Читать книгу The Vineyards Of Calanetti - Rebecca Winters - Страница 17

Breathless desire tumbled through Lily. Fire and ice raced down her spine. It had been so long since anyone had kissed her, touched her, that her soul wept with longing. She just wanted to be loved again. To feel whole again.

The only time she’d ever felt whole had been with Mic. But as quickly as she thought that, she remembered that this might be Mic, but he wasn’t the same man she’d loved. This Mic was strong, smart, sophisticated. In the eight years she’d struggled for food and shelter for a ten-year-old sister, he’d seen the world.

She pushed herself away from him. “Don’t. Stop.”

His blue eyes skimmed her face. “I’m to be sorry for this too?”

She cleared the ache in her throat, took a few more steps back. “No.” Running her fingers through her hair, she glanced to the right, unable to meet his gaze. How did a woman say no to the man who had once been the other half of her?

“This is wrong.”

“This feels right.”

“Really? You’re going to stay this time?”

He laughed. “Wow, you get right to the hard questions. You couldn’t even let us spend a few weeks, or even days, together before you took us right to the bottom line.”

“We’re not the same people.”

“So?”

“So that means we can’t pick up where we left off. We’d have to start over. And I’m not sure that’s possible for us.”

“Because I hurt you?”

She smiled slightly at the fact that he was finally admitting it. She met his gaze. “Because I hurt you.”

“We hurt each other.”

“And in eight years apart we became two different people.”

He looked away, then looked back at her. “I think I see.”

She expected relief to sigh through her. Instead, tears pricked her eyes. “I better get back in.”

She turned quickly and returned to the kitchen, but she didn’t stop or even pause. The tears in her eyes were bursting through and she needed a minute.

A few quick dodges of tables, customers and waitresses took her to the restroom. Inside, she locked the door and leaned against the cool wall.

Though she believed every word she’d said to Mic—they were different people; they could not pick up where they left off—she hated them.

“Lily?” Mila, one of the other waitresses, knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”

She grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter. “I’m fine.”

“Do you need to talk?”

Her breath shuddered into her lungs, heavy with the need to sob, but she straightened her shoulders. “No. I’m fine.”

She was always fine. In eight years, she hadn’t broken down. She’d done her duties. Raised her sister. Taken care of Signor Bartolini. And even planned a real future when she enrolled in university for next semester. She had everything under control. She did not need a shoulder to cry on, someone to take care of her. She was strong.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t want one more night with Mic. One night when she wouldn’t feel alone.