CHAPTER 16

MYRA

Double jeopardy

I DIDN'T KNOW what to wear. I had pulled half the clothes out of my closet, discarding them one by one on my bed as my frustration grew. Maybe it was time to upgrade my wardrobe like Kristin had suggested.

Kristin watched me for several minutes from her own bed then sighed and walked over to the closet, pulling out a deep blue long skirt and a creamy cashmere sweater.

"Here. For someone who isn't sure you want to go on this date, you sure are stressing out over it."

I shook my head and took the hangers from her. I still couldn't believe I had agreed to this. Dinner. Tonight. With Ron. What was I thinking? What did we have in common, other than the same school ?

"I…haven't done this in a while." Try never, I didn't say. Even with Poe, we had never actually dated. We'd just hung out, either at one or the other of our houses or in the park or the local coffee shop. Dating was completely beyond my comfort zone.

"Don't think about," Kristin said while she watched me dress. "You did fine talking to him at the bar the other night. How is this any different?"

"You guys were all there. This…this is just him and me."

"So? He won't bite you. He's just a guy."

"But what will we talk about?"

"He likes your art. Talk about that."

There's the problem. Talking about my art always led back to Poe. And I wasn't ready to talk to anyone about that.

I finished dressing and stared at myself in the mirror. What did he see in me? There were plenty of other girls prettier than me in the school.

Kristin walked up behind me and squeezed my shoulders. "You're overthinking it again. Ron likes you. He wouldn't have asked you out if he didn't."

"Yeah but why?"

"Who knows? If I had the answer to that I'd be a very rich girl. Now stop fidgeting so I can fix your hair."

An hour later I was still fidgeting while I stood outside the dorm waiting for my date. I almost went back inside at least a half dozen times, certain that he had changed his mind and wouldn't show up, but there he was, walking across the quad, looking good enough to eat, as Kristin would say, in a black sport jacket, a pair of black slacks, and a sky blue button-down shirt the exact shade as his eyes. I felt my throat catch; how was I ever going to get through this evening ?

"Hey there," he greeted with an easy smile. "You ready? I figured we could just walk."

I hadn't really thought about how we would get there, and I realized I didn't even know if he had a car. Many of the kids who lived on campus didn't, since the area around the school was so walkable. We set off across the quad toward the gate while Ron made small talk about something that happened today in one of his classes. I was grateful he took on the burden of conversation as I still didn't have any idea what to say to him.

We headed down a side street I had never been on after we left the campus. Ron had said we were going to a small Italian restaurant he liked. "It's nothing fancy," he assured me, "but the food is excellent and Mama Capellini fusses over you like you're family."

I smiled at that and wondered if Julianus ate there, since he had mentioned he missed Italy. I immediately felt flustered for thinking about him while on a date with another man. You can get through this, I told myself for the tenth time.

The restaurant was every bit as homey as Ron described. The scent of garlic and baking bread enveloped me as soon as we walked in. It was a small space, less than a dozen candlelit tables draped in crisp white cloths, only half of which were occupied. The floors were worn terracotta tile and the plaster walls were painted with murals of the Italian countryside.

A plump older woman emerged from a door in the back when we entered and waddled over to us, her dark eyes lit with a smile.

"Ronnie. So good to see you."

He grinned as she reached up and pinched his cheek. "Mama Capellini, this is Myra."

"Ah, such a pretty girl, but too thin. Not to worry, Mama will fatten you up. Come, you two sit here. Best table in the house." She herded us toward a table in the front by the window.

I didn't know quite what to make of the woman's comments as Ron pulled out my chair and waited for me to sit like a perfect gentleman. I sat down and watched him round the table as Mama Capellini handed me a menu.

"A bottle of good red?' she asked Ron, who glanced at me then shook his head.

"Just water for now."

The woman clucked her tongue and nodded. "I'll be back with your bread."

After she hurried off to the kitchen Ron looked over at me and grinned. "She's a force of nature."

"She seems to know you well."

"I come here at least three times a month. It's like eating at my nonna's house."

"Your family is Italian?"

"On my mother's side. Family gatherings at Nonna's were always chaotic affairs, but oh my god the food. As she would say, bellisimo ."

I smiled, picturing it. What are the odds that I would meet two men of Italian heritage? "You had a big family?" I recalled him saying something about a brother.

"Extended family. My mother was the middle of nine children. Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. What about you?"

I lowered my voice, not wanting to spoil his good mood. "I was an only child, and both my parents are dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

I waved his concern aside, certain that he was second guessing this date now. Why would he want to be with someone so pathetic? To cover up my discomfort, I picked up the menu and started leafing through it. "What's good here?"

He shifted gears and the smile returned. "Everything. The lasagna is terrific, as is the veal parmigiano, but their chicken marsala is my personal favorite."

"Sounds good." I closed the menu as Mama Capellini reappeared with our waters, a loaf of hot fresh bread, and a bowl of olive oil with spices floating on top.

"What have you decided on?" she asked as she set the items on the table.

Ron glanced at me and I nodded. "We'll have the chicken marsala."

"Ah, your favorite. Good choice. Matteo found the plumpest mushrooms at the market today." She collected the menus and headed off to greet another couple who had just entered.

"So tell me about yourself," Ron said. "Where did you grow up?"

I opened my mouth to reply when I felt that familiar tingling sensation across my skin. My eyes skirted up to the window, searching for the source of my discomfort. He was standing under a streetlight across the street in his trademark dark suit, his hair pulled back to reveal those razor-sharp cheeks. Even from this distance I could tell his eyes were riveted on me. I felt my palms start to sweat and my mouth go dry. How did he always seem to know where I was?

"Myra? Myra, are you all right?"

I became aware of Ron speaking to me and dragged my attention back across the table, but I could still feel him out there. Watching me.

"I'm fine. Sorry. I just need…is there a restroom?" I had to get away from that window for a minute .

"Sure, in the back." He pointed to a doorway at the back of the restaurant.

"I'll be right back. Sorry."

I jumped up before he could ask any more questions, scurrying through the room and opening the door into a dim paneled hallway that at first just seemed to lead outside. I could hear the commotion from the kitchen through one of the doors, and spotted two others on the opposite wall, marked for Ladies and Men. I ducked inside the small ladies' room and stopped at the sink, raising my eyes to my reflection. What was wrong with me? Why did merely seeing him cause such a reaction in me?

I splashed some cold water on my face and grabbed a couple of paper towels to dry it. Okay, get a grip on yourself. Ron doesn't deserve your neurosis.

I reached for the door handle and had it practically ripped out of my hand as someone grabbed me and pushed me against the wall. I started to scream and a hand covered my mouth.

"Shh. It's me."

My eyes widened. Julianus? "How did you–?"

He pulled his hand away from my mouth and rested it on my shoulder, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my upper arm, causing my pulse to quicken. My breath stuttered as his eyes captured mine, and I became aware of his body pressed against mine, our closeness almost intimate. How was he here? I had just seen him out in the street.

A dozen questions flitted through my mind, but my heart was pounding so loudly in my ears I couldn't think to ask any of them. He stared at me for a moment, looking as confused as I felt, then before I could react, he bent closer and crashed his lips against mine, consuming my mouth in a heated kiss .

My head was spinning. Part of me wanted to push him away, to insist that this wasn't right, and I even brought my hand up between us to try, but another part wanted to surrender to the toe-curling war being waged on my control. My breath grew ragged as his tongue slipped inside my mouth, devouring me while his lips brutalized mine.

What was happening here, my mind screamed while my traitorous body melted against him, wanting to lose myself in him. He kissed me like a starving man after a long fast, like he couldn't get enough of me. I had never been kissed like that before, with such raw hunger, and I felt a need arise in me to merge with him. To be completely possessed by him. I was drowning in a high voltage sea and I had never felt more alive.

The kiss that seemed to go on forever was over far too soon. He pulled away, leaving me feeling bereft and breathless.

"Fuck," he muttered. "I don't–"

I looked at him, waiting, unable to function while he was this close, his scent filling my head, his eyes holding mine, his lips…god his lips. I could still feel their touch imprinted on mine.

"I don't like seeing you with him."

With him? It took me a minute to connect the dots. Oh, Ron.

The thought of his name brought me back to reality like a slap in the face. I heard myself speak, didn't recognize my own voice. "It's not up to you."

His expression grew cloudy, his gray eyes flashing heat, his full lips–the lips that had just mauled my mouth–curled up in a smirk. "We'll see about that."

And then he released me, taking his heat away as he stepped back and turned down the hallway. Within seconds he had exited out the door and was gone, leaving me once again wondering if I had imagined the entire thing.

I stood there for a full minute, trying to get myself under control. What had just happened? I could feel my lips still burning from his touch, his taste still coating my tongue. A door opened somewhere, sounds of activity, then someone speaking to me.

"Are you all right?"

I looked up at a young man in a white chef's coat holding a black trash bag. Obviously he worked in the kitchen.

"Yeah," I managed to say. "Just felt a little dizzy."

"Do you need me to call anyone?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you."

I turned and headed back through the door to the diningroom, wondering how I was going to get through this evening.

If Ron suspected anything when I got back to the table, he didn't mention it. I listened while he carried most of the conversation, managing to comment when prompted, but I felt like I was sleepwalking through the meal. By the time we had finished eating, I was sure he'd never want to see me again, but he was still the perfect gentleman. Mama Capellini came out to our table to wish us a good night when we rose to leave, hugging me tightly, and I felt like I would collapse against the woman.

Once out on the street, I couldn't stop my eyes from scanning the shadows, wondering if he was out there watching me. If he would try something more forceful to intervene. He said he didn't like seeing me with Ron. I knew I should've been mad about that–what right did he have to tell me who I could or couldn't see–but I couldn't erase the feeling of his lips on mine, the taste of his tongue in my mouth. The way his body felt pressed against mine.

"You never answered me," Ron was saying.

I looked at him, racking my brain to remember what he had asked.

"About your artwork. When did you start drawing?"

I exhaled, fought for control. Stay in the moment, I scolded myself. "I guess when I was in kindergarten. Art was always my favorite part of the day."

I didn't want to talk about this, but I couldn't run away from him again. He would surely think I was crazy. And the truth was, I did like him. He was sweet and charming, not to mention very good looking, and if the evening had gone the way it had started, I was sure I would have had a wonderful first date.

But then Julianus happened.

"How about you?" I asked, deflecting. "When did you start drawing?"

"I guess it was when I started reading comics and fantasy books. That was around the fourth grade. I just drew stuff from my imagination, mostly doodles in class at first."

I nodded. "Yeah, me too. Half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it."

"I'd hate to see how good you'd be if you concentrated," he chuckled.

I shrugged. "It was once very important to me."

"What happened?"

I turned away from him, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. "I lost someone."

He reached for my hand and squeezed it, his eyes finding mine in the dark. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about it. "

I looked at him as a wave of gratitude washed over me. We walked in companionable silence until we reached the campus, and I noticed he hadn't released my hand.

"A few of us are getting together this weekend to go to the lake north of town. Take a lunch, play some flag football. I was wondering if you'd like to go."

"How do you get there?" I asked.

"I have a car, and we usually double up for the people who don't. We go a few times a semester. I'm sure Kristin will be there. It's a good time."

I thought about that. Of having friends to do normal things with. I'd never had that.

Then I remembered what happened earlier outside the restroom. I don't like seeing you with him. It was away from town; surely he wouldn't follow me there.

"Okay."

"Great."

When we got to my dorm, he kissed me goodnight. This time it was more than a peck on the lips, a good kiss that under normal circumstances would have left me hungry for more, but I couldn't help comparing it to the one outside the restroom.

I was definitely in way over my head.