Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  But watching Trent and Joey exchange vows tonight, hand in hand, and watching them tear up the dance floor with dopey smiles on their faces, I’m convinced that love is real. And if that’s the case, then loneliness is too.

  “Stay here,” Cousin Ashley says, speaking to me like I’m a puppy. Or a two-year-old. Same difference.

  I kick my feet up on the chair next to me and slip my hands behind my head, watching as more guests head out to the dance floor. Hell, I should be out there too, and I would be if I weren’t a safety hazard. Last thing I want to do is bump into a flower girl or step on Grandma Gigi’s toes.

  Cousin Ashley returns, though I’m not sure how long it’s been. I have zero concept of time right now. She could’ve been gone an hour for all I know.

  “Here,” she says, dropping a plate of white wedding cake in front of me and then handing me a fork. “You need to eat something. Soak up all that alcohol.”

  The sight of cake covered in mountains of frosting makes me want to hurl. I’m one of those rare breeds of dog who like cake but hate frosting. I begin to scrape it off, but I’m still not sure if I want to actually eat it. I haven’t had much of an appetite since Fab picked me up earlier.

  Cousin Ashley digs into her slice, watching me all the while.

  “What?” I try to glare at her, but I’m not sure what shape my face has morphed into. Whatever my expression is, she clearly finds it funny because she’s laughing. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Eh, you kind of do.” She nods her head, like she’s agreeing with herself. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Didn’t bring a date. Not in the mood to shadow my mom around like a shy kindergartener. Certainly don’t want to sit in a corner and stare at the wall.”

  “Because those were the only alternatives?” I slur, forking a slice of cake. Lifting it to my nose, I take a whiff. It smells like sweet almonds and vanilla. Taking a bite, I decide it’s not so bad.

  “So what’s your deal anyway?” she asks, leaning closer and speaking above the music. “I’ve been watching you all night. You’re just sulking. You don’t want to be here, I can tell.”

  I shrug. “It’s complicated.”

  Cousin Ashley slaps the table and jolts forward. “You’re in love with Joey, aren’t you?”

  Flicking my gaze at her, I shake my head. “Nope.”

  She slinks down, brows furrowed like she’s thinking. “Did you go through a recent breakup? Going to a wedding after you’ve just had your heart broken is sheer torture. Trust me, I’ve been there before.”

  I shake my head, pushing another bite of cake into my mouth. When I glance down, I see that my plate is now empty, and I have no recollection of eating this entire piece.

  Sighing, I shove the empty plate away, lean back in my seat, and fold my arms. I watch as Cousin Ashley finishes her cake and sips her beer and texts someone on her phone simultaneously . . . which reminds me to check my phone for the millionth time tonight.

  No missed calls. No messages. Nothing.

  Sliding out from the table, I glance at the bar and try to determine if I can make it there without hurting myself – or anyone else. I just want one more drink. Then I’ll bid the happy couple goodnight and find Fabrizio and get the hell out of here.

  “Hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Cousin Ashley chases after me, her wild curls bouncing as she runs in heels.

  I ignore her. It’s nothing personal, it’s just that I don’t need a minder, and I’m not in the mood to be some bored wedding guest’s personal entertainment tonight.

  Perching on a bar stool a moment later, I lift my hand and flag down the barkeep again. His lips form a hard line, like he disapproves but knows he’s not paid to judge, so he lifts a finger to indicate he’ll be with me soon.

  “Seriously, stop.” Cousin Ashley hooks her arm into mine. “Enough. You’re good. One more of those and you’re going to be on the floor, and you’re about what, two-ten? Two-twenty? Well over six feet tall. There’s no way in hell I’ll be able to drag you to safety.”

  “Ashley!” Connie appears from out of nowhere, arms open wide as she embraces her niece. “It’s so good to see you, sweetheart. Your mom tells me you moved here for grad school last month? How are you liking Jersey so far? You know if you ever need a home cooked meal, just pop over. We’d love to have you . . .”

  Rising from the seat, I forgo another drink for the time being and head outside to get some fresh air. The January wind glides across my warm skin, cutting through this cheap rental suit jacket, but it hardly bothers me. Walking around the building, I find a dark alley away from the smokers congregating out front and slip my phone from my pocket. The screen blurs in and out, my vision not doing me any favors, but I manage to pull up Daphne’s number.

  I know I shouldn’t call her again, but it’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night. There’s no way she’s at the hospital. There’s no way she hasn’t seen my missed call. The message I left earlier simply asked her to let me know that she made it back safely. How hard is it to return a call? Shoot a text?

  Dragging my hands through my hair, it dawns on me.

  “My ex is back home . . . I haven’t seen him in over a year, and he’s going to be there, and I’m kind of freaking out.”

  Motherfucker.

  That’s it.

  That’s why she’s ignoring me.

  She’s with her ex . . . the one who broke her heart . . . the one she clearly still has a thing for.

  Fuck. Me.

  “Hey, there you are.” Cousin Ashley appears from around the corner, her arms folded and her breath like clouds. “I was looking for you.”

  Chapter 24

  Daphne

  “You look well-rested, Daphne.” Mom pours two cups of coffee Sunday morning and hands me one. “You’re glowing!”

  I don’t tell her it’s this new concealer I bought when I was in Seaview. It covers ev-er-y-thing . . . freckles . . . dark spots . . . zits . . . evidence of sleepless nights.

  “Thanks, Mom.” I take a seat in the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard. The treehouse my father built nearly twenty years ago has seen better days. Some of the boards are weathered and sagging, but I like to think it’s the memories that keep it standing tall. “I can’t believe the treehouse is still going strong.”

  “I don’t know about strong.” Mom chuckles, lifting her cup to her lips but not yet taking a sip. “The better you care for things, the longer they last. You know how your father is. The more grandkids we get, the more he keeps lacquering that thing up every chance he gets. Weatherproofing and water sealing it. The whole shebang.”

  “Where is Dad, anyway?” I ask. “He’s usually up before everyone else.”

  “He went to grab coffee with Zane and Weston this morning then they were going to move some furniture at Delilah’s before heading to the hospital.” She speaks slowly and takes a sip, her careful gaze moving toward me. “You know, that Weston, he’s such a sweet man. Your father really likes him a lot, and that says something because your father doesn’t always like everyone.”

  I lift my brows, exhaling. My stomach twists. I know where this conversation is headed, and I’m not sure I want to take it in that direction.

  “Baby Noah looks so much like Zane,” I say, changing the subject. “He’s, like, twenty-five percent Delilah, seventy-five percent Zane.”

  “He’s a beautiful little boy,” Mom agrees, smiling fondly as she stares outside. It’s as if she’s imagining her grandkids playing in the very same treehouse her children once knew. “Delilah said you and Weston spent some time together last night. How did that go?”

  My gaze flicks her way. I’m sure she’s asking from the perspective of a concerned mother. She saw the tears. She knows how crushed I was when it didn’t work out.

  “I really don’t want to talk about Weston,” I say, shoulders tight and eyes averted. “I’m sorry.”

  Mom’s hand lands across her chest. “I di
dn’t mean to pry about Weston, Daphne. I know that’s a sore subject for you. I was just asking . . .”

  “No, I know.” I lift my coffee mug, blowing a cool breath across the surface and watching the ripples.

  “Did something happen?” she asks. “With that young man you drove across the country with?”

  My gaze lands on hers, settling on the same baby blue irises that match mine fleck-for-fleck.

  “Nothing happened with him. I’m going to hit the shower.” I rise, pushing my chair in and taking my cup to the sink. “Then I’m heading over to the hospital in about an hour.”

  Mom watches me, her expression equally concerned and confused. It’s too early in the morning for a weighty conversation, and besides, there’s nothing to talk about. Cristiano was a guy that made me think maybe he was different. Maybe he wasn’t like the rest. But it turns out he was exactly like the rest.

  He never mentioned Joey was a girl. He never mentioned he was attending the wedding of the girl who broke his heart. In fact, getting any kind of information out of him was like pulling teeth. He was a closed book unless I pried, which tells me he had no interest in getting to know me.

  I should’ve known.

  All he wanted was to fuck me.

  Lucky him. He got what he wanted. Twice.

  And now I just want to move on.

  Climbing the stairs to the second level, I stop in my room to grab some clothes before making my way to the shower. Passing my phone, I notice I have a missed call and that they’ve left a message. It’s the same New Jersey area code as Cristian’s number, but it’s a completely different prefix.

  My stomach knots, and I’m torn between listening to the voicemail and letting it go. But in a fog of early morning fatigue and hindered self-restraint, I allow my curiosity to get the better of me.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I slide the phone off my dresser and press my thumb over the play button.

  Chapter 25

  Cristiano

  “Ah, shit.” My head throbs, and I don’t have to open my eyes to know I’m not in my own home. Or in my own bed. The sheets feel different. Satin, I think. And they smell like someone else’s fabric softener, not the cheap shit I normally use.

  Shifting beneath the covers, I feel the cool drag of smooth fabric over my bare legs.

  Bare. Legs.

  Reaching down, I breathe a sigh of relief when I feel my boxers. Still, that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

  I sit up and force my eyes open. There’s a white dresser covered in clothes and perfume bottles in the corner, and the comforter is purple and speckled in tiny flowers. It smells like a chick in here.

  What the fuck did I do last night?

  Or, rather, who the fuck did I do?

  The sound of running water pulls my attention toward a door to my left. It’s closed, but light escapes underneath the bottom. This girl, whoever I went home with last night, is in the shower right now.

  Fuck.

  Climbing out of bed, I scan the messy, clothes-covered floor for pieces of my tux. I spot a black cummerbund and a white button down, but I have no fucking clue where my pants are.

  “Looking for these?” Cousin Ashley appears from her bathroom door with my pants in her hand, fully-clothed and hair wrapped in a towel. A toothbrush sticks out from the corner of her mouth.

  “Yeah.”

  She tosses them to me, and I waste no time slipping them back on.

  This is embarrassing, but I have to ask because I have no recollection of most of last night. “Did we . . . ?”

  I don’t think I did.

  I don’t think I would, not with my mind set on Daphne . . . and even if I was that kind of guy, I’m pretty sure I had a major case of whiskey dick last night.

  She yanks the toothbrush from her mouth, tosses her head back, and laughs. “No. No. No. We did not have sex – if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She prances to her kitchen, rinsing the brush off under the faucet and tapping it on the stainless steel sink.

  “Although you did spend the better part of last night absolutely convinced that I was hitting on you,” she says, hand on hip. “Let the record show that I was not hitting on you.”

  I zip my fly and take a seat on her sofa, wondering where the fuck my phone is. This girl has books and clothes everywhere.

  “Your phone is on the charger over here,” she says. “You look like you’re looking for something, so I can only imagine it’s your phone. I had to pry it out of your hands last night after you passed out because the battery died and I figured you’d need it in the morning. I charged it for you. You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks.” I rise, moving toward the kitchen to grab it off her charger. No missed calls. No texts. “Want to tell me why I’m here?”

  Ashley moves to the fridge, grabbing two waters, and hands one to me. “You were drunk off your ass. Your brother left with some girl. You had no way to get home, and I couldn’t, in good conscience, leave you like that, so I took you home.”

  She moves toward the bedroom.

  “Which reminds me, I need to strip the bed. My boyfriend would freak if he came home and the sheets smelled like you,” she says casually. “You’re lucky he’s traveling for work. Anyway, I let you have the bed last night because you kept rolling off the couch. I was afraid you were going to hit your head on the coffee table, and well, I’m not exactly in a position to get sued for medical damages, so I took the couch . . .”

  She comes out a few minutes later with an armful of bedding and drops it in front of a closet containing a stackable washer and dryer.

  “So who’s this Daphne girl?” Ashley rests a hand on one hip and wears a smirk when she returns to the kitchen. “God, you wouldn’t shut up about her last night. All night long, it was Daphne this and Daphne that and Daphne’s so perfect for me and I’ll never find anyone else like Daphne . . .”

  She mocks my voice, making me sound whinier than I know I am.

  I chuff. “I was drunk. I’m sure I said a lot of shit I didn’t mean.”

  “So you didn’t mean anything you said about her last night?”

  “I don’t even know what I said about her last night.”

  “You said she’s beautiful and funny and genuine. That you could see yourself traveling the world with her by your side. That you haven’t been able to get her out of your head since you met her. That you want nothing more than to see her again. And then you cried into your pizza at two AM like a drunk sorority girl. It seemed like the proper ending to a hot mess kind of night.” Ashley plops down in a leather recliner next to me, resting her chin on her hand. “You have some issues, Cristiano. And I don’t say that to be mean or judgmental or whatever, but I think you need to work through some stuff.”

  “I was just overreacting to something,” I huff. “I’m over it now.”

  “Mm hm.”

  “Didn’t even think about Daphne until you brought her up this morning,” I lie.

  “Right.” Ashley sighs, leaning back. “Anyway, I took the liberty of finding her number in your phone. I figured you’d need a ride home. I left her a message earlier telling her where to find you and to pick you up by ten because I’m leaving for work and you need to be gone by then. Granted, I know Joey can vouch for you, but honestly, we’re still strangers and I don’t want some random, hungover guy hanging out at my place while I’m gone.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  Her face is void of expression. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  Dragging my hands down my face, I take a deep breath. “What did you say, Ashley?”

  She smirks, glancing up at the ceiling. “Well, let me think. I basically told her that some guy named Cristiano is in love with her and that he needs a ride home and if she loves him too, she can find him at 45 Cherry Street, Apartment 7, in Montclair.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did.”

  “I’m not in love with her. I barely fucking know her.” />
  Ashley’s brows lift and she fights a smile. “Yeah, whatever you say, el capitan.”

  “I really wish you hadn’t called her.” Leaning back in the sofa, I think about what I must look like. What I must smell like. I want to see her, but I don’t want to see her when I’ve got remnants of last night all over me.

  “Why are you just sitting there?” Ashley asks. “Get off your ass and get in the shower. Just don’t use any of Drew’s things. I don’t want him coming home later wondering why the bathroom smells like his shower gel.”

  “What, he doesn’t trust you?”

  Ashley shrugs. “He’s got a possessive streak a mile wide. The mere thought of sharing me with another man sends him over the edge.”

  “That’s too bad.” I clear my throat. “It’s too bad he’s possessive, I mean.”

  Her lips inch up at the sides and her dark eyes light. “Eh. I think it’s hot. I’m fucked up like that, I guess. Don’t judge me.”

  Shaking my head, I lift myself off the couch and make my way to the bathroom.

  Chapter 26

  Daphne

  I’ve listened to the voicemail at least four times now.

  “Hi Daphne. My name is Ashley. You don’t know me, but I have your friend, Cristiano here,” she says. “Anyway, I met him at my cousin’s wedding last night. He was hanging out by the bar the whole time, drowning his sorrows. Saddest guy you ever saw. Long story short, he got smashed out of his mind and I took him home and let him crash here. Talked my ear off about you for hours. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you. Or obsessed with you. One of the two. Anyhoo, he’s at my place now, and I have to leave for work in a couple hours. If you want to pick him up, he’s at 45 Cherry Street, Apartment 7, in Montclair, New Jersey. I’m not sure where you live. Hell, maybe you live in Alaska or something. But if you want to see him, that’s where he is. And if you don’t want to see him, can’t say that I blame you because he’s kind of a hot mess . . . okay . . . guess if you’re not here by ten, I’ll tell him to call an uBer.”