A Little Too Far (20 page)

He lifts a hand and scratches the back of his head, grasping a handful of hair. “My mother believes I’m doing this out of guilt. She thinks I blame myself for what happened to her.”

“Do you?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it again, and for a long time, he doesn’t answer. “I’ve lost my entire family,” he finally says.

“Alessandro, you can’t blame yourself for—”

“I understand that I’m not responsible for my father’s death,” he interrupts, his jaw tight, “but could I have helped my mother? My brother?” He shakes his head slowly, resting his elbows on the table. “I didn’t try.”

“So this is what you think you have to do to make up for it? Become a priest?”

“I prayed for direction, and this is what the Lord showed me. This community.” He gestures out the window. “If I can do for one child what Father Costa did for me . . . if I can make one person see that they’re important, it will mean my life wasn’t wasted. I can help people here. This is where I hope they send me.”

I nod at his determination. He knows what he wants. That’s more than a lot of people can say, including me. I sip my wine, and when I look up, I find him staring at me. I don’t break his gaze. He reaches across and weaves his fingers into mine, and we sit, looking at each other as, outside the window, the sun sets crimson across the water.

I
T’S THE MIDDLE
of the night, but I’m mostly awake, watching shadows crawl across the ceiling. Alessandro and I sat at that restaurant for hours, eating course after course and talking. He told me about his favorite memories with his father and things they did together as a family. I told him about the plan I was starting to hatch to stay in Italy for at least another year. He asked if I’d consider Corsica—said if he was here, he could put me to work with the children of his parish.

More and more, the thought of working with children is really starting to appeal to me. My passion has always been art, but when you put art and kids together, they both seem to come alive. And so do I. Could I stay here? Work with Alessandro?

The conversations are still whirring through my head when I hear creaking on the stairs outside my room. I’m the only one up here, and I pull the sheets around me, afraid maybe Pépé is sleepwalking.

When the door cracks open, there’s a shape in the dark stairwell. Whoever it is doesn’t move for what feels like a small eternity. Finally, I sit up in bed. “Who’s there?” I ask in a slightly shaky voice. Still, there’s no answer.

But then Alessandro steps through into the moonlight, and suddenly I’m shaking more.

Chapter Twenty

I
SIT BACK
against the headboard and stare at Alessandro as he steps into the dark room.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he asks softly, closing the door behind him.

“No. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

For a long time, we just stare at each other from opposite sides of the room.

“I don’t really know why I’m up here,” he finally says, looking down at his fingers, which are busy fidgeting with the hem of his T-shirt. “I just felt . . . drawn.”

He looks up at me with a question in his eyes, and I scoot over to make room for him on the edge of the bed, both hoping and fearing that he’ll take the invitation. “It’s okay. I feel bad that I’m in your bed, and you’re stuck on the couch.”

His eyes drop to the bed, then brush over my sleep shirt, which I now realize has one too many buttons open to pass for demure. He breathes deep as his eyes make their way back to my face, and finally, he comes and sits next to me. “It’s no hardship.”

I grasp his hand. “I’m so glad you brought me here. This has been a really amazing few days. I’m just sorry we have to go back tomorrow.”

He lifts a hand and brushes his fingertips along the line of my jaw. He lifts it higher and traces my eyebrow and down my nose with is index finger. “You are truly exceptional, Lexie Banks.”

For a long time, he holds my face and stares into my eyes. My breathing is ragged, but I don’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. He leans closer, and my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it, but I still don’t move. His lips brush my down cheek and along my jawline. “You make me question myself . . . my choices,” he says, low in my ear.

I want to turn my head so our lips touch. I want to pull him to me and feel that warm, hard body against mine, but I still don’t move. “I’m sorry.”

His fingers scoop around my neck and thread into my hair, and when his lips press into mine I can’t breathe. His kiss is soft, so gentle, but I feel it ignite a slow burn in my belly and curl my toes. His lips leave mine after a minute, but he stays close, his hand still in my hair, his breath on my face. “You confuse me, Lexie, more than anyone has in a long time.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, then his lips are on mine, more insistent, pressing deeper into me. I part mine, inviting him in, and his tongue slips through and swirls with mine. Our breathing becomes heavier, and the ache in my groin grows until I throb for him.

But I still don’t dare move.

Finally, he pulls away. He looks at me a long minute with eyes that burn in the dark, then stands and disappears back into the stairwell without another word.

I
STEP O
UT
of the taxi onto the sidewalk, having defied death once again. Alessandro bangs the trunk, and the driver pops it open. He grabs my bag and carries it to my door.

“I trust you’ll be okay from here?”

“Yeah . . . I’ll be fine, unless . . . do you want to come up? We could get some dinner and—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lexie.” That look is back in his eyes, and I long to grab him and kiss him again.

He saves me the trouble.

His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me against his body, crushing his lips to mine. I’ve been waiting for this—hoping for this since his visit to my bedroom last night, but he’s been so careful to keep his distance.

His tongue edges my mouth, and I open wide, pulling him deeper into me. I lose myself in the feel of his body, his warm musk that envelops me, the desperation in his kiss, and my body responds. An ache grows in my heart and my belly. I want this man so badly.

The horn blast shakes me out of my shoes, and my heart first leaps with the start, then sinks as Alessandro pulls away from me.

“Will you come up?” I ask, breathy but bolder.

He closes his eyes, and his lips press into a line as he fights with himself. “I can’t,” he finally says before opening them. He steps back and looks at me. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

The next second, he’s in the cab, and it’s rocketing away.

“What am I doing?” I ask myself out loud.

I hear a clucking noise as I slip my key in the door, and when I turn and look up at the balcony across the street, Grandma Moses is leaning on the rail, tsking me.

I drag my suitcase up the stairs and into my apartment, then pace circles in the small space between the dining-room table and the door, my hands fisted in my hair. “What am I doing?” I ask again.

I plop down in the love seat and pull out my cell phone. It’s three in the afternoon, so . . . eight, seven, six . . . it’s six in the morning back home. I should wait.

I can’t wait.

I dial Trent, sure he’s not going to pick up.

He does.

“Hey. What’s up?” His voice is full of sleep, blurry and slurred.

“I’m sorry to wake you.”

He clears his throat, and I hear sheets rustling. “No, don’t be. I’m always awake for you.” He’s trying really hard to sound awake, so I won’t feel bad, I’m sure. Just one more reason I love him.

“I think I might have feelings for Alessandro,” I blurt.

“But . . .” throat clear, “you said he’s a priest, right?”

“Not yet.” I grab a fistful of my hair. “God, Trent. I’m so confused. I don’t know what I’m thinking.” I’m still in love with Trent. I know that by the way my heart squeezes as I tell him this. But, am I falling in love with Alessandro too? Is it possible to love two men? And Trent and I have an agreement. Our friendship and family are too valuable to risk by following through on my feelings. “We just spent three amazing days together at his family’s place in Corsica.”

“Wow . . . meeting the family is a big step.”

“I know, and it felt like a big deal, you know. I mean, he went out of his way to take me to his favorite places. It’s just . . . he’s supposed to be ordained in six weeks.”

“So, other than taking you to meet his family, has he said anything, you know, about being into you?”

“He’s about to become a priest, for God’s sake. He’s supposed to be into
God
!”

“I get that. I do,” he says in that voice that can calm me down even when I’m on the edge of a panic attack. “But has he given you any signals that he might be thinking about walking away?”

“From the Church?”

“Yeah. I mean, if he hasn’t been ordained, isn’t there still time to change his mind?”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “He said he’s been called by the bishop and taken his vow of celibacy already.”

“And is he?”

“What?”

“Celibate?” he asks with a little bit of an edge. “Have you . . . you know?”

“God, no!”

“Chill, Lexie. I’m just trying to get the lay of the land here. Has he made any kind of move?”

I cringe as I say, “He kissed me.”

“On the cheek? On the mouth? Where?”

“On the mouth. French. Twice.”

I hear him breathe in and out. For a long second, he doesn’t say anything. “You know what you feel, Lexie. I can’t tell you that. You know what you feel, and you know if this guy has what it takes to make you happy. I guess you need to decide if that’s what you want, and if it is, I think you have to tell him before it’s too late. I think you have to go for it. You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you really love him, and you don’t at least try, you know?” His voice changes as he says it, the normal vigor vanishing. I can tell he means what he’s saying, but he sounds so . . . sad.

“What’s wrong?” I ask after a second.

“What do you mean?”

“You just sound . . . did you and Sam fight or something?”

I hear him blow out a sigh. “Lexie . . .”

I wait, but he doesn’t finish the thought. I wish so badly I was there with Trent. I want to curl into his arms, where everything is always all right. “I miss you so much,” I tell him, and my voice warbles with tears.

There’s another long pause. “I miss you too.”

My phone beeps in my ear—another incoming call. I look at the screen and my stomach kicks. I breathe deep and stick the phone back to my ear. “I have to go, Trent. But I’ll call later?”

“Yeah . . . okay. Love you,” he says.

“Love you too,” I say back, then click over to Alessandro, my heart pounding in my throat. “Hi.”

There’s nothing but silence for a long second, and I’m sure I wasn’t fast enough picking up and he disconnected. But then he says, “I need to pray, Lexie. I need time away from you to pray for direction.”

The bottom drops out of my stomach, and I feel suddenly hollow. “I . . . okay . . . whatever you need.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

My phone beeps as he disconnects.

So, that’s that.

I
T’S BEEN THRE
E
weeks since Corsica. In those three weeks, I’ve seen Alessandro exactly twice. Two weeks ago, for our school tour, and today, for our school tour—which is our last one. After today, he never has to see me again if he chooses.

But that’s the problem. He can’t choose. I see him struggling. I can see the pain in his eyes every time he looks at me, and I hate that I’ve done this to him.

We finish the tour in St. Peter’s, same as usual, and I turn to follow the students out, but he grabs my arm. “Walk with me.” He spins and moves toward the exit, staring straight ahead, and I keep stride.

He’s back in his white collar, every inch the soon-to-be-priest, but I see him tugging at it as we walk. It’s a beautiful spring day as we step into St. Peter’s Square. He takes a left at the sidewalk and moves briskly up the cobbled road until the crowds start to thin. When we’re about a block from the Vatican, he turns between two buildings down a narrow alleyway that I didn’t even see, then grasps my arms and spins me into an alcove, pressing me against the brick wall.

The next second, he’s kissing me. His tongue stabs between my lips, taking possession of my mouth. There’s anger and fear and pure need in his kiss, and the roughness of it stirs some animal instinct deep inside me. The length of his firm body pinning me and grinding against mine sends electric currents surging under my skin, and the feel of his erection against my stomach—knowing how much he wants me—makes me want him even more. The muscles in my groin tighten, and a pulsing ache builds in my belly.

His breathing is ragged and his expression agonized when he pulls away a long minute later. “I don’t know what the Lord is calling me to do. I thought He wanted me in His service, but . . .” He hangs his head. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve prayed for guidance, and what He keeps showing me is your face.” He tips his face to the sky. “I’ve lost my path.”

I collect myself and gently push him back, making more space between us. Every fiber in my body protests, but no matter how much I might want him, he still belongs to the Church. “I can’t help you find it, Alessandro. You’re going to have to do that for yourself. What I can tell you is that the Lord sure as hell isn’t showing you me. There is nothing godly about me.”

His anguished gaze lowers to mine. “I don’t know what to do.”

I lower my lashes and breathe deep. I won’t be able to say this if I’m looking at his beautiful, tortured face. “When you figure it out, you know where to find me.”

A
BBY AND
I
wend through the street vendors’ brightly colored wares in Piazza Campo Dè Fiori. I’ve already picked out a pair of earrings for both Katie and Sam, a scarf and a beaded necklace for Julie, a handmade leather wallet for Dad, and a carved wooden guitar pick and few T-shirts for Trent.

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, which tends to be quieter than the weekends, but it’s spring, so everyone is flocking into the streets again, and tourism is picking back up for the summer. I catch myself smiling when I realize I can pick out the Americans without even hearing them speak. Our sense of style pretty much blows compared to the Italians.

But we’re only a block and a half from the rectory. This is the first place Alessandro ever brought me shopping. He said it was the best open-air market in the city and the best place to buy produce.

As we weave our way along the cobbles past the souvenir vendors on the right and the brightly colored and very fragrant floral vendors’ tents on the left, every time someone in black passes by, my eyes catch on them until I’m sure it’s not Alessandro. It’s been two and a half weeks since I left him standing in that alley, and I’ve heard nothing. His ordination is on Sunday. That’s only four days from now. Four days.

That’s how long I have to say something.

You’ll regret it for the rest of your life if you really love him, and you don’t at least try, you know?

Trent’s words echo in my head, and my heart squeezes tight. Do I love Alessandro? If I do, can I let him do this without ever telling him?

“These are brill,” Abby says, pulling my thoughts back to the crowded piazza. She’s running a finger down a row of braided leather bracelets hanging from a cord at a leather vendor’s booth. The vendor, an old gray-haired man with gnarled hands, comes over, and she points to one. He pulls it off the cord and hands it to her. She ties it around my wrist. “Do you love it?”

The thick braid of the multiple leather lashes is softer than I thought it’d be. Even though it’s in muted tones, it’s somehow still eye-catching. I smile up at her. “I do.”

She motions for the vendor to pull off another one, then hands it to me, and I tie it on her wrist. She pays the vendor, and we wander toward the next booth. “Have you ever been to England?” she asks, spinning her bracelet and admiring it.

“No.”

“You should come for holiday.” She grins. “I could get you into so much trouble there.”

I grin back. “I have no doubt.” As much as I hate to admit it, I’m really going to miss Abby when I leave. “What’s going to happen with Grant?” I ask. He’s basically moved into her flat this semester, and she seems really happy. But she’s kicked him out every Sunday for our movie marathons.

“He wants to try to keep it going,” she says. And there’s that smile. Every time she talks about him, it’s like she turns into a whole different person. All her typical lewdness melts away, and she becomes this blushing schoolgirl.