Authors: Lisa Desrochers
He tips his forehead into mine. “You are so far inside me, sometimes I’m not sure where I stop and you start.”
“Then let me help you. You can show me your pain. I promise it won’t break me.”
His gaze burns into mine. “I’ve always seen your strength, even when we were young. But I can’t burden you with mine on top of what you’re already dealing with. It wouldn’t be right.”
I pull away from him. “If you can’t trust me to help you through this, I don’t think we’re going to make it.” I tip his face up and kiss him gently on the lips. “And I want to make it, Alessandro. I want that more than anything.”
A tear spills over his long lashes, and then another. I wipe them away with my thumb and watch as what’s left of his composure crumbles. I manage to coax him back to my bed, where he wraps himself around me. I hold him as he falls apart, and hope it’s enough.
After the longest hour of my life, he finally lifts his head out of my chest and looks at me. “You’ll help me sort mine from his?”
“I will do anything for you that you’ll let me.” As I say it, a knot forms in my chest at the truth in those words. I’d do anything for him. “Is it too hard for you—being here in New York? I mean . . . if you were back in Corsica, would you be able to get past this?”
His eyes flare in the dark. “I thought I was clear. I’m not leaving you again.”
I swallow. “What if I came with you?” I want him to heal . . . to feel whole again . . . and if leaving New York will help him get his soul back, the way he helped me get mine, I’d do it for him in a heartbeat. I don’t want to give up the theater—especially now—but I realize just at this second that Alessandro means more to me than Broadway. He means more to me than anything, except maybe Henri. If he needs to go, I’ll go with him.
He shakes his head slowly. “And just when I thought I couldn’t possibly love you any more . . .”
“I’m serious. I want you to be free of this burden. It will crush you otherwise. If we have to leave for that to happen, I’ll go.”
“No, Hilary. We’re going to do this right here. You’re right that I need to sort Lorenzo’s from mine, and I trust you to help me.”
“I’m so sorry what I said about Lorenzo before you left. I hope you know I didn’t mean any of it.”
His eyes glimmer in the moonlight through the window as his finger traces the lines of my face. “There was some truth in it. I did worship Lorenzo. But you have to understand, he wasn’t always the person you knew. When we were little, Lorenzo was my hero.”
I listen intently as he tells me everything. It turns out Lorenzo wasn’t always hard. He was softer when they were young kids. But he changed after he got beat up one day on his way home from school.
“I could see him slipping away,” Alessandro says. “He started hanging out with older kids, who I guess he thought would protect him. They thought it was funny to use Lorenzo as their gofer. They’d send him into stores to shoplift cigarettes or candy, and he’d do it. They’d send him to buy their drugs, and he’d do it. I threatened to tell our father what he was doing, but he said his ‘gang’ would beat the crap out of me if I told. And then Dad died and Lorenzo just went off the deep end. He started using . . . skipping school . . . and our mom was too distraught to see what was happening.”
We talk for hours about Lorenzo as Alessandro tries to sort it all out in his head. There are more tears—both his and mine—as he recounts everything leading up to the group home.
“And then . . . what he did to you. I couldn’t bear it when he started bragging. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t know how. When you came to me . . . when you told me what you wanted, I felt sick. But you didn’t give up, and I’d always . . . I really liked you and I . . .” He swallows as more tears threaten. “God help me, I wanted you for myself, and I rationalized what I did by convincing myself I could help you if you let me close enough.”
“You did help me, Alessandro. You helped me more that I can even say.”
His lips purse. “Not in the way I’d meant to.”
“Please, Alessandro. I don’t know how to make you understand. You were what I needed, and if what we did was wrong, it was my fault. I can’t live with your guilt. If you can’t forgive yourself for you, do it for me. Please.”
He brushes his fingertips over my jawline. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.”
I kiss him, then sink deeper into his body, resting my head on his chest. I remember how safe I felt in his sixteen-year-old arms. Some things never change.
B
RIGHT MORNING SU
N
is streaming in my window when I finally wake in Alessandro’s arms and find him gazing down at me. His lips brush mine. “Good morning.”
I roll so I’m facing him, his glorious naked body pressed against mine. “Morning.”
He kisses me deeply, liquefying my insides and making me hope he’s leading up to something more. So when he kisses the tip of my nose and says, “I want to know everything about Henri,” my heart skips.
I knew this was coming. We need to talk about it. But what if he wants to tell Henri?
The skin around Alessandro’s eyes tightens. “Hilary, you look like you’ve swallowed a porcupine. Say something.”
“It’s just . . .” There’s a tug at my heart that I can’t explain. I love Henri so much, and part of me has always wanted him to know the truth—to have him look at me the way he looks at Mallory. “I want him to know . . . but Mallory . . . she’d never . . .”
He threads his fingers into my hair and kisses my forehead. “Mallory has been an excellent mother to him. When and how Henri learns the truth has got to be her decision.”
My insides loosen. Everyone’s on the same page. This is good.
“Henri is amazing,” I start, and then I can’t stop, telling him everything about Henri, from how his first step turned into his first somersault, to how, instead of learning to speak one word at a time like most kids, he saved it all up and started spouting full sentences when he was fourteen months old. I tell him how Henri could do hundred-piece puzzles by the time he was a year and a half, and how he tested into the gifted program at school in the second grade. I tell him how, when Max was nine months old and Mallory still couldn’t get him to eat solid food, Henri was the one who finally got him to eat, even though he was little more than a baby himself, by finger painting scenes on Max’s plate in baby food that Max would slap his hand into, then lick off. I tell him how Henri held Max’s hand and walked him to class his first day of school, and how he’s always been fiercely protective of Mallory, and how he loves Jeff more than anything.
And then I realize what I’ve said and I cringe a little.
“He loves his father, Hilary, as he should. It means he’s had a happy upbringing. That’s all I could ever want for my son.”
At those words coming from Alessandro’s mouth, a shiver courses through me. Henri is his son, and now he knows. It’s surreal that we’re even having this conversation . . . forget the fact that we’re doing it naked in my bed.
His fingertips whisper over my neck, my shoulder and to the curve of my breast. “You are incredibly beautiful in the morning, Hilary McIntyre.” He drops kisses over my forehead and cheeks as his hands start their soft exploration of my body, and when he reaches into the box next to the bed and comes out with a condom, I know I’m going to get my wish.
J
ESS IS UP
an hour later when Alessandro leaves, and her eyes flick between us as she grins from behind her coffee cup.
Alessandro kisses me at the door, his fingertips gliding along my rib cage over the thin silk of my bathrobe, tightening my nipples and making me want to drag him back into my bed. But Max’s birthday party is this afternoon, and I promised Mallory I’d be there to help herd seven-year-olds.
“Will you come to my hotel tonight?” he asks me, pulling me tight to his body.
My hands drift down his chest, over solid pecs, to the ridges of his abs. “You’re ready for more lessons?”
I feel his lips curve against my forehead. “Always your willing pupil.”
His hand slips behind the nape of my neck, and he pulls me into another kiss. “Text me when you’re on your way.”
When I close the door behind him, Jess squeals and jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Oh my God! He came back for you! I swear to God, Hil, that is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the goofy smile that breaks across my face. “Speaking of, how’s Hailey?”
Her grin matches mine. “Good. Really good. We’re going to a party tonight with all her Broadway friends. She says she wants to show me off.”
“You’ve arrived, Jess. A Broadway secondary and a director girlfriend . . .”
“Casting director,” she corrects.
“Semantics.” I turn and pad up the hall toward the bathroom. “How’s our Advil supply? Max’s birthday party is this afternoon.”
B
Y
THE TIME
I get to Mallory’s, the place is full of fifteen of Max’s second-grade classmates.
Mallory puts me in charge of games while she handles food, and with Henri’s help, I get the kids organized for pin the tail on Scooby Doo and the piñata.
There’s cake and ice cream, and Max opens his presents. Little by little, moms come to collect their kids, and finally they’re all gone and I can hear myself think again.
Jeff, Henri, and Max are putting together a matchbox racetrack in the family room as Mallory and I clean up the mess in the kitchen. I’m washing and she’s drying when I get up the nerve to say it.
“I told Alessandro.”
Her head jerks up from the dish she was drying and her eyes widen. “I thought he was gone.”
“He came back.”
“And you told him! Why would you do that?”
“I just . . .” I shake my head, “He’s Henri’s father, Mallory. It’s not right to keep that from him.”
“Is he going to say anything?”
“To Henri?”
One of her eyelids starts to twitch as she stares me down. “To
anybody
.”
“No, Mallory. He won’t say anything, but . . .”
“But, what?” Her jaw is tight and I can feel fear and betrayal radiating off her in waves.
“Don’t you think maybe Henri should know the truth?”
She holds her breath for several long heartbeats, and I can’t read her expression, but then she breathes out and sags into the counter. “Does he want to be part of Henri’s life?”
“I think he wants to get to know him.”
“And that’s all? He’s not going to try for custody?”
I shake my head. “No, Mallory, We both know you are Henri’s parents in every way that matters. We would never try to take him from you. But . . .” I pause, putting down the bowl and sponge and setting my resolve. “I never knew my father and I don’t want to do that to Henri.”
Mallory flicks a glance toward the family room and lowers her voice. “But this is different, Hilary. Henri has a father. Jeff is his father.”
“I know. I do. Jeff is an amazing dad—”
“Please don’t mess with him,” she begs, tears glimmering in her eyes. “He’s too young. This would be too hard for him to understand. It would just confuse him.”
Is she right? Am I being selfish?
“When he’s ready, I promise we’ll tell him. You and me, we can tell him together. I just think it’s too soon.” Tears spill onto her cheeks and she wipes them away.
I bite my lips between my teeth. She really is trying to protect him. It’s me who’s out of line. “You’re a great mom, Mallory. I mean it.”
“I can’t imagine my life without him.”
“Me either.”
She pushes off the counter and hugs me. “I love you, Hilary. I really do.”
“I love you too,” I say thickly past the lump in my throat as tears leak over my lashes.
“You gave me the most amazing gift.” She sniffles. “Please don’t do anything to hurt him.”
I can’t remember ever letting Mallory see me cry, but I bury my face in her shoulder as the tears start for real.
A
LESSAND
RO AND
I
spend every day together, but Thursdays are still our day to explore, and today it’s my turn to choose. We have a command performance at Mallory’s for dinner because she says wants to talk to Alessandro about his family medical history, but I know it’s more. She wants to feel him out—to be sure he’s on board with keeping our secret.
But that’s tonight. We have all day.
I’m just drying off from the shower when my phone rings. It’s Terry’s ringtone.
My palms go instantly clammy as I lift my phone to my ear. “Hey.”
“Hilary? Good news, honey. Are you sitting down?”
I move to my bed on shaky legs and sit. “Yeah. Hit me.”
“So, you know how you auditioned for a secondary role in
Don’t Look Back
?”
“Yeah . . .”
“What would you think if they offered you a primary?”
There’s a zing through my chest, and for a second I’m sure I’m having a heart attack. “Don’t mess with me, Terry. I’m fragile.”
She barks out a laugh. “You’re about as tough as they come, honey, but I’m not messing with you.”
“Holy shit.”
“I know! This is so exciting!”
“Which role?” I ask as my head clears a little.
“Rene. The sister that goes away to college.”
“Holy shit!” I say again.
Terry laughs. “I know!”
“Holy shit,” I whisper as I feel tears press against the backs of my eyes.
My door flies open and Jess and is standing there with an expectant look on her face. I nod and she launches herself into me.
Terry’s voice comes faintly from where I dropped the phone on the floor. “Hilary?”
Jess backs off and I sniffle as I scoop it up. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. We’re still negotiating contract points, but the money’s good and I think you should take this. Are we in agreement?”
I sniffle again. “Yes! Totally yes.”
“Good. Congratulations, Hilary. I’ll call you later with all the details.”
“Thank you so much, Terry.”
“I just sent you in the right direction, honey. You did all the heavy lifting.”
When I lower the phone, Jess jumps me again. “Which one?”
“I got Rene in
Don’t Look Back
.” I flop back on the bed and plaster my hands over my face. “I’m Rene.”
I scream through my tears, and Jess screams along with me.
“Tell me everything!” she says.
But all I can do is cry for a really long time.