4. Eyes Like Starlight

FOUR

EYES LIKE STARLIGHT

Xavier

C hristmas had never been my favorite time of year. Mum was Buddhist—we’d give each other a small gift in the morning, but I spent most of my young life experiencing the holiday from the outside looking in. Trees in windows, watching people on the street.

It didn’t matter until she was gone. And then I was moved to live with a family who did go to church, who had a big tree, who ate the massive feasts and exchanged ostentatious presents.

But there was no love in it. I’d spend a few weeks every Christmas in my stranger of a father’s house. We’d open the presents neither of us had bought (his assistant was in charge of the merriment), offer perfunctory thank yous, and retreat to our corners of the estate until I was carted back to school the following year.

The holiday never mattered. Until tonight. Here in the bed, I felt like I was facing an actual angel, dropped from heaven or above or somewhere as a gift designed especially for me.

Francesca slept for hours. I didn’t sleep at all. Instead, I watched her, memorizing every curve and contour of her body, every rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

This wasn’t supposed to be permanent. I was only in New York for a few weeks at most. More to piss off my father than to make a life here.

And yet, the day before Christmas of all fucking days, in this tiny box of a hotel room, I felt more at home than I had since I was a lad.

I’d never believed in love before. But for her, it might actually be possible.

And the very fact I was considering was a Christmas miracle indeed.

Eventually, the sun began to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room and bouncing off the icy river beyond. Francesca stirred beside me, and I couldn’t help but smile as she opened her eyes and looked up at me.

“So you are real,” she murmured, her voice a sleepy whisper.

I brushed her hair back from her face. “Can’t barely imagine myself.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

Her green eyes sparkled like stars.

I leaned down to kiss her, feeling the familiar rush of heat and desire that never seemed to fade. As our bodies entwined, I knew that this was where I belonged—in her arms, in this moment, celebrating the season of love and hope and possibility.

Good fucking god. What was happening to me?

I ended the kiss, then pushed myself and headed for the loo, if only to splash my face with water and wake myself up. When I walked back into the room, I found Francesca sitting up in the bed, black hair floating over her shoulders, the white sheet clasped to her chest. I found the urge to yank it from her, let me see that work of art in the light of day. At which point I was just as likely to fall to my knees and beg her to stay the rest of the day with me here instead of leaving to spend the holiday with her family, most likely.

I was fucking pathetic.

“When do you go back?” she wondered as she watched me prowl around the tiny room, looking for something, anything to do besides beg her to love me.

Love me. What the fuck was wrong with me?

“To London?” I shrugged. “I’m supposed to leave tonight.”

My god. Was it really tonight?

The idea caused me actual, physical pain.

“Oh,” she said. Behind me, her voice was impossibly small. “I see.”

I turned. “No, you don’t see. Francesca, I?—”

“It’s all right,” she interrupted. Under the sheets, her knees popped up as she pulled the sheet tighter to her chest. “We only met just last night. No promises were made. It’s okay.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I started, even though she was already shaking her head.

“You don’t have to do that, Xavi,” she replied. “The whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing. I might have been a v-virgin before last night, but honestly, I wasn’t born yesterday. I can handle the truth.”

Her voice warbled near the end. It almost fucking killed me.

And suddenly, I was done. I was done worried about whether or not love could really happen overnight. Whether or not I was ever capable of such an emotion. Whether she and I were even possible with oceans between us and lives unknown.

Something had guided me to that bar last night, directly into the arms of this perfect creature in front of me.

The fuck if I was going to let the only chance at happiness I’d ever had in my twenty-seven tortured years slip away. Or let her cry, for that reason.

“I’ll just—I’ll get dressed, and?—”

“I think I love you,” I interrupted suddenly.

Francesca froze with one shapely leg already out of the bed, mouth still open mid-sentence, green eyes wide with shock. Slowly, she withdrew the leg, closed her mouth, then slowly opened it as she stared at me. “I—you what?”

I swallowed. God, my heart was in my fucking throat. But strangely, it felt right.

I hurried to the bed, ignoring the way the mattress forced her to lean into me as I sat down. I took the opportunity to grab her hand and pull her close.

“I don’t—you don’t—” I shook my head. “Fuck, Ces, I don’t normally say things like that. Honest, I’ve never said it to anyone before.”

Slowly, a smile appeared. “So I guess that makes you a kind of virgin too, huh?”

I let out a laugh, relieved by her light-hearted response. “Fucking...yeah, I guess so.”

She leaned forward, grabbed me by the ears, and kissed me gently. “Well, you’re not the only one. And...I love you too, Xavier.”

Relief, joy, and disbelief rushed through me all at once. “You do?”

Eyes glossy with emotion, she nodded. “I’ve been thinking it since last night. I know it’s crazy. I know we just met. But since you sat down, and then what we did last night, I just?—”

I silenced her with another thorough kiss. “I know,” I said, pressing my nose to hers. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Her giggle was starlight. Sunlight. Filled me with a lightness I’d been too dark and destroyed to enjoy until now.

Francesca loved me. The thought was too good to be true. Francesca?—

“Christ,” I bit out. “Do you know, I don’t even think I know your last name.”

Another giggle practically speared me in the best possible way.

“Zola,” she said with a grin. “It’s Italian. On my dad’s side.”

Italian. I nodded. It fit.

She kissed me, and it was like coming home. The warmth of her body, the softness of her lips—it was everything I’d ever wanted.

We pulled back, gasping for air.

“So what now?” she asked, her fingers tracing patterns on my chest.

I grinned. “I’d say we start with Christmas. And then we figure out how to make this work.”

She laughed, the sound music to my ears. “I like the sound of that.”

I nodded, pulling her close and kissing her deeply, feeling like the luckiest man in the world. Christmas had never been my favorite time of year, but that was all about to change. With Francesca by my side, anything was possible.

THE END

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