Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
I can’t blame her for the uncertainty. I definitely can’t resent her. I want to talk about what happened and explain myself, if that’s even possible. I sense it would break open a seal she’s desperately trying to keep closed, so I’ll keep my lips closed for now.
“Tell me about your acting,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “You saw my acting at that first dinner.”
I grin widely. Her tone has got that classic Elena sarcasm again. It makes me want to draw it out of her repeatedly, to rebuild the piece of her that’s broken her closeness to me. “I mean your real acting work.”
“I haven’t had big parts, but then, you know that.”
“Part of this gig was that you couldn’t be well known,” I agree, “but that doesn’t matter now. Forget I said gig. It makes this whole thing seem like something it’s not.”
She takes a bite of her burger as I chew on a mouthful of steak. I wonder if she’s trying to delay answering.
“I’ve always been most interested in complex characters,” she says. “When I was a kid, our drama teacher wrote this play about a superhero. It was pretty silly, but everybody wanted to be the hero. I wanted to be this side character who didn’t even have very many lines. This character had a tragic backstory, and they couldn’t decide how they felt about the idea of superheroes. It appealed to me. Life is never black and white.”
“It’s as gray as my hair,” I agree.
“Hey, silver.”
I smirk again. “Pardon?”
“Your hair isn’t gray. It’s silver.”
“That seems like a distinction without a difference.”
“Gray makes you seem old,” she says. “Silver is mature and experienced, which is what you are. You’ve only got a little here and there.”
“I am older than you, though.”
“I don’t care. Do you?”
“Not one goddamn bit.”
Her smile is a gift I’ll never stop trying to earn if I get the chance. She beams at me, but then her expression falters. It’s like she can forget about everything briefly, but it all comes crashing down again. “Since we’re on the subject of acting …”
“Yeah?”
“I wouldn’t be able to act if this thing was for real, would I?”
She knows the answer to this. I know the answer to this, but the idea of tearing her passion away makes me feel ill. “It’s not customary for Mafia princesses or queens to have careers,” I tell her, “but rules are made to be broken.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“The old school mindset is that women must give up their passions for the Family. The men have to as well. If I wanted to be, say, an opera singer—”
She explodes into laughter, and it’s glorious. She laughs like she thought she might never laugh again. She covers her mouth after a moment. “That was the dorkiest laugh ever, but an opera singer?”
I stand up, my hand on my chest. “Hey, I’ve got some pipes. Is that what they call them? Pipes?”
She raises an eyebrow. I’m addicted to her sass. “You better show me.”
I belt out some of the ugliest notes known to man. She laughs again, plugging her ears. “Okay, enough,” she says.
Sitting down, I say, “The point is, I couldn’t be an opera singer, accountant, or anything other than the heir and Don of the Moretti Family, and I’m okay with that. If the Morettis didn’t run this city, the Cartel or another two-bit family like the Romanos would take over. They do vicious, ugly things—”
“I know what they do,” she snaps.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just so much better to forget about that.”
I reach across the table, touching her hand. She moves her thumb over my knuckles like trying to comfort herself, distract herself.
“I’d make an exception for you,” I go on, “if you wanted to keep acting—”
“There’s no if about it.”
“I’d make sure you could,” I tell her. “If my father had a problem with the break in tradition, he could go to hell. If anybody else had something to say, they’d have to say it to my face. I can see how much you love acting. When you were speaking about that school play, you lit up. I couldn’t take that away from you.”
“It’s a dangerous game, giving me hope,” she murmurs.
“Hope for what? Hope that you can forgive me?”
“I don’t have to forgive you,” she says, her hand getting tighter on mine.
“The farmhouse—”
“Yeah, but I don’t have to forgive you for that,” she says. “You didn’t kidnap me. You saved me.”
“You saw a part of me I never wanted you to see. I lost it. I never lose it. Hell, Elena, before you came along, I don’t think I snapped once in my entire life. I don’t think I felt a moment of passion, but you’ve changed me. You’ve brought something out I didn’t know was there.”