered his question. “No, heartbreaks don’t kill people. That’s just plain crazy. I mean, if people died like that, there’d be no college students left.” I immediately paused when I noted how weird his reaction became as I voiced my opinion. “Most intense romantic relationships happen during late teens to early twenties. Breakups are happening all over the world—right this second, right this minute—so, no, I don’t think it can kill. There’d be no humans left.”
My reply made him smirk before laughing lightly at me.
“All right, little miss. I do see your argument, but have you considered the depth of heartbreaks? What if one is much more severe than another? Could one really gauge and compare the agony of a broken engagement with ones who dated for several weeks?”
I frowned, pondering at his thought-provoking argument. “Humans evolve. We’re malleable beings. One can’t cease to live because of a breakup. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Then I suppose you haven’t really experienced anything like it. I’m cynical at best, but I’ve seen it happen. When my grandmother died, it only took my grandfather six months to follow suit. He didn’t have any underlying condition, but he died, anyway. The same thing happened with a distant cousin. The wife died three months after her husband tragically died in a car accident.”
Since he had a valid point, it made me realize how distressing his position might be. After all, he was responsible for holding the family together after his father’s died.
“Are you afraid your mother will die soon?” My mind drifted back to Margery and how she had been earlier in the day. She had seemed poised and reserved with a calming aura about her. People were good about masking their feelings, so I supposed Margery could have been acting a part to welcome me to her home. Given the class this family had, I guessed it was one of those things they deemed appropriate.
“I am,” he openly admitted, looking despondent. “I’m finding ways to prevent her from falling deeply into that hole.”
I felt for him. I did.
“That’s a big task. Each person deals with grief differently. Maybe your fears are misplaced, though. Maybe they aren’t. At the end of the day, it’s her choice and hers alone.” My sentiment wasn’t meant to be insensitive, so I hoped he didn’t see it that way. I just believed people had the freedom to choose was all.
He became silent for a moment before penetrating into my eyes with such sadness I could almost feel it wrap around me.
“I can’t lose both parents in the same year, Serena. That’s a little too much for any person to handle.”
The thought of losing both my parents made me want to faint. I couldn’t imagine what he was going through, grieving after his father died. Not only that, he had to worry about his mother and running the family’s company. From what I had heard from my mother, Cruz had taken the reins early on after being groomed to run the company as he grew up.
I couldn’t have imagined that he was going through such turmoil upon meeting him today. He seemed so confident and sure of himself I never pictured we could have this conversation. I supposed it was true what they said: there was more than what met the eye.
Reaching out for his hand, I entwined it with mine. There were no words spoken, yet I hoped the gesture held some comfort for him. I couldn’t fathom what he was going through, but I at least wanted him to know that, if he wanted someone to speak to, I was there.
After five minutes of comfortable silence, I felt his hand squeeze mine before he threw me a thoughtful, arresting smile.
“This is the first time I have spoken about this. I don’t usually divulge anything to anyone … let alone a mere stranger.” He paused then gave me a sexy smile. “Well, technically, you aren’t one.”
“What do you mean technically?”
“My parents and I visited your home when you were about two or three years old. You were this stubborn, little button who would follow me everywhere.”
What? This was a lie, right? It had to be.
“No, I didn’t. You’re seriously making this up.” My cheeks had to be the shade of a ripened tomato.
The mischievous glint was back in his eyes, teasing me to no end. “Everyone was outside, enjoying the barbeque, when I found you holding a small fruit knife. I tried to take it from you, but you were having such a terrifyingly good time with the bloody thing, so you wouldn’t hand it over. Long story short, I managed to take it away from your chubby, stubborn fingers while cutting myself in the process.”
“You’re joking?” The picture he painted of a crazy child playing with a knife made me think of possessed, little girl who wanted to rein terror on the world around her.
“I swear to you on my father’s grave, you went bonkers with that knife,” he replied. “Here,” he said, showing me a white scar between the valley of his right forefinger and thumb.
FUCK. I did that? I thought, paling at the thought of hurting someone, marking their skin forever. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I had no idea I was a baby assassin.”
“You scarred me for life,” he teased further, making me laugh.
I wasn’t really sure what happened, but somehow, the normal laugh turned into a series of hysterics that made me snort, which then made me want to die on the spot, while my colossal blunder only made him hoot twice as hard.
It went on for a bit longer, and for some odd reason, I ended up kissing him. Unbridled. Unchecked. Unforgettable.
~
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