Author's Preface
Lorezza’s is a small, family-run neighborhood joint tucked away down a quiet side street. On a Sunday evening at five-thirty, the dining room is only half full. A few regular families are scattered across the squeaky vinyl booths, and the soft hum of an old radio plays behind the counter while the mouth-watering scent of garlic, toasted dough, and bubbling tomato sauce fills the air.
Chantell pushed open the heavy wooden door, the small brass bell above it chiming softly as she stepped inside.
She wasn't wearing a floor-length silver gown tonight. She was in a pair of well-worn jeans, a comfortable oversized sweater, and boots, a world away from the glamorous, suffocating atmosphere of Friday night’s gala.
Ian was already sitting in a corner booth toward the back. He looked surprisingly out of place against the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, wearing a tired-looking suit with his jacket hanging open and the top three buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, revealing the tattoos she knew all too well. He was slowly spinning a glass of house red wine on the laminate table, staring into it until he heard the chime.
His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers, and he smiled faintly.
Chantell walked over, her shoulder bag slung over one arm, and slid into the vinyl booth across from him without a word.
“I ordered some wine... I hope you don’t mind,” Ian said, gesturing toward the untouched bottle and two glasses sitting on the table.
“It’s okay. I’m driving, so I can’t.”
“Fair enough.” He looked hurt, as if she’d openly rejected a marriage proposal. “So... straight down to business?”
“Yes, please.”
“I spoke to Max’s secretary, and apparently Max has gone into property development.”
“Look, Ian, I’m not bothered if she’s opened a brothel or set a fire station on fire... I care about my home.”
“Yeah, sorry... Max is... possessive. She always has been.”
“So what happened?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Ian poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, his hands steady, though his eyes looked exhausted. “Max was... sorry, is... a competitive climber. She traveled the world scaling mountains and looking for the next big thrill.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, so... we met in Switzerland during my gap year.”
“Switzerland?” Chantell repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it was a blind date and it spiraled from there. When I came back to the States, she followed me.”
“So what, you dumped her after?”
“No,” Ian replied softly, shaking his head. “We had three years together. I supported her through her startup, just like she did for me.”
“So what? You owe her?”
“No,” Ian laughed quietly, shaking his head. “She and I had a life, and it was good.”
“What happened?”
“She left.”
“With no warning? Nothing?”
“No, there was warning, but...”
“But?”
“But she always wanted to move on to the next big thing,” Ian explained, staring into his glass. “The next climb, the next step, the next... the next. Then she wanted marriage and children.”
“And let me guess,” Chantell said, crossing her arms. “The playboy didn't want all that?”
“No, I do,” he replied, looking back up at her, his voice surprisingly firm. “But on my own terms.” He paused, his expression softening. “Plus, with Max... I just didn't feel it.”
“Okay. So why didn't you tell her?”
“I thought when she left for Nepal and I didn't chase her, she'd get the message.”
“Typical fucking guy!” Chantell threw up her hands in total exasperation. “We like to be told, not left hanging! Fuck's sake, Ian. No wonder she thought I'd stolen you.”
Ian sighed, running a hand over his face. “It's been, what, three years since then? I've moved on.”
Chantell looked at him, her heart thumping against her ribs. “With me?”
Ian shook his head softly. “I've had other lovers, but none that mattered... until I met you.”
The confession knocked Chantell sideways. She stared at him across the checkered tablecloth, suddenly completely at a loss for words. The noise of the restaurant seemed to fade away into the background.
“I thought this was meant to be fun,” she murmured, trying to pull her defenses back up. “No complications. Just drinks and sex.”
“And plays...” Ian added, a tiny, tentative flash of his usual smirk returning to his lips.
“Shut up, Ian.”
I’m serious, Chan,” Ian said, his smirk fading back into that quiet, intense sincerity that always threw her off balance. He leaned across the small table, his dark eyes holding hers. “I’m not playing games with you.”
Chantell pressed her lips together, her hands wrapping tightly around her water glass to keep them from shaking. “Ian, you’re moving to London in seven days.”
“I know.”
“So what are we doing here?” She gestured between the two of them, taking in the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, the untouched bottle of wine, and the heavy silence stretching between them. “You’re asking me to deal with your psychopathic, mountain-climbing ex-fiancée who just bought my entire apartment building, while you get to board a plane next week and leave me to deal with the fallout.”
Ian winced, the truth of her words hitting him square in the chest. “I’m not abandoning you to Maxine. I’ve already had my legal team look into CIHY. I’m handling it.”
“I don’t want your legal team handling my life!” Chantell snapped, though her voice stayed low so the surrounding tables wouldn’t hear. “I handle my own life. I’ve always handled my own life.”
“I know you do,” Ian said softly. He reached out again, slow and deliberate, resting his palm open on the table between them. “And I admire that more than you know. But let me help with this. Not because you’re my responsibility, but because... because I can’t stand the thought of her hurting you to get to me.”
Chantell looked down at his hand. The tattoos on his wrist peeked out beneath his unbuttoned cuff ink she had traced with her fingers in the dark just a few nights ago.
She let out a long, ragged exhale, all the hot anger draining out of her, leaving only a bone-deep exhaustion.
“This is a mess, Ian.”
“I know,” he admitted. “It’s a complete mess.”
“And I still want to slap you.”
“I’m sure I deserve it,” Ian said, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, tired smile.
"So the apartment?" Ian asked
"Only if like I said. I can change the locks" Chantell replied
“Deal,” Ian murmured, his eyes softening as he reached into his jacket pocket.
He pulled out a silver ring holding a single, heavy brass key and slid it slowly across the red-and-white checkered tablecloth toward her.
It settled right beside her bread plate.
“Consider the keys yours whenever you want them,” he said quietly, his gaze locked onto hers. “No strings, Chan. Whether I’m in London or not, it’s yours if you ever need a place to stay.”
Chantell stared at the key resting between them, her pulse hammering in her throat as the weight of his offer hung heavy in the air.
---
Chantell sat in her car for a long moment, staring through the windshield.
Ian's key lay on the passenger seat, catching the streetlight every time she glanced in its direction.
“Fuck's sake, Ian,” she muttered into the dark cabin.
She snatched the key up, shoved it into the glove compartment, and slammed it shut with a loud thud.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
If only it were that fucking easy.
Her head was pounding, her stomach churning, and her emotions were all over the place. She was angry with Ian, furious with Maxine, and thoroughly fed up with herself for still caring about the man who'd managed to turn her life upside down in the space of a few weeks.
She gripped the leather of the steering wheel, squeezed her eyes shut, and screamed.
The sound burst out of her, loud and raw, startling a couple walking past her car on the sidewalk. One of them glanced through the window with wide eyes, but Chantell couldn't have cared less.
She sucked in a shaky, ragged breath, wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, and stared straight ahead through the glass.
“Get a fucking grip, Lovelace.”
Her voice wobbled on the very last word.
After another long moment, she turned the key in the ignition, shifted into drive, and pulled out onto the road.
Comments